Most of the below is credited towards the outstanding author, Garth Nix, and his Old Kingdom Trilogy, except for a few new things. I apologize if any of the facts are incorrect, or if any names are misspelled. Garth Nix rocks:)
Please read and review! Thanks!
The Eighth Bell
Chapter I
Deep within the terrible labyrinths of the shadowy forest, cloaked within the black night air, Sameth stood with a stillness only achieved by those who've been petrified by fear. His eyes strained in the darkness to see what was silently approaching ahead, tiptoeing through the tall grass, with a graceful stealth and an aura darker than the night.
There was a young woman gliding across the forest floor, quietly walking towards Sam. She cast a golden light over her head, and he caught a glimpse of who--or what--she was.
She stood tall and thin, draped in white clothing, with long, midnight hair framing her pallid face. Although her features were hard, her eyes remained soft and blue.
"Prince Sameth," she cried, with alarming urgency. Her voice shook through his body, rendering him helpless. "You shall call me Nioma, although my real name cannot be uttered in these woods. Please, help me," she howled. The trees trembled, and the ground shook. Her face was no more than a few deadly inches away from his ghastly pale countenance, contorted into a look of absolute fear. For a brief moment, he had detected the faint odor of amaranth and rosemary in the air. "Please, help me, Sameth. There is no one else left who can. You must help me. Please." This time, she whispered, and a single tear fell from her sad eyes.
Nioma took his hands in hers. "Wallmaker...you're the only who can help me," she wailed. Suddenly, the forest flashed white, and she was gone--disappeared. At least, until Sam fell back to sleep.
He woke up in a sweat, and turned on all the lights, even though it was almost noontime. "Just a dream..." he mumbled to himself before lying back down. He had been having the same nightmare for a week, now. Paying no heed to the dreams, Sam rubbed his tired eyes.
Suddenly, Ellimere barged through the door. "Ooo, good, you're awake. Well, that's a surprise...Anyways, you're going to miss lunch as well as breakfast if you don't get dressed, right away."
"What's the hurry?" he muttered.
"Mother and Father have just arrived, silly. I told you that they were coming last night!" Sam's face brightened, as Ellimere left and ran down to the dining hall to greet them. Sam got dressed as quickly as he could and rushed down the stairs, sprinting into the dining room.
"Sam!" Sabriel and Touchstone exclaimed, embracing him.
Suddenly, his elation was interrupted. Standing quietly behind them, a tall figure with long, black hair had appeared. Nioma had arrived. "Sam...what is it? What's wrong?" asked Sabriel, noticing his troubled appearance.
"Nothing," he mumbled, just as Nioma disappeared once again. Was he still dreaming? No, he couldn't be. His mother's touch was real.
"Well, then. Let us feast!" Sabriel said and smiled. Sam knew that he shouldn't keep anything from his parents, but Nioma was nothing but an illusion. He was just seeing things.
The next night, when Prince Sameth drifted off to sleep, he saw Nioma again. But this time, they were standing in an endless gray river, the river of Death, in the eighth precinct. He saw her shape, surrounded by mist, carrying a man in her fragile arms. She fell to her knees in front of Sam, and kissed the man's pale cheek.
"Sameth," she wailed, as her tears fell gently into the river. "Please, help me!" The man in her arms lifted his head. "You are the only one, Sameth. Please!" He smelled the strong odor of amaranth and rosemary on her breath once again, and knew at once who he was talking to.
"Astarael," Sam whispered, and added, "the weeper."
"No!" she shrieked. "Not by that name! I told you not to!" The man in her arms suddenly stroked her face and her rage had subsided. "Sam...please help me. Please, you must! Come closer and I will tell you what to do."
He felt the pull of the river beg him to lie down, but he resisted.
"You must craft the eighth bell, Sam. For his sake," she wept and looked down at the man in her arms. "You will know what to do," she said, and handed him a new bell, one a bit larger and much heavier than the seventh, but it was devoid of charter marks and crafted with little skill. "With this, you will know what to do. Go, Sam. And please, help me. For our sake," she cried as he awoke with a jolt. When he sat up, he realized that the bell was sitting on the edge of his bed, beside a pile of amaranth and rosemary.
His hands trembled as he reached for the handle.
Please read and review! Thanks!
The Eighth Bell
Chapter I
Deep within the terrible labyrinths of the shadowy forest, cloaked within the black night air, Sameth stood with a stillness only achieved by those who've been petrified by fear. His eyes strained in the darkness to see what was silently approaching ahead, tiptoeing through the tall grass, with a graceful stealth and an aura darker than the night.
There was a young woman gliding across the forest floor, quietly walking towards Sam. She cast a golden light over her head, and he caught a glimpse of who--or what--she was.
She stood tall and thin, draped in white clothing, with long, midnight hair framing her pallid face. Although her features were hard, her eyes remained soft and blue.
"Prince Sameth," she cried, with alarming urgency. Her voice shook through his body, rendering him helpless. "You shall call me Nioma, although my real name cannot be uttered in these woods. Please, help me," she howled. The trees trembled, and the ground shook. Her face was no more than a few deadly inches away from his ghastly pale countenance, contorted into a look of absolute fear. For a brief moment, he had detected the faint odor of amaranth and rosemary in the air. "Please, help me, Sameth. There is no one else left who can. You must help me. Please." This time, she whispered, and a single tear fell from her sad eyes.
Nioma took his hands in hers. "Wallmaker...you're the only who can help me," she wailed. Suddenly, the forest flashed white, and she was gone--disappeared. At least, until Sam fell back to sleep.
He woke up in a sweat, and turned on all the lights, even though it was almost noontime. "Just a dream..." he mumbled to himself before lying back down. He had been having the same nightmare for a week, now. Paying no heed to the dreams, Sam rubbed his tired eyes.
Suddenly, Ellimere barged through the door. "Ooo, good, you're awake. Well, that's a surprise...Anyways, you're going to miss lunch as well as breakfast if you don't get dressed, right away."
"What's the hurry?" he muttered.
"Mother and Father have just arrived, silly. I told you that they were coming last night!" Sam's face brightened, as Ellimere left and ran down to the dining hall to greet them. Sam got dressed as quickly as he could and rushed down the stairs, sprinting into the dining room.
"Sam!" Sabriel and Touchstone exclaimed, embracing him.
Suddenly, his elation was interrupted. Standing quietly behind them, a tall figure with long, black hair had appeared. Nioma had arrived. "Sam...what is it? What's wrong?" asked Sabriel, noticing his troubled appearance.
"Nothing," he mumbled, just as Nioma disappeared once again. Was he still dreaming? No, he couldn't be. His mother's touch was real.
"Well, then. Let us feast!" Sabriel said and smiled. Sam knew that he shouldn't keep anything from his parents, but Nioma was nothing but an illusion. He was just seeing things.
The next night, when Prince Sameth drifted off to sleep, he saw Nioma again. But this time, they were standing in an endless gray river, the river of Death, in the eighth precinct. He saw her shape, surrounded by mist, carrying a man in her fragile arms. She fell to her knees in front of Sam, and kissed the man's pale cheek.
"Sameth," she wailed, as her tears fell gently into the river. "Please, help me!" The man in her arms lifted his head. "You are the only one, Sameth. Please!" He smelled the strong odor of amaranth and rosemary on her breath once again, and knew at once who he was talking to.
"Astarael," Sam whispered, and added, "the weeper."
"No!" she shrieked. "Not by that name! I told you not to!" The man in her arms suddenly stroked her face and her rage had subsided. "Sam...please help me. Please, you must! Come closer and I will tell you what to do."
He felt the pull of the river beg him to lie down, but he resisted.
"You must craft the eighth bell, Sam. For his sake," she wept and looked down at the man in her arms. "You will know what to do," she said, and handed him a new bell, one a bit larger and much heavier than the seventh, but it was devoid of charter marks and crafted with little skill. "With this, you will know what to do. Go, Sam. And please, help me. For our sake," she cried as he awoke with a jolt. When he sat up, he realized that the bell was sitting on the edge of his bed, beside a pile of amaranth and rosemary.
His hands trembled as he reached for the handle.