Chapter 2 — The Rule of the Bell

Months passed.

In the heart of the forest, where the stream flowed down toward the village, the sound of axes echoed through the morning.

Thock!

— You missed.

Thock!

— No, I didn’t.

Zeph stopped his axe mid-air and looked at Oskar.

— Want to chop instead of me?

— No.

— Then shut your mouth.

Oskar broke into a smile.

— I was right. The cut is crooked.

Zeph narrowed his eyes.

— It’s not. Want to bet?

— You’re on. If I fell mine first, you carry my logs.

— And if I win, you clean everyone’s fish today.

— Deal.

The two men raised their axes.

— One… Two… Three!

The axes struck the wood in the same rhythm. Zeph adjusted his angle, Oskar keeping pace closely, while other lumberjacks around them laughed at the pair and shook their heads.

Further down, on the shallow banks of the stream, fishermen hauled in their nets and sorted their catch into baskets.

— You’re losing! — shouted Oskar, turning his attention back to the contest.

— Keep dreaming! — Zeph shot back.

The crack widened. Zeph delivered one more precise strike.

CRACK!

— I think he won — said one of the older lumberjacks.

The tree leaned and fell with a roar.

CRASH!

Leaves and branches kicked up a cloud of dust. Oskar threw his arms open, but Zeph pointed at the trunk.

— It fell on my side. You lost. You’re cleaning the fish.

Oskar put a hand to his chest, feigning offense.

— Treason! Did anyone see that?

One of the fishermen, already climbing the bank with a heavy basket, shouted from afar:

— Zeph won! And if you’re going to keep arguing, get over here and help carry this!

The men laughed. That was how they worked. Axe, sweat, and wood, extracting a livelihood for Lord Gudran’s Village. And the more the community grew, the deeper they had to venture into the woods.

Zeph picked up his axe again.

— We need to cut the logs into smaller pieces and load them into the carts before it gets dark.

— Let’s get to it! We have no time to lose.

Oskar picked up his own, his tone growing a bit more serious.

The lumberjacks continued to work.

The weather was treacherous in the forest.

But everyone knew they had to respect the rule of the bell.

The birds fell silent.

Zeph looked at Oskar.

— It seems to be getting dark. Did you hear the bell?

— If the bell hasn’t rung, it’s because it’s not time to leave yet. I think you’ve been spending too much time with your father-in-law — Oskar replied, followed by a burst of laughter.

— I’m serious, Oskar.

Zeph raised his eyes to the sky.

Clouds were beginning to hide the last gleam of the day.

He sighed.

Oskar looked at him.

— Are you in a hurry?

Zeph let out a small smile.

— I’m a newlywed man; I still haven’t gotten used to the idea that someone is waiting for me at home.

Oskar laughed.

— Liar. You’re just afraid of getting home late and getting an earful.

— That too, Amara is a bit fierce sometimes.

Ever since Amara had told him the news, going home had taken on a new meaning.

Now, it wasn’t just her waiting for him.

There was a little life growing inside her.

Zeph still couldn’t believe he was going to be a father.

— I’m anxious to get home soon, my friend.

Oskar let out a laugh.

— I imagine. Amara must be waiting for you to arrive so she can complain that the father-to-be has been working too hard.

Zeph smiled.

— She’s already started doing that.

— And you thought it would be any different? — Oskar shook his head.

— Now that you’re going to be a father, my friend, you’d better get used to it. You’ll be hearing double the complaints.

Zeph chuckled quietly.

— I just want to get home, sit at the table with Amara, and hear how her day went.

Oskar patted his friend on the shoulder.

— Have you thought of a name for the baby?

Zeph let out a small laugh.

— Yes. If it’s a girl, her name will be Yara.

Oskar raised his eyebrows.

— Beautiful name. What does it mean?

— It means “lady of the waters”.

— My mother used to say that names are like currents, that we choose where the lives of the ones we love will flow out. I want her to be as free as a river that no one can tie down, strong enough to carve her own path through the rock, if she needs to.

Oskar fell silent for a moment.

— Wow… that was deep. I didn’t know there was a brain under all that hair.

Zeph let out a laugh.

— And if it’s a boy?

Zeph’s smile faded slightly.

He looked at the axe in his hands before answering.

— Orion.

Oskar noticed the shift in his tone.

— Orion?

Zeph nodded.

— It was my father’s name.

Oskar remained silent for a few seconds.

— You’ve never talked much about him.

Zeph took a deep breath.

— My mother used to say he was a formidable demon hunter. One of the best that ever lived.

— Demon hunter?

— Yes, it’s in my blood, believe it or not.

Zeph ran his thumb over the handle of his axe.

— She said he wasn’t afraid of anything. That he faced creatures that would make any man run.

Oskar watched his friend in silence.

— Did you ever meet him?

Zeph shook his head.

— No.

A brief pause.

— Fate didn’t give me that chance.

Oskar lowered his eyes.

Zeph kept his gaze on the forest.

— I never knew what he was really like. I only know the man my mother described.

He took a deep breath.

— Maybe giving his name to my son is the only way I’ve found to make him keep existing… even if it’s just in memory.

Oskar smiled discreetly.

— So you’ve decided everything already?

Zeph shook his head.

— Just the names.

Oskar laughed.

— And the rest?

Zeph looked at him.

— The rest… I guess I’ll learn when he gets here.

— It’s good to see you like this. I never imagined that messy boy would turn into a serious man.

Zeph looked at him and smiled.

— Neither did I.

For a few seconds, the two stood in silence.

— Let’s finish this up — said Zeph, picking up his axe again.

— I didn’t think you liked the heavy lifting, Zeph.

— I like working, not pushing my luck with the dark rolling in.

— Please, let’s not get into this talk of dark tales again. — Oskar smiled.

— By the way, does your father-in-law still tell those stories about the forest?

Zeph let out a sigh.

— Darian only says what everyone else in the village prefers to forget, Oskar. The forest has rules.

— Either way, it’s best we’re out of here before nightfall.

Oskar nodded, his humor giving way to caution.

— Yeah. Respect the rule: it rings, we leave. However, it hasn’t rung yet.

Zeph gave a small smile.

— Don’t get used to agreeing with me.

The two went back to work. Around them, the sound of laughter was gradually replaced by the steady rhythm of iron against wood.

But as the afternoon wore on, the atmosphere began to change.

Dense, dark clouds rolled in from over the mountain, quickly covering the sky. The golden light evaporated, replaced by an opaque, gray, and cold gloom.

In the distance, near the river, the fishermen fell silent.

— The bell… it should have rung by now — murmured Zeph, frowning and looking up.

— Maybe… maybe the bell got stuck.

— We’ll only find out when we get back.

A gust of icy wind whipped through the trees and crawled across the ground.

Zeph looked down. A thin layer of white mist snaked silently between the roots, covering the earth and creeping up the men’s boots.

Oskar took a step back, his eyes wide with panic.

— Are you seeing this?

— I am — said Zeph, his heart racing. — Shift’s over. We’re going back right now.

— I completely agree! — stammered Oskar, already turning his body toward the group that was beginning a hasty retreat.

— Everyone get out! — bellowed the oldest lumberjack up ahead, his voice echoing, muffled by the rapidly thickening fog. — Gather what you can and move!

— Wait! I’m pulling in the nets — shouted a man near the riverbanks.

— Fall back now! Everyone to the carts! — the old man yelled.

The men hurried and gathered everything they could.

— Go on ahead, Oskar — said Zeph quickly. — I forgot my rope near the banks. I’ll grab it in two seconds and catch up with you.

— Zeph, don’t do anything crazy, look at this fog! — Oskar protested, pulling on his friend’s arm.

— Go on, I’m right behind you!

Without waiting, Zeph turned around and ran the few meters back to the trunk.

He crouched down, hastily untied the rope, and coiled it over his shoulder.

— Done…

As he stood up, he heard something.

— Father…

Zeph froze.

The voice was faint.

So faint that, for a moment, he thought he had imagined it.

He looked around.

Nothing.

Only the fog.

— Who’s there?

Silence.

Zeph squinted, trying to peer through the white.

Then he heard it again.

— Father, aren’t you coming back?

This time, clearer.

It was a child’s voice.

Zeph felt a shiver run down the back of his neck.

— Is someone there?

He took a step toward the voice.

Zeph stopped.

There was something about that voice.

Something familiar.

He couldn’t explain what.

His heart clenched.

For a brief moment, he thought of Amara.

He thought of the child still growing inside her.

— Where are you?

Zeph moved forward.

Another step.

And another.

The voice seemed to always be a few meters ahead.

— Father, why did you leave me?

— Wait! — he called out. — I’m here!

No answer.

Zeph looked back.

The voices of Oskar and the other men had already vanished.

He frowned.

The fog had closed in like a white wall, swallowing the trunks, the river, and the sound of the men. The world had disappeared.

Zeph stopped, the breath caught in his throat.

— Oskar? — he called out, his voice tense.

No answer. Just the heavy silence of the forest surrounding him.

Then, cutting through the density of that absolute nothingness…

Dong.

The first toll of the bell sounded distant.

But it sounded too late.

And the sound seemed to come from everywhere at once.

Zeph remained motionless.

His hand still gripped the rope.

His eyes tried to pierce the fog, but there was nothing to see.

Nothing.

No trees.

No river.

Not even the ground a few steps ahead.

The fog was so dense it seemed to carry weight. It coiled around his legs, crept up his chest, and covered his face with a damp chill that made his skin crawl.

Zeph took a deep breath.

The air drew in ice-cold.

Shallow.

Heavy.

— Oskar?

His voice died a few meters ahead.

No answer.

Zeph took a step.

His boot sank into the damp earth.

One more.

He reached out a hand.

His fingers touched something.

Wood.

The trunk.

Zeph let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

— Right…

He looked back.

Or tried to.

The fog had completely erased the path.

It was as if the world had been reduced to a small circle around his body.

Zeph turned slowly.

This time, he yelled.

— Oskar!

His heart began to beat faster.

He knew that forest.

Knew the trees.

Knew the river.

Knew the way back.

But now he recognized nothing.

The fog hid everything.

Zeph took a few more steps.

Stopped.

Waited.

Maybe he would hear something.

A shout.

Footsteps.

The creak of a cart.

Anything.

Nothing.

Then…

Dong.

The second toll of the bell.

Zeph shuddered.

This time, the sound seemed much closer.

So close that he got the impression the bell had rung inside his own head.

Zeph tightened his grip on the rope.

— This isn’t right.

His voice came out low.

He tried to find the way by following his own footprints.

He crouched down.

The earth was too damp.

The boot tracks had vanished.

Zeph swept his hand across the ground.

Nothing.

He stood up quickly.

Spun to one side.

Then to the other.

The fog remained motionless.

There was no wind.

There were no birds.

There were no insects.

There was no river.

Just that white.

That damned white.

Zeph began to walk faster.

— Oskar!

Nothing.

— Guys!

His breathing grew heavy.

He picked up the pace.

Three steps.

Five.

Ten.

Stopped.

Looked around.

The same place.

Or at least it looked like the same place.

The tree in front of him.

The partially buried stone.

The thick root cutting across the ground.

Zeph frowned.

He had already passed through here.

He was sure of it.

Turned back.

Walked in the opposite direction.

Ten steps.

Twenty.

Thirty.

The tree appeared again.

Zeph froze.

The blood seemed to drain from his face.

What is happening to my mind? This cannot be real… thought Zeph.

He closed his eyes for a second, desperately searching for the memory of Amara’s face, the warmth of her hands, her voice calling his name at the door of their home.

And then he remembered her words.

“You’re going to be a father.”

Zeph opened his eyes.

He couldn’t die here.

Not now.

For an instant, an old memory crossed his mind.

The absence.

The emptiness of growing up without knowing his own father’s face. Without hearing his voice. Without having a hand to hold him when fear came.

Zeph gritted his teeth.

I am not going to let that happen.

He brought a hand to his chest.

My son is not going to grow up like me.

He won’t wonder who his father was.

He won’t grow up without knowing what it’s like to be loved by him.

Zeph took a deep breath, feeling his eyes burn.

— I’m going to make it back… — he whispered.

His voice came out trembling.

— I promise.

He couldn’t die here.

Not when he finally had something besides himself to protect.

He looked up.

He couldn’t even see the branches.

The fog had swallowed everything.

Then he heard something.

A low sound.

Very distant.

Zeph lifted his head.

Silence.

Then…

Thock.

Thock.

Thock.

It wasn’t the bell.

It was wood.

As if something were knocking against a tree.

Zeph stood perfectly still.

The sound came again.

Thock.

Pause.

Thock.

Pause.

Thock.

He gripped his axe.

— Who’s there?

No answer.

Zeph took a step back.

The sound stopped.

And, in that instant, he noticed something that made his stomach turn to ice.

The fog behind him had moved.

Not like a cloud carried by the wind.

Like something that was breathing.

Zeph turned around slowly.

Nothing.

Just the white.

He squeezed the handle of his axe.

— Come on…

He tried to convince himself.

— It’s just fog.

— Just fog.

Another.

— Nothing more than that.

But his own voice no longer sounded convinced.

On the other side of the fog, something moved.

Fast.

Zeph raised his axe.

— Who’s there?!

Then a distant voice.

Faint.

It sounded like an old woman.

Echoing through the fog.

— Zeph…

He froze.

Zeph immediately stepped forward.

— Who are you? What do you want from me?

— Zeph…

The voice came again.

More distant.

Zeph ran.

The fog closed in around him.

Every step seemed to take him into an even smaller place.

He couldn’t breathe right.

The air felt thick.

Hot within the cold.

His hand trembled on the handle of his axe.

The forest is consuming my mind! Damn it! Darian was always right about this cursed forest… thought Zeph.

Then he realized.

The voice hadn’t come from in front of him.

It had come from behind.

Zeph stopped.

He turned slowly.

The fog was empty.

Completely empty.

And then the bell tolled for the third time.

DONG.

Zeph fell to his knees.

The sound tore through his body like a physical blow.

For a few seconds, he couldn’t think.

Couldn’t move.

He only heard the echo fading away among the invisible trees.

Despair, cold and sharp as the fog, crashed down upon his chest. His clenched hands sank into the damp earth as he let out a choked sob.

Amara… — he thought, his broken voice losing itself in the silence of the woods.

Please… forgive me. I just wanted to make it back in time. I wanted to see your smile again.

When he finally tried to stand up, he realized he wasn’t alone.

Behind him, a hooded silhouette rose in silence.

Zeph’s body went ice-cold.

He turned around quickly.

Before he could understand what was in front of him, a bandaged hand emerged from the dense white and closed around his neck. An inhuman force ripped him off the ground.

Zeph thrashed in panic. His axe plummeted as his hands clawed at the creature’s bandages, trying uselessly to pry away that strength.

For a few seconds, the creature merely stared at him in silence.

Zeph couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing.

Then, through the fog behind it, something moved.

A figure emerged slowly, dragging its feet.

A hunchbacked old woman, with cadaverous features and sunken eyes.

Meanwhile, the creature, in a sudden motion, tightened its grip on Zeph’s neck even more.

— Do not kill him. We need him alive — hissed the old woman.

— He is the key.