The Bellringer Read online

  The Year of the Red Door

  Volume 1

  The Bellringer

  Volume 2

  The Nature of a Curse

  Volume 3

  A Distant Light

  Volume 4

  The Dreamwalker

  Volume 5

  To Touch a Dream

  Copyright Page

  The Bellringer

  Volume 1 of The Year of the Red Door

  Second Edition

  ISBN: 978-1-944320-45-4

  Smashwords Distribution

  Copyright © 2017

  by William Timothy Murray

  All Rights Reserved

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For permissions, review copies, or other inquiries, write to:

  Penflight Books

  P.O Box 857

  125 Avery Street

  Winterville, Georgia 30683-9998

  USA

  [email protected]

  Be sure to visit:

  www.TheYearOfTheRedDoor.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  pfbrev19/1

  Publisher's Note

  This electronic version of the Second Edition comes with significant enhancements over previous versions. In addition to minor corrections within the text itself, there is also included a glossary at the end of this book. Besides definitions, the glossary also contains links to maps that are also included within this book. The maps themselves have been revised and have coordinates to help you easily find items referenced in the glossary.

  Depending on your particular reading device, smartphone, or reading app, you may be able to zoom or enlarge the maps included. If that is not possible with your device, links are provided to the website (www.TheYearOfTheRedDoor.com) where you can view the maps on your browser.

  We have provided the glossary and the maps at the suggestion of our readers, all of whom we sincerely thank. And we hope that all readers, old and new, will make use of and enjoy this enhanced edition.

  Penflight Books

  Preface

  Welcome to The Year of the Red Door. For those of you who are curious, I invite you to visit the accompanying web site,

  www.TheYearOfTheRedDoor.com.

  There you will find maps and other materials pertaining to the story and to the world in which the story takes place.

  The road to publishing The Year of the Red Door has been an adventure, with the usual ups and downs and rough spots that any author may encounter. The bumps and jostles were considerably smoothed by the patient toil of my editors who were, I'm sure, often frustrated by a cantankerous and difficult client. Nonetheless, I have upon occasion made use of their advice, which was sometimes delivered via bold strokes, underlines, exclamation points, and a few rather cutting remarks handwritten across the pristine pages of my manuscripts. Therefore, any errors that you encounter are due entirely to my own negligence or else a puckish disregard of good advice.

  For those of you who might be a bit put off by the scope and epic length of this story, I beg your indulgence and can only offer in my defense a paraphrase of Pascal (or Twain, depending on your preference):

  I did not have time to write a short story, so I wrote a long one instead.

  The Author

  To

  Deirdre

  The Year of the Red Door

  Volume 1

  The Bellringer

  "For whosoever discovers the Name of the King

  so shall he become King."

  Prologue

  Steggan's Fortunes

  "I come from your brother. This is his daughter, called Shevalia. He charges you with the care of her until she is sent for. Meanwhile, she is to be known as one of your house, with your name. When she is sent for, she and this box must come together. Your brother holds you responsible for her safekeeping during this time of strife, and he bids you take these deeds for land in County Barley in the Eastlands Realm. With coin also that your brother supplies, quit this place and go hither to the north and take up your abode. That land is fertile and at peace. Your wife and this child will be safe from the turmoil that plagues us here, and you may make a fine living on the property given to you. Do you agree to accept this charge?"

  Steggan Pradkin looked at the lordly messenger with suspicion, then at the box, old, made of polished wood, hardly bigger than a large book.

  "I ain't seen me brother in ten years er more," he said, throwing a quick glance at the tiny girl standing aside and behind the seated messenger. She couldn't be more than three or four years old. "An' we're only stepbrothers, at that. In all these years has he done a thing for me? Why does he think I'm willin' to do this? An' why don't he come an' ask himself?"

  "He cannot come or else he would. You do not have a name in these lands as he does, and you will not be known in the Eastlands. It is for the sake of his daughter that he does this. In exchange for your faithful service to this request, you will be amply rewarded, far wealthier than otherwise, and freed from being a tenant. When the girl and the box are sent for, you will again be rewarded. The land in County Barley has acreage enough for crops and cattle, good wells, a fair house, and a good barn. With the coin, too, you may buy all the other things needed for a successful farm. If you remain a tenant on this estate, your future will not be secure. Indeed, all here will fare poorly when the new governor of this province makes his laws, for the master of these lands is not friendly with those who have recently come to power here in Tracia. It will not be long before there is a new master of this estate, one who will not be so kind or lenient to his tenants."

  "Hm. An' what's in the box, eh?"

  "That is not of your concern. But the box and the girl must both be kept safe. If anything amiss becomes of either the girl or the box, you will rue the day you were born. When she is sent for, she and the box must come together. That is the way of it. Without her, the box is worthless. With care to business, and with the skill of your labors, you should have no want of money after but a few years."

  "Well! A sweet bargain, for sure, it seems."

  "I believe it is very generous," nodded the messenger.

  "Hear that, woman? We can get out of this hovel an' in our own place!"

  Steggan's young wife stood across the room, one hand propping up an elbow casually so that her other could more easily hide her swollen lip. She nodded, without removing her hand from her face, and said, "Oh, aye! Quite an opportunity, it seems."

  The messenger glanced at her, quickly observing again her black eye and the cut on her cheek, and he was clearly uncomfortable with this interview.

  "There is a stipulation," he said.

  "Ah!" Steggan frowned and nodded, leaning back in his chair and putting his hands on the table. "I knew there'd be somethin'. Well, what is it, then?"

  "Once every so often, perhaps every year, perhaps more often, you will have a visitor who will come to look at the girl and the box. He will have a key to the box and the means to see if the box has been tampered with. He will look at the girl to see if she is healthy or ill. He may also question your neighbors concerning you and the girl. If he finds anything amiss, if the box has been tampered with, or if the girl is mistreated in any way, a warrant will be submitted for your arrest."

  "What? For what?"

  "For theft of property. A price will be placed on you and your name given over to bounty
hunters and reported to all the sheriffs of the land."

  Steggan remained motionless, staring at the stranger. Behind him, his wife stifled a gasp as her eyes widened.

  "The girl and the box are important. Neither would be given over to you in this way unless the need for care was great."

  After a long moment, Steggan stirred.

  "How much coin, then?"

  The messenger reached for his saddlebag and removed three purses, letting each thud on the table.

  "A stone of Duinnor silver, and a half stone of Glareth gold coin."

  Steggan's face lit up as his wife audibly gulped.

  "Enough to set you up nicely in your new home and to keep the three of you for a fair while," the messenger concluded flatly. "But you must make haste. If you accept this bargain, you must do so this night. If you do not accept, other arrangements will be made."

  • • •

  The girl, the box, the money, and the wife were soon all loaded into a cart, along with their sparse belongings, and after Steggan informed his overseer of their departure and settled his meager debts to the estate, he took them all northward. Within a month they found the place in County Barley, in the old Eastlands Realm, and they established themselves on the farm. They all toiled, even the little girl, but Steggan toiled the least, preferring the jug and the dream to the plow or scythe, and he sought more from the fruit of his schemes than from that of the land. Sometimes he seemed grateful for the change in his fortunes, but at other times he was resentful, saying that his brother ought to have done more, if he was so powerful and wealthy. Often was the night he held forth with jug in hand, his wife cringing while the little girl made herself scarce behind a chest or under a cot. And more often than not, the day after market would find Steggan at the tavern in nearby Passdale, then stumbling the long way home with little or nothing in his pockets to show for the produce sold that day, only to take more coins from the old purse and returning again the same evening to the tavern.

  In spite of Steggan's behavior, and perhaps to the credit of the previous tenants, the farm did well enough for the first few years, and its fields and gardens provided food for the table with surplus to sell at the marketplace, which was enough to somewhat offset the growing expense of Steggan's drink. As foretold, during the third summer, a visitor did come to call, arriving during a time of day when Steggan was repairing a harness and his wife was hanging out the day's wash while the little girl pulled weeds from the kitchen garden. The visitor rode up on a fine horse, dressed in travel cloaks dusty with his journey, and, as Steggan put down his tools and approached, the traveler unbuttoned his overcloak and looked over the place.

  "Are you Steggan?"

  "Aye."

  "Then I come to confirm the health of the girl and the safety of the box entrusted to your care," the rider said, dismounting. He pulled off his cloak, tossed it over the saddle, and hitched his horse.

  "Do ye come from me brother, then?"

  "I am his agent, duly charged."

  "Well, come along an' I'll show ye the box."

  Steggan led the man inside. Standing on a chair, he pulled the box down from a high shelf and placed it on the table.

  "It is somewhat scuffed up," the visitor observed suspiciously, turning the box to examine every side. "There are scratches around the brasswork."

  "I ain't opened it," said Steggan. "The scuffin's from movin' it 'round from time to time."

  "I can see it has not been opened," said the visitor, taking out a key from a chain around his neck. "Please stand back."

  "Ain't I gotta right to see what's in it?"

  "You do not. Your right is only to benefit from keeping it and the girl safe."

  Unwilling to press the subject with the stern man, Steggan stepped back, saying, "Well, that I've done, as ye'll see."

  Steggan watched as the man turned the key and lifted the lid so that it blocked Steggan's view of the contents. The man's face remained expressionless as he gazed into the box and reached in to touch its contents. After a moment, he abruptly closed the lid and locked it, returning the key to hang about his neck beneath his blouse.

  "Very well. And the girl?"

  "This way, right this way."

  Back outside, Steggan led the visitor past his wife, who looked on with concern.

  "Ye best be startin' supper, hadn't ye," he grunted at her.

  "As soon as I get these hung," she replied, making a show of hurrying. "Will he be stayin'?"

  Steggan was more than mildly relieved when the visitor said, "No, thank you, madam. I'll be on my way after I see the girl."

  "Oh, very well then," said Steggan, gesturing toward the garden. "Very well. Aye! Sheila! Girl! Get over here!"

  "Why do you call her that?" asked the visitor.

  "Well, it's a nickname," answered Steggan. "These ain't fancy parts an' she ain't got need of a fancy name, eh? Get on out here, girl!"

  "I'm comin'! I'm comin'!"

  There was a movement among the rows of beanstalks as a bundle of weeds appeared with two tiny arms stretched around, two naked feet underneath, and the very top of a head of light brown hair barely visible behind.

  "Yes, Uncle?"

  "Drop them weeds an' come here!"

  The girl dropped her armful and stomped on them to approach. Wearing a simple blouse over pants, both made of sackcloth, she was barefooted with filthy feet and legs. In fact, she appeared to have not bathed in weeks, so mud- and soot-stained was every inch of her body. Her short-cropped hair was tousled and several twigs dangled from it. In spite of her appearance, she smartly stepped up to the two men and looked up at them, turning from face to face with her hands akimbo as if it was she who had summoned them.

  "Dressed in a boyish manner," the visitor stated.

  "Well, more fittin' when she's out of doors. An' she loves doin' things out of doors. Regular tomboy, she is."

  "Hm. Has she any shoes?"

  "Why, of course. Why ain't ye wearin' yer shoes, girl?"

  "I don't like 'em!"

  "Get 'em on, an' let us see 'em!"

  She disappeared into the beans and quickly reappeared holding in each hand a tattered mass of something more akin to sandals, so many gaps there were in the leather.

  "See, there they are," Steggan said to the visitor. "Well, put 'em on, girl!"

  The little girl dropped to the ground, sitting, and struggled to put the shoes on her feet.

  "Why is her hair cropped so short?"

  "Oh, well, that's on account of she got it all tangled in with pine pitch last week, an' it was all we could do to save what she's got left."

  "Hm. And does she ever bathe?"

  "She certainly does," Steggan nodded defensively. "Most ever' fortnight, if me wife can catch her."

  The visitor frowned as he watched the girl struggle to tie her shoes. After a moment, he gave an almost imperceptible sigh, and with a little shake of his head, he turned.

  "Very well. I've seen enough. I must go."

  Steggan watched the visitor ride off, then turned to the house and bellowed, "Get back to yer weedin'!"

  The girl frowned and just before disappearing into the stalks, she kicked her shoes off.

  "Did he say when he'd be back?" the wife asked as Steggan slumped through the door.

  "No."

  He pulled a cup and a jug from a shelf, kicked a chair over to the table, and sat down heavily, uncorking the jug and pouring its pungent liquid into the cup. Before him on the table was the box, and he hardly took his eyes from it for the rest of the night.

  • • •

  Two years later, the incremental increase of drink and brooding was taking its toll on Steggan, his temper, his increasing indifference to work, and the labors needed by the farm. So, too, it had its dark way with his wife, his niece, and those of the county who had at first been willing to be good friends and neighbors. When the visitor came again, Steggan had the temerity to insist on more money.

  "You have been pa
id and rewarded in advance," the visitor told him. "The agreement stands, promises made. And they shall be carried out."

  "Surely me brother will send for his child soon," argued Steggan. "Am I to take care of her, feed an' clothe her, for the rest of her life, then?"

  "If need be."

  "Then why don't he come himself? Aw, but I reckon he's too high an' mighty, eh?"

  "His agents are faithful to him, sir. And I hope you are, too. I bid you good day!"

  • • •

  Matters only grew worse. Within the month of the second visit by his brother's agent, Steggan's wife had abandoned him and the girl, running off with a traveling tinkerman who passed through the parts. And, to Steggan's increased aggravation, the little girl was becoming ever more willful and disobedient. Steggan's fortune was soon depleted by drink so that he, by the necessity of his tavern debts, began to work somewhat harder than before, and to drive the girl harder, too, insomuch as his sorry state and her impishness would allow. The years crept by. And though the mysterious agent never returned, and neither was the girl sent for, Steggan nonetheless felt as though he was being watched. This feeling only increased his sullen and spiteful disposition, and he took to mumbling and glancing over his hunched shoulders. The farms and neighbors all around prospered in relative happiness and peace while Steggan's land steadily declined in fruitfulness. And while his neighbors enjoyed and celebrated each passing season, sharing with each other good company and kind spirits, Steggan and his young charge grew ever more aloof of them and ever more miserable.

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  The Surprise Visit

  Day 1

  244 Days Remaining