Free The Bell Between Worlds by Ian Johnstone Page B

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