Chapter 2: The Beckoning Bell

With the First Flame came the Great Souls. The first lords claimed these souls for themselves. The ancestors of man, however, spread their dark soul in tiny fragments among their children. Yearning for echoes in the dark, the part pursues the whole.

. . . . . . . . . .

Erec knew that if he wished to improve himself, there was only one word of advice to follow, "Seek misery." Through suffering was the soul strengthened. Through the pursuit of adversity were champions made. And so, Erec did something he had never done before: he volunteered.

"Have you lost your mind?" Erec's superior said. "You? On the river guard?"

The river guard was the most dangerous posting in Shulva. On his usual patrol, Erec sometimes came into conflict with overgrown rats or insects as well as the odd thief, but the river patrol was a different beast altogether. Water was a necessity to all things that lived, and the deeper one went, the more twisted that life would become. Erec would find himself contenting with poisonous reptiles, petrifying basilisks, and man-eating worms. All these considerable dangers paled, however, in comparison to the gravest threat.

"I know the risks," Erec said, "but facing them is the only way to prove my worth."

"And if your worth is proven to be beast fodder?" the officer retorted.

Erec shrugged.

"At least I won't be left to wonder," he said.

"Well," the officer said, "perhaps you'll save some better man from being drafted. I'll make a transfer request."

"Thank you," Erec, making the rare choice to ignore the slight, said.

"You'll have to wait for a position to go vacant," the officer said, "but I wouldn't expect an overdrawn wait. The imperfect rarely go on empty stomachs."

Imperfect. Such were the monsters named for they failed to match any fuller nomenclature. Slimy, dark scaled, two legged creatures, they loosely resembled short-tailed toads. Speculation circled that they held vague kinship to dragons, a relationship which led to some confusion about whether they were to be considered sacred or grossly blasphemous. The hideous things possessed neither front legs nor eyes, and those who survived encounters with them even swore that dark dwelled within the beasts. Indeed, in comparison to any other creatures, the imperfect were defined by what they lacked, and they were known to leave men just as lacking in limb and life. The mere mention of them sent a quiver through Erec's stomach. Not a week passed before he was summoned to their riverbank haunts.

When Erec reported to the armory that morning, he was met with a set of stone cold stares. As he glanced from hardened face to hardened face, he recognized an abundance of scars, bruises, and eye patches. Without a word, most of them turned their hardened eyes back to their equipment.

"You're the new guy?" someone finally said.

"Uh, yes," Erec said. "Erec from the city patrol. I was told that–"

"You're with the bowmen," the other guardsman said.

He took a heavy crossbow and a quiver of bolts from the wall and handed them to Erec.

"You know your way around a crossbow?" he said.

"I'd call myself a decent shot," Erec said.

"Draw it back," the guardsman said.

"Excuse me?" Erec said.

"Just pull the string," the guardsman said.

In compliance, Erec took hold of the bowstring in his left hand and snatched it back. The string hardly budged. Erec made a second, more prolonged effort. The results were the same. The guardsman sighed from his nose. Erec swapped his grip to the right hand and grunted as he struggled for little more progress.

"Get the other one," the guardsman said to another.

"Wait, I almost have it," Erec said.

Pressing the stock against his leg, Erec grabbed the bowstring with both hands and pulled with all his might. Slowly, the string inched back until it clicked into place.

"There," Erec said between heavy breaths.

The guardsman pushed a lighter crossbow into Erec's trembling arms.

"We keep this one for training purposes," he said.

Erec pulled its string into place with only his right hand.

"It's not much good against the big ones," the guardsman continued, "but your chances are better with it right now. If it gets you through the day, take the other home and practice stringing it until it's second nature."

"Yes, sir," Erec said quietly.

"Come on," the guardsman said. "Guard's changing. Time you met the commander."

Erec slung the crossbow over his shoulder and fell into formation. He followed his guide from the armory to a watchtower with a large elevator. Their leader pressed an engraved, square switch into the wall, the stone slab beneath their feet shifted, and they descended to the bottom of the city's chasm.

At the exit of the elevator tower, they marched down a set of wide stairs. At their base, the guard company coming off duty waited in formation. The form of their line was roughened by the limp of the injured, some of whom were propped on the shoulders of the more able-bodied men. Already, several of them had been wrapped with bandages, and blood stained their deep grey armor from within or without. The company leaders saluted each other.

"Must be a full moon tonight," the leader of the retiring company said. "The beasts have been active."

Erec's company marched on. As they passed the injured, Erec noticed several of them turning their muddy faces to follow him. Doubtless, they recognized the smaller crossbow on his back. Though Erec tried not to meet their gazes, he gathered a sentiment of combined sympathy and disdain from their bruised eyes. He pulled the cloth about his neck, intended to prevent the inhalation of poisons, over his nose.

They continued their march past the end of the walkway and came along the bank of the river. Erec's boots pressed into the mud with a squish as he marched. The experienced guardsmen moved to their positions on the bank, and Erec's guide signaled for him to follow. As Erec stepped out from the ranks, he beheld the knight commander.

Even at a distance, Erec recognized him to be a huge man, often a signifier of a powerful soul. In contrast to the dark and dull colors worn by the guardsmen, the knight's thick armor, which contributed to his sizable presence, was coated with a brass sheen. A black, scale patterned cape hung from his back as he stood arms crossed beside an alarm bell posted into the bank and gazed across the river. As they drew closer, Erec surmised that, even discounting the crest arched over his open-faced helm, the man was double his height.

"Knight Commander," the guardsman said, "the fresh bait has arrived."

The knight turned and gave Erec, who had lowered his mask, a good look over.

"So I see," he said. "I'll take him from here."

The knight's voice was deep enough that Erec felt it as much as he heard it. The guardsman saluted and left for his post. Erec stood firmly at attention. The knight swayed to face him and nodded slightly.

"What may I call you, young man?" the knight said.

"Erec, sir," he answered.

"Erec," the knight said, "I am Sir Velstadt, knight commander."

In addition to its force, Velstadt's voice exuded a certain warmth, like the roar of a bonfire from a pit. He extended his hand. Erec took it, though he knew he looked like a mere child doing so.

"A pleasure to make thine acquaintance," Velstadt said.

"The pleasure is mine, sir," Erec said.

"I was told we were receiving a volunteer," Velstadt said. "Tell me, what madness compelled thee to our river banks?"

"Well, sir," Erec said, "It is my wish to prove myself that I may one day join the sanctum knights."

Velstadt raised the brow over one of his brazen eyes.

"You aim to guard the sanctum?" he said. "A noble end, but what drives thee toward it? Faith? Admiration? Family?"

` "Well, I–" Erec said. "I suppose I have as much to prove to myself as I do to the order. I've never been a man of any renown, but…. It so happens that I am an acquaintance of one of the priestesses who was recently ordained, and, uh…."

Erec found himself caught in Velstadt's stare. The knight blinked once then doubled over in a wheeze. He threw his head back and laughed heartily.

"A tale as old as time," he cackled, "and another fool to tell it!"

Velstadt leaned against the bell post and, to Erec's surprise, tore it out of the soil with only one hand and slung it onto his shoulder.

"Come, young chum," he said. "Let me show you what you've done to yourself."

Velstadt hoisted the bell into the air and gave it a good shake. The troops all stood at attention.

"Form up!" Velstadt ordered.

The men obeyed.

"You'll be with the other bowmen," Velstadt said to Erec, "there, between the lancers and the infantry, but for now, walk with me."

He turned, planted his feet firmly, and tolled the bell once.

"Forward march!" he roared.

So did the patrol begin. Many lands are known for their trees and flora, for their oceans and lakes, for the peculiar slant at which the sun sets beyond their mountain ranges; Shulva was known for its stones. Within the cave walls, Erec occasionally picked out, at heights beyond man's reach or locations otherwise too dangerous to harvest, the black sheen of a deposit of metal-reinforcing titantite or shimmering quartz. More notable, however, were the stones high above. The astrologers often referred to the sky as the vault; in Shulva, the term carried a different meaning. The vault over the city was the ceiling of the gaping cave within which the dragon's resting place was nestled. Though some cracks crossed the ceiling and allowed a smattering of sunlight to pass into the chasm, most of the light emanated faintly from the deposits of brightstone lodged into the vault like stars above. Under a degree of both forms of light did Erec march.

The river was fed directly by one of the four white waterfalls that spilled down the cave walls, but the flow of the river itself ran surprisingly clear. Though that transparency was not a seasonal constant, on that day, the water was lucid enough for the flash of silver scaled fish to reach Erec's eyes. The sight led him to wonder about how the mysterious ways of nature had planted those creatures so far beneath the surface.

Underneath the places where water would naturally drip from the vault after heavy rains, several pointed stalagmites rose from the earth. Somewhere far above each of them, a mirror stalactite would point from the ceiling like a long fingertip reaching to touch its counterpart. More water trickled in shimmering waves down the pikes where the flow had carved grooves and spirals like prints into the stone fingers.

Water also ran in pathways of splintering streams between the stalagmites before feeding into the rivers. Beneath the shallow waters, Erec saw several rounded stones. He was tempted to stoop down and pick one up to run his fingers along the smooth surface, but he resisted the urge. In walking through an almost knee deep stream, Erec was greeted by a biting cold that took hold of his ankles and caused him to stumble. Velstadt took hold of his arm and pulled him through.

"You'll need new legs to walk down here," Velstadt said. "They come with time. Why don't we take this opportunity to practice?"

Velstadt led the company to a spot along the edge of the river waters where two stone lanterns stood parallel. Between them, the waters rippled over a sandbar which created a natural bridge between the banks.

"We lose as many men to the waters as we do to the creatures," Velstadt said. "Tread carefully."

Erec gulped and tensed his legs before he followed Velstadt into the rushing waters. He clenched his teeth to prevent them from chattering as the river passed just above his belt.

"Nothing better in the morning, is there, boy?" Velstadt said. "Cold waters are good for the soul; they make a man alive."

"They certainly d-do, sir," Erec said.

"Matter of fact," Velstadt said, "this calls a verse to mind. Men! Introduce this tadpole to our song."

Velstadt lifted his deep voice in a prolonged "Oh!" which the troop picked up in chorus. Together, they sang a marching tune.

"Now baptize me in the waters of the river.

Let it wash away the poison from my soul,

And if my soul is to depart along the river,

May there be enough of me to carry home."

"Learn it well, Tadpole," Velstadt said. "Twill be thy theme for as long as the river runs."

Climbing back onto the moist banks, the troop continued their march under a half-circle ridge through which Erec saw an open area like a shallow lake out of which numerous stalagmites rose.

"We call this place the Cove of Teeth," Velstadt said, "named as much for the rocks as the beasts. Be on your guard."

Erec was beginning to understand what Velstadt had meant by the phrase "what you've done to yourself." They marched through the ankle deep water, sending rippling waves far across its surface. Indeed, the spikes rose like rows of teeth around the troop. Between their narrow cracks, Erec thought he saw something move. His stomach leapt within him and compelled him to halt. Velstadt held up his hand to stop the rest and followed Erec's gaze.

"Anyone else see it?" Velstadt said.

"I saw something to the right, sir," one of the lancemen said after a pause.

Immediately, the bowmen drew their crossbows and strung them with heavy bolts. Erec followed suit, though the bolt appeared rather mismatched in his smaller crossbow.

"Watch the water," Velstadt whispered.

Erec fixed his gaze on the ripples pushing their way from his own feet toward the wall of jagged rocks. It was silent save that quiet sloshing and the distant rumble of the waterfall. The troop stood ready until the surface grew entirely still like a placid mirror.

"It's gone," Velstadt said at length. "As you were, arms drawn."

Velstadt tapped Erec's shoulder as they began to walk once more. Chillbumps remained on Erec's skin, and the silent air seemed much more empty than it had been. They marched out of the toothy waters and back to the riverbank. The roar of the river gradually filled the air once more. Erec never breathed a sigh of relief, but his skin did cease to tingle so much. As calm slowly found its way back to him, Erec looked again at the strange weapon (he assumed it was a weapon) propped upon the knight's shoulder. His curiosity peaked.

"Knight Commander," Erec said, "may I pose you a question?"

"I was beginning to wonder how long your restraint would last," Velstadt said with a smirk. "Go on."

"What manner of…tool is it that you carry?" he said.

Velstadt laughed. They were coming back to the river crossing.

"Why they all find it so strange, I cannot fathom," he said. "Are we not a city of songs, my friend? And this: this is my instrument!"

Velstadt twisted the heavy bell as he tossed it up, causing it to spin around and chime before he caught it again. Erec could not imagine possessing such strength. They prepared to ford the river again. Velstadt raised his voice, and they sang the song once more.

"Come on, Tadpole!" Velstadt said at the end of the verse. "Let us hear you croak! Oh!"

At that very moment, an earthquaking crash came from behind them. Erec spun around to see the hulking form of a black scaled beast. A film of water, slime, or both ran over its wide, slippery, eyeless head. There was no mistaking the creature. It was an imperfect. It opened its mouth, and from its huge tongue, there came a roar that seemed to rise and fizzle out just at its apex. It was somehow more unnerving for it.

"Oh shit!" Velstadt said in place of his intended verse. "Out of the water! Move!"

Velstadt grabbed Erec by the arm and pulled him along like a child while the other men waded with as much haste as the water would allow. The creature stomped into the water without any concern for keeping its footing on the sandbar. One of the lancemen slipped on the sandbar and only kept himself from falling off the path by digging the bottom of his shield into the mud. The bowman behind him grabbed him by the collar to pull him back to his feet. As the other guardsmen rushed past them, the imperfect lowered its flat head and charged.

Erec, having planted his feet on the muddy bank, turned around just in time to see the imperfect ram the bowman and lift its head with the force of a goring bull to send him flying through the air. The armored man cleared the entire river and, with a splat, landed on his back and slid, legs up, to Erec's feet. Erec wrapped his arms under the bowman's and dragged him further up the bank.

At the same time, Erec watched the imperfect raise up and open its maw above the lanceman. The stories Erec had heard did the monstrosity no justice. The gaping jaws of its humongous head, lined with disturbingly human, flat teeth, were large enough to consume a man whole even without chewing him down. The lanceman, doubtlessly fearing that very fate, planted his feet, raised his shield, and pointed the tip of his lance around it. The creature chomped from the side and, failing to get its bottom jaw under the shield, crushed the man's forearm between its featureless jaws. The lance lodged between its teeth like a meer toothpick, and the man screamed in agony.

Letting go of the bowman, Erec drew his crossbow and raised it to his shoulder to fire. The lanceman was desperately trying to dig his lance into the beast's gums and pry its jaws open.

"Wait," the bowman, crushing a lifegem at Erec's feet, said. "You'll hit him."

"Then what do I–"

Velstadt pushed Erec aside. The bell tolled as he swung it and planted his heavy boots into the bank. A flash of white light pulsed from his armor, and Velstadt thrust his hands forward and shouted. The white light shot in a ball from his hands and flew across the river, parting its surface with a trailing wake. The light forcibly impacted the imperfect's upper lip and threw its mouth open as it staggered back. The lanceman dropped the shield from his mangled hand and ran.

Erec looked with mouth agape at Velstadt. He had a real answer to his earlier question. The bell was a sacred chime. Though different schools often argued the semantics, magic was typically known as the manipulation of forces unseen. To this end, there were at least two recognized paths. Some, through the imaginative powers of superior intellect, learned the patterns by which souls moved and gained the ability to channel them, typically with a staff. These logically birthed spells were known as sorceries. The other path was faith. Through deep belief, typically guided by sacred tomes espousing tales of the gods, one could manifest forces they already held to be true. These miracles, as they were called, were channeled through talismans or chimes; Velstadt was carrying one large enough to double as a blunt weapon.

"Form a line!" Velstadt shouted.

Immediately, the lancemen, minus the wounded, flanked the knight commander's sides, planted their shields in the bank, and presented their lances between the gaps. The bowmen formed a firing line aiming over the lancemen, and the mace wielding infantry lined up in the back. Erec added himself to the line of bowmen and took aim. Velstadt raised his bell and rang it loudly. The imperfect growled and a wave of darkness swept over it.

"Steady," Velstadt said.

The imperfect thrust its head forward and opened its mouth to launch a ball of crackling dark energy that wailed as it flew toward the line.

"Fire!" Velstadt said.

Erec and the bowmen loosed their bolts at the creature's open mouth. At the same time, Velstadt planted his bell in front of him to release a shockwave that knocked the dark shot away from the line. The bolts stuck like spines throughout the imperfect's mouth and tongue, and the dark ball impacted some of the stalagmites and exploded, knocking the tops out of some of the rocks.

The imperfect slung its head back and forth and winced as it opened and closed its splintered mouth. It shifted its weight, and Velstadt watched its feet closely. The creature crouched on its frog-like legs.

"Break!" Velstadt shouted.

The imperfect leapt high into the air, and the guardsmen scattered and dove away. Erec's reaction trailed behind the experienced fighters, and he only narrowly avoided being crushed. The tremor of the imperfect crashing down shook his gut nearly as much as the rock he landed on. The beast's impact stirred a heavy blast of cold, moist wind across Erec's face and splattered him with wet mud.

To Erec's alarm, the creature turned toward him. Erec scrambled to string his crossbow and fired a panicked shot. The bolt glanced like a twig from the slippery, black scales. A bowman just behind Erec took a similarly panicked shot. The bolt stuck into the creature's head but only shallowly; it was enough, however, for the imperfect to acknowledge its pain and, consequently, the bowman as its priority. The monster stepped over Erec, granting him full view of the writhing muscle of its legs. The bowman scrambled to his feet.

Though Erec felt his own smallness like never before, he knew that the man had just saved his life; the favor could not go unreturned. Erec cast his crossbow aside, knowing it to be useless, and snatched his short sword from its scabbard. Erec shouted as he charged and thrust his blade into the beast's ankle. Though the sound of the puncture was wet and fleshy, Erec's blade came to a jarring halt only a few inches into the hard muscle. The imperfect let out an amphibian shriek and turned, yanking the weapon from Erec's hands.

The monster faced Erec directly and opened wide its jaws to bite him in half. Erec froze. He was utterly helpless. The creature lunged at Erec, but there was Velstadt in front of him. Velstadt pushed his weapon forward and halted the creature's bite by wedging the bell like a beam between the monster's tongue and the roof of its mouth. The mace wielding infantry whooshed past Erec and crushed their heavy hammers into the imperfect's knees. The beast toppled at the knight's feet. Velstadt grabbed the creature's upper lip and pried his weapon from its jaws. He lifted the bell high above his head and slammed it onto the imperfect's skull, making an echoing clang. The blow reverberated through the stunned monster, and Velstadt struck it again. He planted his heel on its black scaled head, and the lancemen rushed from his sides and plunged their long weapons deep into the imperfect's skull. The creature's cry of pain was muffled by the force holding its jaw shut as it writhed. Its legs floundered, the lancemen pushed their weapons deeper, and the monster fell still. Velstadt pushed off the imperfect's head, leaned his own head back, and took a few heavy breaths as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

"How many injured?" he asked.

"Just the one, sir," someone called.

Velstadt turned to Erec.

"And how fare thee, my young friend?" he said.

"I–" Erec said through heavy breaths, "I thought I– It nearly–"

"I believe the phrase you seek is, 'jaws of death,'" Velstadt said.

Erec looked at the humongous head of the slain beast.

"Yes," he said. "Well said. I owe you my life, sir."

"Think nothing of it," Vestadt said. "I couldn't allow our tadpole to be crushed before he had any chance to croak! That wasn't a bad performance for your first time."

Two of the guardsmen, carrying the man with the mangled arm, passed them and laid the man on a flat stone.

"Excuse me," Velstadt said. "I must attend to this."

The injured man was slamming his good fist against the rock as the other guardsmen pried the crushed gauntlet from his bloody hand. Velstadt asked a question. One of the guardsmen looked at the mangled hand and shook his head. Velstadt nodded in reply and prepared a healing spell. The injured man bunched his mask into his mouth and squeezed his eyes tightly shut as the other drew his sword. He raised it and chopped. A muffled scream came from the man's clenched teeth, and his eyes shot wide open.

Erec came home exhausted that night, his arms trembling and his legs sore. As such, he was quick to collapse on his bed and welcome the embrace of darkness. Many times, however, he found himself starting at nothing he could identify. Into his mind's eye, there came more clearly than he would have liked the image of the imperfect, looming over him, spreading wide its jaws. True to its name, the incomplete beast had nearly been his last sight.

"In memory of Erec. Devoured by the imperfect."

What an awful epitaph it would have been, ringing horribly true to the fledgling state of his life and aspirations. In contrast, he called upon his memory of the ordination: Claudia, in that flowered dress, holding such promise of growth. Erec sat up on his bed. His eyes wandered to the heavy crossbow he had been advised to take home. He took its wooden weight in his arms, gripped the heavy string with both hands, and pulled until it clicked. He unstrung it and pulled again and again until he fell asleep with the weapon in his arms.