<html> <body> As promised, my next Metamor Keep story begins!  This story precedes "Healing Wounds in Arabarb" in the chronology. Some of the lines come from Edgar Allen Poe.  You have been warned. Inchoate Carillion, Inconstant Cuckold By Charles Matthias February 22, 708 CR Hear the tolling of the bells - James sat upright, yanking a few hairs from his tail tuft as it caught beneath a hoof. The lumpy feather mattress shifted beneath him. He blinked open his eyes, his hide slick with sweat, and saw nothing. The air had the suggestion of warmth, a warmth now fading, failing in its fight with the wintry chill blowing past his window and rattling his shutters. Long ears turned to listen, scanning for any other noises... any voices. Only the wind answered him. James took a deep breath. His sheets were wrapped around his legs. He reached down to straighten them and realized that his quilts were missing. Why was he sweating? The donkey bent over and felt along his right but met only wooden planks. Turning to his left his searching fingers stumbled into the rumpled mass of tossed quilt. He chuckled softly to himself, as if that would banish the unsettled fear dancing along his spine. He must have been having a bad dream and, tossing and turning, knocked his quilts on the floor. The sound of it landing on the floor must have woken him. The shutters slammed and rattled the panes of glass. And just how would he have heard the quilt falling over that? James chided himself for such foolishness. Obviously the rattling of the windows had woken him and the quilt had been tossed sometime earlier in the night. But why was he sweating? He ground his flat teeth together in irritation at the pestering questions, snatched one corner of the quilt, and yanked it back onto the bed. It took him several minutes to straighten his sheets and get the quilt back in place. There was a lamp on the small wooden table next to the right of his head and he knew it had a measure of oil. But he didn’t want to light it. This room was his and had been his at The Mountain Hearth Inn for a little over a year, ever since he’d first followed the rat Charles Matthias to Glen Avery. At the time he didn’t know why he’d followed him; not that he had anything left to lose, but he’d never before left the Keep except to go on his annual patrol. He’d quickly secured lodgings in the Inn in exchange for work, and this room on the upper floor with a view of the clearing was what Jurmas the Innkeeper had given him. Even in his long absence on their journey to Marzac the deer had kept his room clean and ready for him. It was his room and he knew that he was alone. He would not turn on the light to chase away imaginary fiends. As if in answer to his resolve the wind howled and shook the shutters like a beast rattling a cage. James folded back his ears, flecked his lips, and with a shake managed to get the quilt across his bed. Slowly, he lowered back down until his head rested on the pillow and closed his eyes, nostrils flaring once. ---------- In the startled ear of night how they scream out their affright! James popped his eyes open and gasped. He snapped his head back and forth, listening. The wind had died away leaving him with nothing to contend against. One room over he heard the snoring of a traveller. In and out, an intake that gargled, and an exhalation that carried a faint squeal. The boar merchant he’d served earlier that evening. Jurmas must have given him the room next door. James felt his quilt and was grateful to find it still on the bed. But his hide was still slick with sweat. The donkey slid his legs out from beneath the quilt and gently set his hooves on the wood below. He stood and stretched, muscles used to sleeping on grass and mounds of dirt still seemingly unused to the comforts of civilization aching sullenly. The air in his room was cool but not cold. He blinked his eyes but could see nothing. He let his arms fall to his sides, and his blunt fingertips felt the brand on his left thigh. He trembled and gingerly stroked across the edges of the seared flesh. The pattern felt like a twisted cord of thorns. The Marquis had given him that through the hand of Lindsey his friend. Though the Marquis was dead, the scar would remain for life. Branded like an animal. James flecked his lips and ground his teeth together, long tail whipping back and forth. The sweat dripped from his hide and he wanted to roll around in the dirt. He turned to the windows and carefully made his way around his bed. He kicked his store chest and swore to himself as he rubbed his shin. The pain subsided almost immediately and he continued on round, feeling at the wall until he reached the window. The latch fell under his hands and he flicked it open. A gust of cold air poured through the shutters. James stood before it and savoured the chill, caressing every strand of fibre growing from his chest and flanks. The wind still blew, but gently, sighing in and out like the ponderous swinging of a massive bell in its belfry. The image seemed apt, and with each swing he heard the boar snore in and out. He closed his eyes and though the world grew no darker, he felt as if he could see beyond all the trees and all the miles to Metamor herself. There, in the massive belfry where first he’d glimpsed their enemy, the carillons throbbed with an energy he’d touched once. He shuddered and shook his head to clear it of the image. Feeling cold at last, he closed the window, latched it, and stumbled back to his bed. He laid down listening to the boar and tried not to think of bells. ---------- Yet the ear, it fully knows, by the twanging, and the clanging... James kicked the covers off his bed and gasped heavily, glancing to the right and the left in the impenetrable darkness of a Glen night. The darkness felt even more oppressive, like a tangible thing breathing with each susurration of the wind. The shutters clanged again, the hinges squeaking with the tintinnabulation of a thousand silver bells. He grabbed his ears and shook his head violently. The boar snored still, and it seemed so loud that he felt sure the merchant was in the room with him. Something was. James steadied himself and reached for the chest at the end of the bed. This time he found it without injury and lifted the lid slowly. He reached within, and for half a moment, he fancied himself grasping the handle of a bucket-sized bell. Instead he grasped his sword and once the familiar wight of metal was in his hand, eased himself back onto the bed. His ears pressed against the headboard, as the rattling caress of wind and the gasping snores of the boar echoed around him. His breath, chest sweaty, resounded. The darkness around him shifted in his bleary eyes. He shifted the sword to his left hand and search the small table at his right for the lantern. In his haste he nearly knocked it to the floor, but caught the handle just as it started to roll away. He righted it, opened the receptacle, and waited listening. Beneath the wine and the boar, was that his own breath he heard, vast and regular like the sonorous throb of a massive iron bell? He found the tinder much easier, and drawing out the wick, he struck five times before a little spark caught on the end. Gingerly, he straightened the wick, as the oil caught flame and brought his room into soft light. With a last gasp he shut the receptacle and turned back, throwing light everywhere. Nothing. His room was empty. James crouched on his bed, tail pressed into the pillow, hooves digging into the sheet, with one hand gripping his sword and the other his lantern. He scanned the room from one dust-filled corner to the other. Though he saw nothing, he could not shake the feeling that something was there with him. Was it invisible? How would he know? He couldn’t smell anything unusual, and what noises he heard were confusing. If only that boar would stop snoring and the wind stop roaring! In the silence of the night... James jumped from the bed, swung his sword in broad arcs every which way, and then slipped it beneath one arm long enough to lift the latch to his door and stumble out, modest only because of the short linens gripping his waist and thighs. He pulled the door shut and raced down the hall, the wooden floor groaning and protesting in sharp retorts at each frightened fall of a hoof. He took the steps three at a time, rounded the bend, and vaulted down the last five before forcing himself to come to a stop in the Winter Hearth’s common room. Even at this time of night it was still light enough for a visitor to see by. A small cord near the entranceway would ring for assistance to that weary traveller arriving after all had retired for the night. The donkey gave it a firm yank, and the silver jingling at the other end caught his breath. He felt the fear melt from his flesh and he managed to sit down at one of the row tables, sword resting on his knees and lantern dangling from his hand. He blinked, trying to comprehend just what it was that had frightened him so badly. There’d been something in his room. Perhaps it had just been a nightmare. But what a nightmare to make him run down here in the middle of the night without any clothes on. He was freezing! The deer Innkeeper, Jurmas Sapere, emerged from a door just behind the long counter and blinked weary eyes, carrying a small candle in his right hand. His ears flicked to the side when he caught sight of him. “James? Is that you?” “Aye, Master Jurmas. Forgive me for drawing the cord,” he stammered. “I was still dreaming I think.” Jurmas had a woolen robe drawn about his shoulders. The he pulled tighter with his left hand while he nudged the door closed with one hoof. “Well, you’ve got me up now; the scouts will be coming for breakfast in another two hours so I may as well stay up with you.” He crossed the hall and sat down on the table next to his. “I take it that was you that made that terrific racket?” James nodded, lowering his ears, chagrined. “I’m so sorry. I had this horrible nightmare that there was something in my room with me. I couldn’t see it but it was there, stalking me.” Jurmas set his candle on the table and scratched at one of the velvety antler stubs growing from his brow. “I’ve had a few nightmares in my day. We all have. I’m having a few more now that Kinslee is expecting fawns. Twins and deer both! Just like the Avery boys and Master Charles’s children. Due next month too. I’ve had quite a few sleepless nights this last year.” He laughed lightly, chestnut eyes looking past the donkey for a moment before returning to the donkey. “I cannot imagine what you saw down south. From what I’ve heard, I’m surprised you haven’t had nightmares before now.” He almost brayed at the suggestion. “Of course I have! But...” he frowned and crossed his arms. “But I haven’t felt them so strongly since Marzac was destroyed. I used to wake up with horrible shivers, especially in the swamps. You could hear them in your dreams, eating and slurping. I didn’t know what they were and prayed I’d never find out. But those were real. This is just a dream and yet...” he shook his head. “It was just a dream.” “Of course. Aren’t you cold? I know your hide isn’t as thick as mine and I’m already thinking of building a fire.” James glanced down at his near nakedness and felt a blush. “I should put something more on, aye. I’ll be back.” The deer rose with him, patted him in a friendly fashion on the shoulder, and then saw to the hearth. James climbed back up the stairs and down the corridor to his chambers. He felt a trepidation grow in his heart, and he clutched both sword and lantern tightly. Then chided himself for it. His friends worried enough about him being able to handle danger; he did not need to give them more reason to do so. James steeled himself and stepped into his room as calmly as he was able. The room was dark and as he flashed the lantern about he saw that it was empty as well. The boar had even stopped snoring. He set both sword and lantern aside as he searched through his clothes trunk for something presentable. He emerged a moment later with woolen tunic and breeches suited to the weather, and a buckler and scabbard for his blade. The lantern he extinguished and left on his bedside. He shut the door quietly on his way out. It was time to help Jurmas ready the Inn for the morning patrons. ---------- His duties for the Inn occupied him past mid-morning but not quite to noon. James left the Winter’s Hearth Inn to attend to some of his own chores before checking in with Charles and Kimberly to see if there was anything they needed. If not, he would seek out Master Angus for more scout training. His time traveling with Charles, Lindsey, and the rest had greatly improved his skills and given him the confidence that one day he’d be a competent swordsman, but he still knew in his heart that they only spoke kindly of his abilities so he wouldn’t feel as bad as he ought. That he would amend. A few days past he’d taken some of his equipment to the blacksmith’s for repairs and so while walking south past the Blaylock’s little store nestled against the tree and rocky hill that dominated the western edge of the Glen clearing, he decided to check on their progress. He started on the path down to the lake which had been freshly cleared of snow and turned down a narrower side path also cleaned of snow. This wound along a steady well-beaten track wide enough for two horses abreast, past several homes both in the branches above and in the roots below, until it reached the wide stream coming out of the mountains. The smithy doubled as mill though the waterwheel remained frozen in ice still. The front windows to the smithy were opened to allow the cooler air in, but the doors were shut. The repeated blow of hammer on metal echoed in his ears but did not make him wince. The clanging had a sonorous tone that lifted his hooves off the frozen crust of earth as he approached. James reached the door and drew it outward with a nervousness he knew he shouldn’t feel. The front room featured several large anvils around which Malloc the blacksmith and his four apprentices hammered away. A brick firepit in the centre held yellow-hot coals. Most of the apprentices were like Malloc, permanently stuck at that uncertain age before they attained their manly growth but now strongly muscled like he after a couple of years swinging a hammer. The most imposing of all in the room was neither apprentice nor blacksmith, but Malloc’s wife Emily. She suffered the beastly curse, and what a beast she had become! Over twenty hands in height, the tip of the long, gray horn on her nose threatened twenty-one, while her girth and leathery-skin made her easily the size of any three of the boys. Long tufted ears lifted when James opened the door, and her hearty voice rang clear over the hammering. “Master James! What can we do for you?” He stammered for a moment as his eyes glanced past Emily who approached with a stained apron and a poker in one gray hand. Charles had told him that her species was often seen in the Kitchland Steppes far to the south, and was known as a rhino. The apprentices all looked up but just as quickly returned to their tasks. Malloc kept a firm eye on them as he worked over something blocked by his wife’s bulk. Whatever it was rang almost hypnotically. “Oh... hi... uh, I just came over, Emily, to uh... see... what is he... to see if my... working on...” He shook his head, long ears folding back against his neck and mane. “I brought some equipment here for repairs. Is it done?” Emily honked a laugh and turned her long head back toward her husband while stirring the coals with the poker. “Malloc, did you finish James’s repairs?” The blacksmith nodded, mop of sweaty hair bouncing back and forth across his ears. “Yeah, finished that up last night. Except for the ice shoes. Those are going to take me another day or two.” He swung his hammer again and a heavy sonority trembled the donkey’s flesh. He then gestured toward a set of shelves in the back. “The rest of it’s ready to go. You can pay when I finish the rest. You’re good for it.” “I’ll fetch that for you,” Emily offered. She set the poker aside while James waited. His eyes ever stayed on Malloc though, and when the rhino moved out of the way he finally saw what the youthful master was crafting. Perhaps two hands across in each direction and dark like iron with a crack running up one edge to the nape was a bell. With careful strokes Malloc was hammering the crack to keep it from growing further. Each swing made the bell resound with the most resonant of gongs. James stumbled on his hooves until he was nearly upon the blacksmith. The words gurgled out of his throat. “What... what are you doing?” Malloc set the hammer aside and put his hands on his hips, glaring at the bell and the crack through its middle. “Trying to repair this bell for one of the watches. I don’t think it’s going to be fixed though. This crack is just too stubborn. Going to have to make a new one I’m afraid.” James didn’t know why he said what he said, but he’d never felt such a simple need as this. “Could I try?” Malloc looked up, brown eyes bewildered. “Try what?” Emily returned with a satchel in one hand but stopped short and said nothing. James gestured at the bell and had to keep his hands from reaching out to stroke its still hot surface. “Could I try to fix it?” Malloc snorted. “You ever work in a smithy before?” He shook his head. The blacksmith shrugged his shoulders. “Why not? It’s nothing but scrap anyway. Sure, take a few swings.” Malloc stepped back and let the donkey approach. All of his apprentices cast surreptitious glances while they worked. Emily set James’s things down by the door and returned to inspecting the fire. James rubbed his hands together, eyes filled by the broken bell. He grabbed the hammer and rolled it around in his fingers for a moment, lifted it high, and in a smooth swing brought it down solid on the edge of the crack. The room thrummed with the monody. Malloc’s jaw dropped for a moment, and then he nodded, clearly impressed. “Well, I’ll say. That was exactly the right spot. You sure you don’t want to apprentice with me? I’ll build your muscles up a lot faster than that buck can!” James swung the hammer again and let his ears twist through the waves of sound like oars through a lake. The noise faded so quickly, yet he felt transported into the bosom of the palpitating air. How a moment could be so endless and yet so brief staggered his mind. He turned to the blacksmith and gestured at the bell. “I’ll be happy if you just let me have the bell. I’ll pay.” Malloc laughed and slapped one knee. “You’ll pay? You’re doing the work for me! If you want the bell, you can have it. Even if I did fix that crack I’d be making another one for the watchers in a year anyway.” He gestured to his wife the rhino and the firepit. “You’ll want to heat it back up again or you’ll crack it even worse.” James slipped the heavy gloves on and grasping the tongs, carried the bell to the firepit and set the crack down into coals and listened to the moaning and the groaning of the bell. He didn’t know why, and he couldn’t even put it into words again, but as he caressed the sombre notes with his ears, he knew that so long as he held this bell he’d need never fear the nightmares again. Nevermore. ---------- May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love, Charles Matthias !DSPAM:4e62d84d183191226415657! </body> </html>