LITMIR.BIZ

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human figure emerged from the darkness, stepping nimbly over some broken branches.

      Sylas held his breath. At first he thought it was Espen and his heart rose, but he saw quickly that it was not a man’s frame, nor even a boy’s: it was far smaller and its lines were much more slender.

      It was a girl. But her slight figure and her disobedient mass of red hair were the only signs that she was not a boy, for her movements were robust and masculine, her skin ruddy and tanned and she wore a coat that was almost comically oversized, made of a brown, crudely woven material. She took three steps into the clearing, throwing her shoulders back and her head high as if to defy her smallness, then she stopped and stared at Sylas, looking him up and down.

      Her narrow face bore a bold expression, but the way she carried her elfin body betrayed her caution: her knees were bent as though poised to run and she held her grimy hands slightly out from her sides, ready to defend herself.

      Her eyes fell on the bracelet around his wrist and suddenly her eyes met his. Sylas saw for the first time that beneath the streaks of mud on her cheeks she had a pleasant, even pretty face, with lively, smiling hazel eyes.

      “Who are you?” She had a husky voice and a rich accent.

      He was almost surprised at the question. He had become accustomed to everyone seeming to know more than him, and he had assumed that the girl would be no exception.

      “I’m Sylas,” he replied, “Sylas Tate.”

      She said nothing, as though she expected him to say more.

      “And you?” he asked.

      “I’m Simia,” she said. There was a brief silence, and she shifted her weight from one foot to the other and played nervously with a stray lock of her fiery hair.

      “Are you… a Bringer?”

      “A what?”

      She cleared her throat and repeated herself more loudly: “A Bringer.”

      He was baffled. “No,” he said, “I’m not.”

      The girl frowned and nodded towards his wrist. “So what’s that?”

      He looked down at the silver and gold bracelet. “If I’m honest, I don’t know what it is,” he shrugged. “It was given to me.”

      “Given to you?” said the girl, in a tone of disbelief. She narrowed her eyes as though to detect a lie. “But you are from the Other, aren’t you?” she probed.

      “The other what?”

      Simia exhaled loudly, sending out a cloud of mist, and looked around her. “The Other. You’re from the Other, aren’t you?”

      Sylas shook his head despairingly. “I’m from Gabblety Row. In town,” he said, deciding that any kind of answer would be less irritating than another question.

      “Gabbity-what? There’s no Gabbity-whatever in town,” she replied suspiciously. She eyed him for a few moments, staring into his friendly, open face. “Listen. We haven’t got time for games. Just tell me this: did you come from the bell?” She pointed to the vast golden teardrop that loomed above them. “Did that bring you here?”

      Sylas gave her a cool look that told her straight away that he was not playing games. He was not aware of having been brought anywhere, but her questions made him start to wonder. He looked around. He was in a forest as he was last night, but it was strangely cold and the trees were bare, as though it was winter. Then he remembered how Espen had talked about escaping to the bell, as if it would take him somewhere safe. Finally he looked at this oddly dressed girl with her strange accent and nonsensical questions. Perhaps this really was somewhere... else.

      “I guess so,” he said, without conviction.

      “You… guess so,” said Simia, putting her hands on her hips. She gave Sylas a long, steady look, then began to laugh. It was a light, cheery giggle and Sylas found himself smiling with her.

      “Well, I guess that’ll have to do,” she said. Her face straightened. “If you are from the Other, and you did come through by the Passing Bell, you really need to get out of here.”

      “Suits me,” said Sylas. Then he added, almost to himself: “I’ve got to start looking for—”

      “Forget looking for anything!” said Simia incredulously. “You need to—”

      “I need to find my mother,” said Sylas firmly. “That’s why I’m here. Well, at least that’s—”

      “Whatever... right now all you need to worry about is what they’ll do when they know you’re here.”

      “They?” repeated Sylas.

      Simia let out a sigh of exasperation. “You really don’t know anything…”

      She stopped mid-sentence. Sylas was staring past her towards the bell. She turned and saw in an instant what he was looking at: the bell was moving. They both instinctively took a step backwards as its huge mass tilted slightly and then began to sink very slowly towards the ground.

      “What’s happening?” asked Sylas in a whisper.

      “It’s leaving.”

      The rim had reached the highest of the broken branches and Sylas expected to hear them splintering and cracking under its weight, but there was no sound. It continued to sink towards the earth, its great form moving through the tangle of wood as if the branches were made of air. The mist in the clearing rolled away sluggishly towards the trees. The bell reached the point at which it should have struck the frost-hardened ground, yet it continued to sink out of view, into the earth itself. The only sign that it had made contact was a very low, almost inaudible chime. Soon its base had entirely disappeared and the runes had reached the level of the broken limbs. Sylas watched the beautiful symbols gradually sinking from view.

      Before long, half of the massive metal structure was embedded in the ground and he could clearly see the ring as it slowly descended from its place above the treetops. The deep chime was fading now, and it became less and less audible with every passing second. As the top of the bell drew level with his eyes, he glanced over at Simia. She too was watching, leaning back against a stump with one hand shoved deep into her pocket and the other twirling a lock of her hair. When he looked back, the bell had almost completely disappeared. Finally the last glimpse of bright metal slipped out of sight, the last strains of the chime died away and the clearing was once again shrouded in absolute silence.

      Sylas looked hard at the place where it had disappeared, but there was no sign of the bell: branches still lay strewn across the ground and even the mist was now drifting slowly back into the clearing. It was as though it had simply melted away.

      “Well,” said Simia with a tone of finality, “looks like you’re here to stay.” She tucked her unruly hair behind her ears. “Now follow me.”

      She gathered the great folds of her coat about her, tied them tightly round her middle with a rope belt and darted off through the undergrowth.

      “Follow you where?” Sylas shouted after her.

      She stopped on the fringe of the forest and looked over her shoulder. “Somewhere safe.”

      “But I don’t even know who you are!”

      “I’m one of the Suhl,” she said. “And I’m all you’ve got.”

      She dashed into the undergrowth.

      Sylas looked back at the place where the bell had disappeared and saw only a dank wasteland of broken trees disappearing into grey mist. Without the golden light from the bell, the surrounding forest looked darker and more threatening than ever. Not even a ray of sunlight penetrated the blanket of cloud above. He had no idea why he was here, what was happening or what to do about his mother, but there was no going back now. He turned and ran after Simia.

      Despite her size, she moved at great speed and Sylas found it difficult

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