Ian Johnstone - The Bell Between Worlds

“The Ghor,” murmured Simia, her voice full of dread.

They drew near the Ghorhund, slowed and then, with a single purpose, fanned out across the square, one loping along each edge, the third jogging into the centre, stooping low at times to examine the paving. Suddenly, just a short distance past the Ghorhund, it stopped and lowered its head to the ground. It paused there for a moment as though sniffing the stone, then raised itself up and looked directly towards the fruit cart.

Sylas could feel its keen eyes searching among the sacks.

Then, in one swift movement, the hunter threw its head back in the air and to his horror it let out a bloodcurdling, canine howl. Moments later it started forward and began sprinting at an astonishing speed towards them. The others changed direction and fell in behind, soon moving as one, striding perfectly in time, their massive claws beating out a single terrifying rhythm. Just moments later they were overtaken by the two Ghorhund, which flew across the square, baying lustily as they rejoined the hunt.

At that moment the fruit cart skidded round a corner into a busy road lined with shops and stalls. The smell of smoke became more powerful and Sylas could hear the chatter and bustle of crowds, but he was hardly aware of his surroundings. Instead his eyes were fixed on the corner that they had just turned, watching for the first sign of their pursuers. Simia pushed herself up on her hands to peer cautiously over the top of the sacks.

“We’ve got to get out of the cart,” she said. “Wait for me to move, then do as I do.”

Sylas nodded and eased himself a little off his haunches to make sure that he was ready. They passed a hanging sign bearing the words The Mutable Inn written in large ornate lettering.

“Now!” exclaimed Simia, and she stood up and launched herself into the air, falling quickly out of sight. He hauled himself to his feet and saw her land some distance away, staggering slightly and bracing herself against the wall of the inn. He heard the cry of the driver from behind and saw a number of faces turn in the street, but dared not look: he braced himself against the side of the cart and threw himself into the air. He cleared the muddy road and landed next to Simia on the stone terrace of the inn, grimacing from the pain in his knee.

Simia drew close to him. “Follow me inside,” she said under her breath. “And, for the sake of Isia, cover up your trinket!”

He glanced at the bracelet shining brightly on his wrist and, with a glance up and down the busy street, he covered it with the muddy sleeve of his jacket. He saw Simia disappear through the large wooden door of the Mutable Inn, and he quickly followed her.

As he pulled it closed behind him, he heard a noise in the street. He was tempted to ignore it, but could not resist peering out through the small glass panel mounted in the door. Once again people were running, screaming and shouting as they glanced anxiously back down the road. Soon their cries were drowned out by the vicious howls of the Ghorhund: and then they came, their massive paws pounding into the dirt with such thunderous force that the door rattled on its hinges. People threw themselves to the ground, against walls and through doorways, as the two black beasts streaked past the inn, crashing through abandoned stalls and boxes, knocking those who moved too slowly to the ground and tearing the road into a shower of mud and grit that splattered the window. They sped on, driven wild by the hunt, oblivious to the pale face peering out at them from the inn.

Sylas watched as the poor people in the road stared fearfully after the Ghorhund, then slowly turned and looked the other way – their faces filling with a new terror. Those who had been thrown to the ground roused themselves and scrambled to the side of the road, heads lowered as if fearing a blow. He heard the Ghorhund reach the fruit cart in which they had escaped, announced by the crash of splintering wood followed by a chilling howl of triumph and the screams of the unfortunate driver.

Then, as a woman whimpered outside the inn door, three silent shadows moved in front of the window.

“… such is their power to change the very fabric of the world.”

THE DARK, ALMOST-HUMAN shapes were stooped forward, their heads sweeping low as they bounded lightly along the street, making so little sound that, were it not for the gentle fall of their feet in the mud, he would have thought them ghosts or apparitions. Sylas knew instinctively that even as they ran they could hear the slightest noise, and he found himself holding his breath as he watched. Their movement was wolfish and hungry, but they moved with remarkable control, striding in perfect unison and in precise formation. They took no notice of each other, their disfigured heads swinging from side to side as they took in the pale, fearful townsfolk at the sides of the street.

For the first time Sylas saw their faces and he felt his stomach turn. Their pendulous, hooded brow and monstrous jaw and cheekbones were almost canine, yet amid the patchwork of pale human skin and dark matted fur were quick, intelligent human eyes, seeing everything with a deliberateness and menace that was far from animal-like. They were both the handler and the hound: measuring the situation, scrutinising every detail of the street and all the while hunting as a pack. He felt the same creeping terror that he had seen in Simia. His chest tightened, the blood drained from his face and he took an involuntary step away from the door.

None of them seemed to see him at the window, or hear his short breaths, or sense his fear. As quickly as they had come, they were gone.

Sylas exhaled, his breath clouding the glass.

“What are you doing? Come on!”

He turned and saw Simia standing in the inner doorway. She beckoned to him urgently, then disappeared into the room beyond.

He gathered his nerves and followed her, leaving behind a distant sound of splintering wood, shouts and wails issuing from a neighbouring street.

The strong scent of smoke filled his nostrils as soon as he walked into the dimly lit interior of the inn. It was not the smoke that he had smelt on the street, or the smoke of cigarettes or pipes, but one with a weirdly sweet and fresh aroma. So strange was the scent that it took him a few moments to identify it as that of common, freshly cut green grass, spiced with burning tobacco. He looked about the gloomy room to try to find its source and saw scores of men huddled low over tables, most smoking long pipes, others gulping from metal tankards. Some raised their heads as he entered and stared at him steadily for a moment, but they soon lost interest and returned to their conversations. The low drone of voices was broken only by an occasional cough and peals of laughter from a table at the end of the room.

He looked for Simia and soon saw her balancing on the first rung of a stool at the bar, talking excitedly to a tall barman, who looked with interest over her shoulder towards Sylas. He had an odd appearance, with massive, clumsy-looking limbs and a long, doleful face that was made even longer by an overly long nose, a narrow mouth and a redoubtable chin that hung far below. But his most striking feature was the great shiny dome of his head, which at first seemed to bear some sort of hat or skullcap but, on closer inspection, revealed itself to be emblazoned with a vast array of tattoos: shapes, symbols and markings that encircled his crown to astonishing effect.

The barman leaned his large frame forward and rested his elbows on the bar, his piercing green eyes taking everything in. Sylas could feel them interrogating him, exploring his every feature until he had the distinct impression that they could even see what he was thinking. The strange man seemed to be looking into him, layer by layer, peeling them away like the pages of a book. Sylas shifted uncomfortably and, not knowing what else to do, smiled. The man held his gaze without responding, then turned back to Simia, said something and walked quickly to a door at the rear of the inn. As he opened it, he glanced back at Sylas and gave him a brief nod that looked almost like a bow, then disappeared into the darkness beyond.