The Bell Between Worlds (21 page)

The entire congregation rose to its feet at once.

There was a brief silence while everyone looked at everyone else, and then someone started laughing.

“By the time you answer all these, Sylas, the bell will have rung again and it’ll be time for you to go home!” shouted someone in the front row to another peal of laughter.

Sylas smiled. Looking around him, he saw for the first time how amiable and friendly the faces in the crowd were: no longer fearful, but open and warm.

Gradually they all came back to order and everyone took their seats, with the exception of one man with a large grey forelock and a pencil moustache, who remained standing, puffing prodigious quantities of smoke from his pipe. Soon all eyes were turned on him.

“Might it be helpful if one of us takes the lead?” he enquired of the crowd, peering over his glasses. When there was no objection, he turned to Sylas.

“Sylas, my name is Grayvel: I am honoured to meet you,” he said with a low bow. “Yours is a remarkable story, and it was even more remarkable for the excellence of its telling.”

“Quite so!” shouted some others among the crowd.

“But now we find ourselves in a tricky spot. You see, you are not at all what we have come to expect from a Bringer.”

“But I’m
not
a Bringer – I don’t even know what a Bringer is!” objected Sylas.

Grayvel’s grey eyebrows furrowed and he breathed forth a torrent of smoke. “Yes, so you say… so you say. But that is part of what makes you so – if you will forgive me for saying it – so peculiar. While we were not expecting the Passing Bell to ring, we cannot ignore the fact that it was forged for the sole purpose of summoning Bringers – or at least that is all it has ever done until now. Therefore, to us, the very fact that you came here as you did makes you a Bringer. And then, to add to our confusion, you are carrying the very things we would expect a Bringer to carry: the Samarok and the Merisi Band.”

“I know – none of it makes sense,” said Sylas, “but surely, if I was a Bringer, somebody would have
told
me that I was one?”

“Quite! It really is very confusing! Not only have all other Bringers been quite aware that they were Bringers, they have been prepared by the Merisi over a period of many years. When they arrive, they know exactly what they are here for and precisely what to expect.”

“I don’t know who the
Merisi
are either,” objected Sylas.

“But you do, Sylas, you do!” cried Grayvel, throwing his arms wide. “You have met the most eminent of them all – Mr Zhi himself!”

Sylas shook his head and sighed. “But he said he was a shopkeeper! He didn’t even mention the Merisi!”

Grayvel frowned thoughtfully while taking his spectacles off to rub them on his sleeve. “Yes, as I say, it is quite inexplicable. Given all that Mr Zhi knows as leader of the Merisi, it is hard to understand why he would allow one so young to make this journey so ill prepared.”

“Unless he had no time, Grayvel,” boomed a new voice from a different part of the hall. It was a giant bear-like figure with a voluminous mantle of bushy brown hair that gathered about his face in a prodigious beard. But it was his sheer physical size that was most impressive: broad, slightly rounded shoulders; a mighty chest that strained at the confines of his tunic and a slightly bulging waist that was clearly not as lean as it once had been. The impression of strength was heightened by leather armour strapped around his torso and shoulders, emblazoned with buckles and buttons of brass that had been polished to a shine.

“I think we just have to accept what Sylas has told us,” he continued. “He is no Bringer, nor was he intended to be. Look at the facts: Bringers have always been accomplished scholars with a knowledge of the runes and the Samarok. They’re schooled in at least Essenfayle and one of the Three Ways. Most importantly, they know exactly what their purpose is: they have information to share with us and they’re ready to learn what we teach them. Sylas may carry the Samarok and the Merisi Band, but he’s no Bringer. He’s something different. Perhaps something more... After all, even as a boy, he’s worthy of Mr Zhi’s protection and the call of the Passing Bell. I agree with our sister, there’s something miraculous in this!”

There was a mumble of agreement from many in the crowd.

“With respect, Bayleon,” protested Salvo, rising quickly from his seat, “you speak of miracles when the circumstances demand facts.” He spread his arms out to the chamber. “We all need to ask who summoned the boy. You assume he is here for our benefit, but without knowing who
brought him
, how can we be sure? What if Mr Zhi was deceived? Remember the Ghorhund near his home – and Scarpia herself is here in town! Thoth has his hand in this!”

“Salvo,” implored Filimaya, “you must remember that the beasts were trying to
kill
Sylas, not help him!”

“Yes! And they nearly killed us good and proper on the way from the bell!” shouted Simia, standing up so that she could glare at Salvo over the heads of the crowd.

“Sit down AT ONCE, young Roskoroy!” hissed Filimaya. Simia opened her mouth, but then thought better of it and threw herself down into her seat.

A silence fell across the great hall as everyone retreated into their own thoughts. Sylas turned slowly on the platform, seeing expressions of apprehension and concern. Some smiled at him as he glanced in their direction, but they soon passed back under a shadow when his eyes had moved on. He could sense that these people feared something terrible, something he could not even imagine – like Simia when they had first seen the Ghor on the hill.

“Can I say something?” he asked Filimaya, drawing the eyes of everyone in the room.

Filimaya nodded. “Of course,” she said, looking pleasantly surprised. “That might be very helpful.”

Sylas cleared his throat and tried not to look as nervous as he felt.

“It sounds as though something terrible has happened to you,” he began, “something that has made you hide, and meet like this in secret, and fear what you can’t explain – even me. Well, I can understand that, I really can. Until two days ago I was living a normal life with my uncle. But that’s all changed now. I don’t know why I’m here, I don’t even know where here is, and it’s definitely not where I want to be – I should be looking for my mother somewhere in my own world. I’ve been hunted and nearly killed, and now I’m as far from home as I’ve ever been. I think I have as much reason to be doubtful and scared as anyone. But the thing is, I haven’t got a choice – I’m here now, and whatever is going to happen will happen.”

He swallowed hard and took a deep breath, suddenly aware that the great chamber was deathly quiet.

“I said before that Mr Zhi hadn’t given me a message – anything to tell you. Well, maybe I was wrong.”

Many in the congregation leaned in, intrigued.

“Before I left him, he said one thing: that I must not fear what I do not understand. Maybe that message was as much for you as it was for me.”

He heard his final words echoing about the hall and set his teeth, waiting for cries of “Impudent boy!” or “Insolence!” or some other phrase that his uncle liked to use. But nobody spoke. Some turned and looked at one another enquiringly, but none seemed to know what to say.

A very elderly man rose unsteadily from his seat, bracing himself on the shoulder of the man next to him. He had flowing locks of white hair and a long moustache of the same colour, and it was clear from his beautifully decorated robes that he was senior in some way. The congregation turned to look at him.

“It’s Fathray!” whispered someone in the first row. “He’s going to speak!”

The old gentleman peered at Sylas from beneath tangled grey eyebrows. “Thank you, Sylas.” His voice was dry, but full of authority. He formed his words very slowly and precisely, seeming to choose each one with great care. “I think your comments – and those apposite utterings of Mr Zhi – were just what we needed to hear.”

He gave a slight bow of his head and then turned to the crowd, sweeping his fading eyes across the whole congregation.

“Sisters and brothers, I think we have heard enough. Any more prittle-prattle and tittle-tattle and we would quite deserve to be thrown to the Ghor. I for one am convinced that Sylas is on a portentous path that may be exigent…”

“Fathray,” interrupted Filimaya with a broad smile. “As ever, we value your wise words greatly, but it is always helpful to understand them. Could you please use plainer language?”

Fathray blinked at Filimaya in astonishment, as though he thought his words to be quite plain enough already, but then he chortled good-naturedly.

“Ah yes…” he said. “Quite so. I
should
have said I believe his path to be important to us. It seems evident that this is why our old friends the Merisi have tried to help him and the Ghor have tried to hinder him. But, whether or not he can help us, he is in great danger and he has entered our house. He is our responsibility, and we must not fail him. To my mind, the only question is,
how
do we help him?”

The crowd mumbled agreeably. Fathray paused, as if reluctant to continue. “In my view, there are only two options open to us. The first is to hide him – to protect him and hope that somehow his purpose here will become clear. But that is the fearful way, the way of which Mr Zhi would certainly not approve. The second–” he hesitated again– “the second is to take him to the Magruman.”

The room was suddenly filled with loud chatter and excitement, and it seemed to Sylas that everyone started speaking at once, some with expressions of excitement, others alarm. Salvo rose from his seat with a flushed face.

“That could be the end of us all! We would be leading him to the last real power that we have!”

“And what alternative do we have?” interjected Ash, sweeping back stray locks of blond hair in frustration. “Should we wait until the Ghor find him and kill him as surely they shall? I’m sick of simpering and hiding. This may be our very last hope! Mr Zhi was right – we mustn’t be frightened just because we can’t see the end of this. We’re better than that!”

This stirred the hearts of many, for there was a rumble of support and some took to their feet to shout their approval.

“We are the last of the Suhl!” cried Ash.

There was a crescendo of applause.

“That’s right!” shouted Bayleon, raising his bulky figure from his seat and punching the air.

Filimaya raised her arms and called for quiet. The Say-So quickly came back to order.

“Friends, it seems we are coming to an agreement: that Sylas should be taken to the Magruman.”

“No! There is no agreement!” cried Salvo, throwing his arms in the air. “And Filimaya, you of all people should want to keep Paiscion from harm!”

A complete hush fell over the room as though Salvo had said something unthinkable. Filimaya seemed taken aback and her cheeks coloured a little. She turned slowly to look at him.

“Salvo, whatever I may wish for myself or for Paiscion is quite irrelevant.” Her voice trembled a little with emotion and she paused before continuing. “It is the majority that we must consider, and the majority that must decide – that is the purpose of a Say-So.”

She held Salvo’s stare until he lowered his eyes.

Ash rose from his seat. “Sylas should travel to the Magruman. I say it is so!”

A moment later Grayvel too rose from his seat. “I say it is so,” he said. Fathray then stood and spoke the same words, followed by those around him. Soon the entire congregation were taking to their feet in support of the motion.

“I say it is so!”

Finally, begrudgingly, even Salvo rose and mumbled the words.

“Then it is decided,” said Filimaya with a smile of relief.

“But if this is our course we must consider another matter,” said Grayvel, turning to the congregation. “Sylas cannot be taken to the Magruman by road: it is controlled by Thoth and his spies. There is only one route that is passable, and that is across the Barrens.” There was a murmur of concern and an exchange of worried looks. “As we all know, this is not to be attempted—”

“I will take the boy,” said Bayleon, rising to his feet. He touched his fist to his armoured chest. “He’ll need a tracker. He’ll need a Spoorrunner.”

“And if Bayleon is going,” said Ash, standing and grinning at his friend, “so am I.”

The congregation voiced its approval.

“Me too!”

This final voice was rather insubstantial and it took some moments for the congregation to realise who had spoken. Finally their eyes fell on the small red-headed girl now clambering up on to the stage.

“I’m going too,” repeated Simia proudly. “Sylas needs me.”

There was a loud chuckle somewhere in the back row and then slowly, amiably, everyone began to laugh.

Simia put her hands on her hips and glared.

“How can a people thus steeped in the joys and perfections
of Nature fall at the hands of those She so detests?”

“I
SAID
WAKE UP!”

Sylas flinched and his breath quickened. He must have dozed off in his room.

He forced his eyes open. Simia was standing at the end of the bed, her hair fiery in a shaft of sunshine, her tanned face wearing a broad grin. He hadn’t just dozed off; it was the next day.

“Come on!” she said. “I don’t know what people get up to in your world, but in mine sleeping in the afternoon is just plain lazy. And boring. Anyway, Filimaya wants to see you in the gardens.”

Sylas pushed himself up on his elbows and squinted at the criss-crossed beams of light. “What time is it?”

“Late! You’d better get a move on. They want you to leave tonight to go to the Magruman, just to be safe.”

“About that,” said Sylas, “what exactly
is
a Magruman and what—”

“Not for me to tell you,” said Simia smartly. “They don’t even think I should come along.”

She glanced around only to see that Sylas was still in bed.

“Are you going to lie about all day?” she asked in a matronly tone. “Get up! Filimaya’s waiting!”

Sylas groaned and slid his stiff limbs out of bed. He saw that there were fresh clothes lying on the sofa and he walked over to inspect them. They were very coarse and crudely dyed in browns and greys like Simia’s, but they seemed to be the right size. He dressed as quickly as he could, finishing with a simple but warm coat, then tapped Simia on the shoulder. She turned around and inspected him.