Night Bells

  * * *

  Soryn woke suddenly in the night when he heard the frightening storm beating against his tower window. Thunder crashed and the wind roared. It sounded like the hurricanes he had read about in the books from Ancient Earth. He knew better; it was one of Niflheim’s ferocious blizzards. Though he tried, going back to sleep proved futile.

  Can’t sleep? Ulla asked quietly.

  “No,” Soryn admitted.

  Want to come for a visit?

  “If it’s all the same to you, Ulla, I’m pretty tired. Even though I can’t sleep, I think I’ll stay in bed.”

  Wish I could sleep in a bed…I suppose it would be rather odd trying to sleep in a bed as a pig.

  “I suppose it would,” Soryn agreed, yawning.

  Nighty night.

  “Goodnight.”

  Eventually, near dawn, Soryn did go to sleep again. Too soon after that, Jori came for him and took him down for his breakfast and morning lessons. The manservant informed Soryn that he would not be able to travel anywhere outside the castle that day because the snowstorm had dumped over seven feet of additional snow during the night. Soryn was disappointed that he would not be able to see Arna or to work on her room, but he thought it would be a good opportunity to explore the castle. He followed Jori into the great hall and ate with Father Kimbli like he always did. Then, they had tutoring. The boy was learning about the New Kristiansand government and how it operated. After his lessons, Soryn had lunch in his room and made his plans to explore the castle once he was done.

  He wanted to explore the rooms branching off of the passage that led to the great hall. Also, he wanted to learn more about the portraits hanging between the doors to those rooms. Perhaps he would loiter about the upper floor where the guards’ barracks were. The most intriguing rooms to him, however, were those of his brothers. His parents’ rooms should probably have been the most interesting, but he remembered them well. Olan and Fenris’ rooms were another matter. When he was younger, Soryn had rarely spent time with his twin brothers. They were six years older than him, so they were always off studying or consumed in personal matters.

  Soryn pushed his lunch tray away and went down the passage to the main body of the castle. The first room he explored was filled with dusty old furniture in random positions throughout the room—a storage place, he guessed. The next room had chests lining every inch of the walls. In the center of the room, there was just enough of an aisle to walk around and access all of the chests. Soryn opened several of them and discovered bed linens, quilts, blankets, napkins, table cloths, towels, and other fabrics. He figured that it made sense to store excess items in forgotten corners of the castle; forgotten places like his tower.

  The next few rooms were just as uninteresting. They were filled with old silver or brass fixtures and textiles that had gone out of fashion. Soryn grew increasingly drawn to his brothers’ rooms. His older siblings were identical twins, who had looked exactly like their mother. They had her silvery-white hair, red-brown eyes, and the pale skin of the northern people that dwelt in the polar mountains. A shiver passed over him as he recalled their faces. Both brothers had seemed odd to him...almost otherworldly. Soryn could not remember Fenris smiling a single time. Olan was always off in the woods studying nature or pursuing some new hobby. Soryn’s parents had treated the three of them with love and respect, but he remembered that Fenris spent most of his time getting into trouble. Their mother often watched Fenris with wary, concerned eyes.

  Soryn frowned. Walking more quickly, he headed towards his family’s quarters. As he went on his way, he passed the portraits. It made sense to him that the rooms beside them might be filled with something worthwhile or extraordinary, but those rooms were strangely devoid of contents. Feeling discouraged, he went down to the main corridor of the castle and passed the great hall. When he saw no one there, he visited the office that he and Father Kimbli used for lessons. The old man sat at the small desk, reading over a document with his spectacles balanced precariously on the end of his long nose.

  “Hello, Father,” Soryn greeted.

  “Good day, Lord Maslyn.” Father Kimbli looked up and smiled.

  “Can you show me the rooms my brothers used to live in? I’m exploring the castle today and I would like to look around in my family’s quarters, if that’s alright.”

  “Follow me.” Kimbli extended his hand and rose from his chair.

  They went up a staircase that branched off the main passage, taking them up to the second level of the castle. Father Kimbli pointed out the room where Soryn’s mother and father had lived, then the two rooms his brothers used. The boy had never really thought about his own old room and could not even remember what he had kept there. It would be interesting to explore that place as well. Father Kimbli bowed his head and left Lord Maslyn to himself.

  Soryn first entered his old room. The four poster bed he used to sleep in was on the left side. Wooden shelves lined the right wall, housing toys for infants and young children. Dust clung to every surface—he suspected the servants avoided those rooms because of the superstitions surrounding the night of the fire or some other such nonsense. He found his old room entirely dull and went next to explore his parents’.

  A giant bed rested in the center of the room with polished mahogany posts, head and foot boards. The coverlet was fine blue velvet. Desks sat on the left side of the room and painted portraits of the entire family covered each one. Soryn took one of the framed pictures and put it in his coat pocket. He would look at it later.

  Since his curiosity about his brothers’ rooms was so strong, he left his parents’, deciding he would go back to it at a later point and examine it more closely. The room closest to his parents’ had belonged to Fenris. The door creaked as he pushed it open. Cobwebs stretched out from the door to the threshold as he nudged it wider. All was pitch black inside. Two moth-eaten drapes covered the window on the back wall. A peculiar scent offended him as he stepped inside. Soryn imagined rats or other vermin might have taken up residence in the abandoned space. He wondered why the odor was not in his old room or his parents’.

  Light from the open door did little to illuminate the place. It appeared as though everything in the room was painted grey with shadow. A chaotic, disheveled mess covered the floors. Lord Maslyn almost stepped on what looked to be a rusty blade. When he picked it up, he saw that there was fur or some other fibrous material stuck to dark matter on the knife. The blade fell from his hands and clattered to the floor. His heart raced. Memories of his childhood flooded back to him—images of Fenris, skinning a deer in the woods or bringing rabbits home to dissect in his room. Soryn had watched from the door when one unfortunate creature had been the object of his brother’s fascination with living things. When the animal had squealed, Soryn had run away to get his mother.

  She had comforted him and promised to talk with Fenris about his behavior. Soryn’s eldest brother never brought another animal back to his room—at least when Soryn was around. Lord Maslyn knew that did not mean Fenris never brought them back at other times. Fenris had been a vicious hunter—often letting his prey struggle for hours before he finally ended their lives. Olan never hunted. Olan preferred to sit in the woods and draw the animals or observe their activities. Soryn used to follow him, too.

  Now, standing in Fenris’ old room, Soryn felt a strange feeling growing in his heart. The boy looked over to the table in front of the bed and saw the skeletal remains of some creature that had suffered one of his brother’s cold necropsies. The entire room exuded a sinister aura. Soryn left. When he opened Olan’s door, the room looked much brighter than Fenris’. Olan never kept drapes over his window, Soryn remembered. The window glass was dirty with grime and it was difficult to see through. Considering the snow storm raging outside, there would have been nothing to see, anyway. This room was arranged much like Fenris’.

  Books were strewn out on the bed and on every other available space. Most were open to spec
ific pages with notes scattered about. Lord Maslyn was instantly reminded of Ulla’s study. It had the same look and feel. There was no sun spire, however. Soryn looked at one of the open books. He was shocked to see it was about the Seidh. A particular sentence caught his eye:

  “Animal transmutation is far more difficult than object transmutation.”

  Soryn immediately thought of Ulla and how he claimed to have been human once. The boy wondered what had happened to Ulla. How had he been transformed into a pig? Next to the open book, Soryn saw an open journal—written in Olan’s curly script. Excitement coursed through him…he was about to read something his own brother had written! Though it did not bring Olan back, it made him feel closer somehow. One entry read:

  I wonder what it would be like to walk about in an animal’s skin. I know if I transmuted myself, it would be my own skin, but I would be changed; other. I have always pondered the animals in the barn. Whenever I visit, they seem so at peace with themselves. The cows are content to sit in their stalls, chewing their cud and standing for hours. The horses are content to swat flies with their tails and stomp their feet at regular intervals. The pigs—ah the pigs—are by far the most intelligent of creatures. There is a cunning cleverness behind their dark eyes that speaks of knowledge. When I spoke with some of them, they carried on perfectly rational conversations. One pig in particular, Ulla, is a wise old soul. He’s a large, pink Harkjoran pig. He often speaks of the theoretical notions behind animal communication with humans and the implications of it. I find him fascinating. If ever I were to change myself into the form of a pig, I would seek him out immediately and spend hours talking with him.

  Soryn’s heartbeat went from quiet, even strokes to rattling whips. Chills rose on his arms. Ulla…pigs…the desire to become one. “What if Ulla is really my brother? What if Ulla is Olan?” these thoughts raced through Soryn’s mind. Soryn knew that “Ulla” was not the same pig that Olan had written about in his notes, but what if his brother Olan had transformed himself into a pig the night of the fire? What if that was the only way he could escape? What if Olan had taken the name “Ulla” because he had so admired the wisdom of that particular pig in the barn? Soryn grabbed the journal and fled the room. He took the journal to his tower and immediately accessed the secret door to the study.

  Coming for a visit? Ulla chimed.

  “I’ve got to show you something and ask you some questions.”

  Goody.

  Soryn made sure to keep his mind only on Arna, Fanndis, and Stigg so that Ulla would not be able to read his real thoughts just yet. When Soryn reached the study, Ulla sat on the chair next to the table. Soryn smacked the journal down on the cluttered surface and asked, “Did you write this?”

  Ulla glanced down at the journal and answered with another question:

  Why do you want to know?

  “I want to know if you are my brother! I want to know if you have been alive all these years and haven’t told me! I want to know what happened the night of the fire!” Soryn yelled.

  Soryn, calm down. These are big questions. Important questions. You won’t get the answers you seek if you scream at me like that. I had my reasons for neglecting to contact you.

  “So, you are my brother,” Soryn stated.

  Yes.

  Soryn looked away from Ulla and tried to wrap his mind around that news. This meant his brother was alive. Perhaps Fenris was alive also. Perhaps his parents…

  “Are my parents alive? Are they somewhere safe?” Soryn whispered.

  No, Soryn. Our parents died in the fire that night. Nothing will change that. I couldn’t save them. It was too late…

  “Why didn’t you tell me this from the beginning? Why couldn’t you tell me you were Olan from the start? I would have done everything within my power to free you from your animal form in an instant. Why didn’t you trust me?” Soryn asked, heartbroken that his brother had not told him about his predicament.

  It’s complicated. I didn’t tell you right away, because I knew you would be upset that I hadn’t spoken to you in six years. I knew you would be angry with me. I haven’t spoken to you, because I’ve been ashamed, Soryn. I failed our family. I saw what our brother was doing to us—tearing us apart—and when I tried to stop his madness, it backfired and caused the death of our parents.

  “How so?” Soryn demanded.

  This is quite a long tale. You might need to sit down.

  Ulla hopped from the chair to the table and Soryn took his seat.

  How much do you remember about Fenris and his…personality?

  “I remember he liked to hunt—a little too much. He used to bring animals back to his room and examine them. When they were dead, he would dissect them.”

  He didn’t dissect them, Soryn, he vivisected them.

  “What does that mean?”

  He dissected them while they were still alive. I believe that’s why you ran to tattle to our mother about his behavior once, is it not? You might not have realized what he was doing, but you had sense enough to be bothered by it.

  Soryn tried to block the memories that surfaced because of Ulla’s words.

  Take your time, Soryn. I understand that this is difficult.

  Soryn nodded. “Thank you, Olan.”

  You can still call me “Ulla” if it is more comfortable for you. I know that I look and feel quite different to you than the brother you knew as “Olan”.

  “Alright. Did you rename yourself after that pig you met in the barn?” Soryn said.

  Yes. Ulla was a great friend of mine. It broke my heart when he passed on.

  Soryn tried to maintain his composure…hoping Ulla would continue with his story. Sensing the boy’s thoughts, the pig went on with his tale.

  Right, well, you saw in the journal that I was very interested in animal transmutation? Long before the night of the fire, I had thought about trying to transform our brother Fenris into an animal. I thought he might not hurt them so much if he knew what it felt like to be in their skin. I found every book I could on the subject and studied it deeply. Before I could attempt it, however, something happened.

  “What happened?”

  Our mother went to her room to prepare for bed. Father had not come up to our wing of the castle yet. I heard terrified screams down the hallway and ran to her room. Her hands covered her face. Fenris had laid a dead rabbit on her pillow with its brain exposed. I could see that the brain had two small pins sticking out at particular places—the Wernicke and Broca’s areas—the speech and language centers of the brain. I’ll admit that I was fascinated. Next to the pillow on a scrap of paper was written, “Like what you see?”

  “Couldn’t he have just put the pins there to fasten it to the pillow?” Soryn pointed out.

  Fenris and I shared a…connection. I can’t explain it, but it was always as though we could read each others’ minds. We knew each other well. I knew he had placed those pens in those spots for a reason.

  “I see,” Soryn said—a little envious of their deep connection.

  Naturally, our poor mother fainted. She had not studied biology in university, but I had studied it with Father Kimbli and I knew that our brother had found something extraordinary about animals’ brains. Their language center was exceptionally well developed on the planet of Niflheim and it was clear he wanted to find out why. Sure, many scientists had already studied this—with little success—but Fenris wanted to find groundbreaking discoveries. He had always been obsessed with the inner workings of the body— the brain specifically. Still, to leave that animal on our mother’s pillow, in a desperate plea for attention, was vile to say the least.

  I told Father about the incident. He was the one who found Fenris out in the woods checking his traps. Our brother was dragged back to the castle and locked in the dungeon to “think” about what he had done. Of course no harm came to him—the guard brought him food and he was well tended. I visited him, but he did not say much to me. I could not und
erstand why he hadn’t just told mother about his theories. He had put the rabbit there just to frighten her, I was sure. The message had been for me. When I asked him about his reasoning, he simply cocked his head and smiled. He said, “Didn’t she find it interesting?” It was as though he had just put a bundle of summer flowers on her bed.

  I left, frustrated. Later, Father went back down to the dungeon to check on Fenris and talk to him about what had happened. When he got to the cell, our brother was gone. The guard had been knocked out and had a nasty bruise on his forehead. A rock lay nearby. They eventually discovered that the Fenris had escaped down a passage accessible by a loose stone tile on the floor. Fenris was extremely good at figuring out secrets and puzzles. He probably knew every secret passageway in this castle.

  “How did the fire happen?” Soryn asked.

  Well, Fenris did not surface again until a particularly cold winter night about a month later. Our mother had been worried sick about him and prayed night and day for his return. We were all having a grand dinner in the great hall that night. Officials from the town council were present and father was celebrating a treaty he had made with New Herning’s council. The other town was high in the mountains and needed permission to pass their exports through New Kristiansand. Father needed to be able to allow his exports to pass through their mountains. It was a celebrated and monumental agreement.

  Well into dinner, the hall doors burst open. Fenris walked in covered in blood, holding one of his skinning knives. The entire room fell silent. The guards’ hands were on their swords, but they were all looking at Father trying to discern what to do. Fenris had tribal markings on his face—the kind of those who live in the Eastern caves. In his eyes there was a strange pride. In my mind, I began to recite incantations for transmuting human beings into animals. I had already decided if Fenris posed a threat to our family or himself, I would change him into an animal. That way, the guards would catch him more easily.

  Fenris walked calmly across the hall to the end of the table where our parents sat. He raised his knife. I immediately used the Seidh to send my brother into the body of an animal. Unfortunately…it worked.

  “Unfortunately?” Soryn asked.

  He changed into a wolf, but he was disoriented. His animal body was huge in comparison with his human one. He thrashed about wildly and everyone in the hall panicked. Most fled the room at once. Fenris flailed and raged against his new form and knocked down several hanging oil basins from the hooks on the walls. The fire spread so quickly... I could do nothing to stop it.

  Snippets of memory fell into place in Soryn’s mind. Images of a white wolf causing chaos…the fire…

  I had not learned that when a human transmutes another human, a price must be paid. My price was that I, too, was turned into an animal. A pig. In his rage, Fenris burst through the eastern glass window and ran to the woods. I could vaguely see that a group of guards had run off to catch him but I knew it would be a fruitless endeavor. Being turned into such a small animal, I was able to navigate through the commotion and make my way into the tower and the secret study.

  I did not know our parents had died until the next day. They say the fire consumed them so completely that they did not even find their bones.

  Soryn did not know what to say. The news that his brother was a pig…that his own brothers were inadvertently responsible for his parents’ death…it was too much. They were both quiet for a long time. Finally, Soryn stood up and started for the passage.

  “I think I’ll go up to my room for a while,” he said, emptiness seeping through his words.

  He left the study and managed to climb back up to the hearth without paying much attention to his steps. Once in his room, he sat down at the long table. A tear escaped, followed by many more. Before Soryn knew it, he was sobbing into his shirt sleeves. He thought he wanted to know the truth about the past. But now that he knew…he wished he didn’t. Memories flooded back to him—the terrible fire, Father Kimbli grabbing him and hauling him to the back of the room away from all the commotion. The sight of the wolf breaking the glass window…It had been the most frightening night of his life. It was no wonder the memories had remained buried so long.

  Soryn did not eat dinner that night—not even when Father Kimbli offered to bring it himself. He stared at the fire. Some time when he had been talking with Kimbli, one of the servants had made one. He just watched it burn, letting the orange light lull his eyes into a numbed stupor. A furious wind blew outside his windows. Lord Maslyn wondered if the snow storm would last forever. Ulla said nothing more throughout the night and Soryn was glad of it. He closed his eyes and fell asleep with his head on the table. His dreaming mind listened to the sounds of the wind crying and the Night Bells ringing.