Free The Bell Between Worlds by Ian Johnstone Page A

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.

8
Passing
    “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