The Crystal Bell, part IV

Etain couldn’t shut her eyes that night for thinking about the tale she had been told. The little shed she had been stationed in lacked a roof, so she stared up at the stars instead and thought and thought until a sharp breeze ran through the air, carrying with it the scent of dew on a summer morning, yet sweeter. She couldn’t quite place it, but it didn’t belong here-- it was getting close to harvest time in the city. She stirred from her bed and looked over the wall of the room. It was a beautiful view. The whole city, cold, dark, sleeping, all except for her, drinking in the glow of the moonlight on the rooftops. At least, this is what she thought as her dreaming eyes surveyed the scene. But then, one of those dreaming eyes caught something in its corner, and then shocked itself a little to decide whether what it saw was real or not. What she saw was a figure, tall and thin, standing on the rooftop adjacent to her own. His face she could not see, but he had a mess of black curls for hair, and dressed in a costume the color of a wilted rose. The figure seemed to be looking for something. Etain felt the tug again, the one that usually followed her performances’ close, the tug that eternally whispered, “Close, close. So near, so near.” But what did this person have to do with Etain?

Etain slowly, quietly crept back into her bed; she didn’t want the visitor to see her. The visitor, simultaneously, did not want anyone to see him, and thinking that his perch had been compromised, he shifted, drifting softly through the night air, to a tree branch... that leaned directly over Etain’s makeshift room. The mysterious fellow climbed onto the bough, creeping slowly towards its end for a better look at the rooftops. Our heroine held perfectly still, pretending to be asleep, but she felt that tug become a pull, a strong one, and a cry of “So close! Oh, so close!” within her heart. She was surprised how clear the cry was-- it was in a voice not her own. She creaked one of her eyes slowly open to catch a glimpse of the man, only to find that he was looking down at her. They stared at each other in complete silence for what seemed an eternity, and the cry that echoed in Etain’s heart grew ever louder, louder than the patter of her heartbeat. She marked every detail: the black hair, the wiry frame, the mask he wore, and most of all, the eyes behind that mask. They were the softest, palest shade of green, and they were fluttering like butterflies. They were the eyes of a gentle stranger. But suddenly, that summertime scent grew strong again, and Etain felt a sort of soft thump on her eyes, like she had been hit with a pillow. Her eyelids grew heavy, but she fought it. She held them open and watched the stranger take to the sky in a streak of dark red. She struggled to her feet to watch the streak bounce off of the treetops until it landed, far in the distance, in the bell tower of the ruined cathedral. Having dutifully found out the masquerader’s hiding place, Etain let the sleeping spell he had cast on her take its effect--rather immediately, in fact-- and fell in a heap on the floor. Her dreams were troubled, though, haunted by tormented screams.

She awoke to a sky of grey the next morning. It was threatening rain, and she knew she needed to go explore that haunted cathedral, and find her strange visitor from the night before. He must be the person she had been trying to find-- the person who knew how to bring Tanel back. She dressed herself and hurried down the back stairs to go to the church. The butcher’s lad caught her on her way.

“Miss!” He said, “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to church.” Came Etain’s plucky reply. The boy looked at her aghast.

“You don’t mean it, Miss! If you go in there, you won’t come back!”

“Oh, yes I will.” Said she, “And I’ll tell you all about that ghost when I do!” And she continued on her way. As she made her way to the city’s edge, the townsfolk who had grown so fond of her tried to stop her, but in vain. She ignored every warning, every plea for her to stay inside the wall, and entered into the forest. After a day’s walk and wander, she found herself standing in front of the great ruin. She could definitely feel a dark presence hanging around those stones, but there was also that smell-- that sweet, summer-morning smell. She still hadn’t quite placed it. She walked around and around the edifice, trying every door to see if it would grant her entrance. They didn’t. Just when she thought she would never find  way in, she came around the bell tower, and of all the strange luck, she saw a window near the top. But how to get up? She had, at some point, seen a wooden ladder that had long ago been discarded. By this time, it was pouring rain. At the very least, Etain needed to get inside and out of the wet, whether the masquerader really did exist and live here or if she had only dreamed it. She pulled the ladder out of its floral entanglement. The rotten wood twisted and creaked with every pull, but she wrestled it our and managed to set it up against the wall. She took the first step. The ladder cried out in protest. She scolded it and kept climbing, the ladder creaking and swaying and groaning with every rung. Finally, she worked her way to the window and gave the latch a go. Locked! The rain beat down. The ladder strained. Etain kept rattling the latch, standing on the top rung of that wretched ladder, until it broke-- but not before the window gave way. She flung herself through and crashed onto the floor, and the rain was suddenly a soft echo outside the thick stone walls.