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:)

Chapter II

An explosion of white light shook Sam's room as he touched the eighth bell, too afraid to release his grip. For a moment, he had felt a man standing behind him, watching his every movement. But when he turned, expecting to see another set of eyes staring back at him, there was nothing.

Almost immediately, Sam pulled his focus towards the bell, as Charter marks flowed through his hand and into the cold metal. He stopped for a moment to combine the rosemary and amaranth with many unknown Charter marks, of which he had never seen before. But he felt as if he had known and used the marks all of his life-and beyond.

Before he had time to contemplate, the herbs' odor was suddenly enhanced, filling the room, and flowing through Sam's lungs. It's scent begged for something, a thirst that had not been quenched. He was drawn towards the smell, enveloped in its magical fragrance, and suddenly felt a sharp pang of sadness impaling his heart. Before he knew what was happening, he was knelt over the bell in a spasm of tears, trying to subside the intense sorrow felt within. Images flashed before his eyes, reminding him of melancholy times in his past, freeing another sea of tears.

Suddenly, he collapsed to the floor as the grief abruptly ceased and the images had disappeared. The distinct fragrance of rosemary and amaranth still hung in the air, but the actual herbs had infused within the bell. Sam stood slowly, and stared in awe at what he had created.

The eighth bell sat quietly on the edge of his bed, begging him to ring it. Sam resisted, but touched the handle, freeing the name within.

"Dasion," it whispered, speaking to Sam in a distant voice of truth. He touched the metal and felt a drop of water fall from the handle. Sam's tears were also infused within the bell, he realized.

Lifting it carefully, making sure that its voice was muted, he heard several footsteps pounding up the stairs and into his room.

"Sameth!" he heard his father yell. Sabriel and Touchstone stood in his doorway, staring at Sam with cold and angry eyes filled with rage.

"Sam," Sabriel said and placed a cold hand on his shoulder. He looked at her and realized that he had done something wrong, something terrible, perhaps. Suddenly, he noticed why his mother was upset. For on her bell bandolier, there was an empty eighth pouch. "Can you explain this?" she asked and touched the leather pocket.

Sam remained silent.

"Speak!" Touchstone boomed. Sam was still silent, mostly from fear.

"I'm sorry, son," said Sabriel suddenly growing quiet, noticing the tears in his eyes. "We haven't been around that often. But you are still my son, and I know when you are hiding something from me." Touchstone's rage had quieted as well, and he sniffed the air detecting the odor of rosemary and amaranth.

"Mother," Sam whispered. "I've been having dreams. Astarael came to me and pulled my spirit into death..."

"The Weeper?"

"She told me to...to craft the..." his voice had faltered.

"Sameth, what have you done?"

"Dasion," Sam whispered to himself. "I have crafted the eighth bell."

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