The Bells Poem Novels & Stories

I screamed, but the boy’s power snapped out like a wave. Not magic or light. The hunter disintegrated mid-air, turned to salt and mist. The child looked at his palm and then at me. And said softly: “More are coming." As night falls, bells begin to toll from beyond the eastern cliffs__bells that haven’t rung in a thousand years. The stars above blink out__one by one until the sky shows nothing but a pulsing ring of silver around the moon. And then… a second moon begins to rise.

He muttered and I frowned in confusion. She just makes you— The clanging sound of a loud bell suddenly filled the air now and it was like the world around took a pause as all the growling stopped. .. But then it continued. The pause was momentary as the Ferals all around us started growling again. However, this time, the growling seemed to be going away from us and not towards us. The bell continued clanging from a distance and it seemed to be coming from the old bell house… and it seemed to be calling the Ferals as they were no longer slamming against the wooden door now.

"Thank you." He swallowed. It was enough. "Hold it here," Isolde said, guiding my hands to the bell's edge. "Not too hard. The note must be low. Slow. Like a heartbeat." I drew back. I swung. The bell spoke. It was not loud, but it was deep. The sound rolled through the tower floor, through the stone, through my chest. It shuddered out over the valley, over the sleeping village, over the hills. The air itself seemed to thicken. Rhen gripped my arm. I felt the pressure change in my ears, like the moment before a storm breaks.

The bell tolled—a deep, resonant, and impossibly loud sound that did not travel through the air, but through the very fabric of time itself. The first toll of the bell shattered the artificial crimson horizon, causing the sky to crack open like a dome of dark glass. The second toll sent a massive wave of white energy rippling across the courtyard, instantly vaporizing the remaining shadow entities into wisps of gray mist. The third toll caused the spinning brass plates beneath Anaya’s feet to lock into place with a definitive, thunderous clack.

Within seconds, the entire estate was thrown into a state of chaos. From deep within the palace towers, the heavy iron bells started to ring. It was a deep, hollow sound that echoed all through the stone walls. The rhythmic warning let everyone know the valley gates had been breached. It made the situation feel incredibly real, and my heart started beating fast against my ribs again.

It was the seamstress from the Golden Palace. “Anyone named Ina—bring them all to me!” After a brief silence, the small silver bell at my waist suddenly rang. As people turned to look, and the ringing grew louder, I finally realized—it was a bell she had given me, meant for summoning. At that moment, an invisible force seized my arm. My whole body was lifted into the air and swiftly pulled toward the gates of Valhalla. I fell to the ground, unable to steady myself—but when I raised my head again, I met those eyes, as if formed from crimson wine.

“I promise it was a one time mistake. He was the one who made a move. I swear it. It was just one stinking kiss and it won’t happen again.” Tilting my head, I replied, “I don’t know what you think I’m asking but yes, I want the details of this kiss. Get in.” As we get in, I discard my light coat by the chair and follow her to her bedroom. It’s still as I remember it, except for some little bag of decor by the bed. Festive seasons and stuff. “Why are you in my house, Bells? You almost gave me a fright.” “You promised to call me last night but you did not. I thought you whacked your head against the bathroom sink and died.”

ROWENA The bell did not ring in the pattern I had learned. I had grown used to the fortress's rhythms over the months I had lived inside its walls, the morning bell and the water carry and the evening meal, each sound carrying its own ordinary weight. This was not that. This was three strikes, fast and uneven, followed by a silence that lasted too long and then the same three strikes again, and every acolyte in the Sanctuary went still at the same moment, the way animals go still before weather they cannot yet see.

My skin prickled as if something old had turned its head towards us. Inside the box were four bells. They were small enough to fit in my palm, but there was nothing delicate about them. They were made from dark metal that was not black exactly, but too deep to be grey. Strange carvings ran around their round bodies, lines and marks that seemed to shift when I looked at them too long. Each bell had a short handle wrapped in what looked like dark leather, though I did not think it was leather at all. The metal caught no light. It swallowed it.

The bells rang once. Not the rolling peal of ceremony or the layered warning drills Astarte practiced for disasters that never truly came, but a single, shuddering toll that sank into bone and stone alike. Elora felt it vibrate beneath her skin as the light over the city wavered, dark magic slamming into the outer wards with deliberate, merciless force. For a breath, Astarte still gleamed—crystal towers catching the last shards of daylight, banners of light rippling between spires, streets still full of motion and life—but then shadow cracked across the sky and the wards screamed.