The Bell Between Worlds. Ian Johnstone

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СКАЧАТЬ 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!”

      He thought about Espen and the beast fighting behind him. He tried to picture his new friend crushing the dog СКАЧАТЬ