The chamber shuddered with each toll, marrow-light spilling across the bones like water from a shattered jug. My teeth ached, my spine rang like a tuning fork, and still the Ringer grinned—its lips stretched taut over bone, eyes hollow yet burning with cruel invitation. The sinew threads that bound it to the Bell glistened wetly, vibrating with each strike, as though the city's very skeleton were strung like an instrument for its hands.
Seraphine's iron arm hissed, steam venting in furious bursts. She planted herself between me and the pit, shoulders squared, ready to absorb the toll. "Varrow," she said, her voice low but steady, "tell me what the Ledger wants. Tell me how to sever it."
The Ledger burned against my ribs, forcing itself open. Words scrawled across its pages in jagged ink:
Options Available:
Option One: Cut sinew threads. Cost: Spine of Iron fracture.Option Two: Burn candle-mark. Cost: Three marrow beats.Option Three: Confession of bone—admit your own brittleness. Cost: Integrity collapse risk.
My knees buckled under the choices. Three marrow beats would hollow me near death. The Spine was already groaning with strain. And to confess… to admit my body's brittleness before the city, to give that truth away, might unmake me entirely.
The Ringer's voice thrummed through my bones, rattling my heart in its cage. "Choose poorly, clerk. The bell hungers. It will take marrow whether you spend it willingly or not."
Seraphine snarled and drove her fist into the stone floor. The ground cracked, splinters of bone flying. "Stop listening to it! Tell me where to strike, Varrow!"
The Ledger inked furiously:
Directive: Action required. Delay increases toll.
The bell swung harder. Citizens above ground must have collapsed as marrow drained from them, fed into the glowing ribs of the cage. I heard faint cries—voices dying not from blades or disease, but from absence, their very scaffolding stripped away.
I staggered forward, candle-mark burning weakly. "The sinew," I rasped. "Sever the threads."
Seraphine didn't hesitate. Her iron arm roared, pistons screaming, as she leapt toward the Ringer. She slammed her fist into the sinew strands that ran from its fingertips to the Bell. The cords strained, quivered, but did not break. The Ringer shrieked in vibration, its hollow chest glowing brighter.
The Ledger scrawled in frantic script:
Insufficient. Ledger-bearer must contribute.
I clutched the book tighter. My marrow screamed in protest, but I pressed the candle-mark to the open page. Light flared, searing my veins. I screamed—not with sound, but with fractures of silence that tore my throat. The flame leapt into the sinew threads. They writhed, burning with ghost-fire. One snapped, then another.
The Ringer shrieked, its skeletal face warping, jaw distending until it nearly split. It pulled harder at the remaining cords, trying to hold the Bell steady. The toll boomed so loud my ribs cracked. Blood spilled from my nose, black as ink. My knees gave way.
Seraphine caught me with her human arm, dragging me upright even as she smashed her iron fist into the last cords. They snapped in a burst of marrow-light, and the Bell of Bone swung free.
The Ringer screamed—no longer resonance, but sound at last. A hollow, terrible wail as marrow-light bled from its body. Its sinew threads recoiled, slapping against the stone before dissolving into dust. It fell to its knees, skeletal frame rattling.
The Ledger flared, scrawling its judgment:
Debtor Severed: The Ringer.
Balance: Collected. Marrow toll ended.
Cost: Three marrow beats lost. Spine integrity weakened.
I collapsed beside it, lungs burning, marrow hollowed. My candle-mark guttered like a dying wick. Seraphine stood above me, iron arm steaming, chest heaving. She kicked the Ringer's brittle body into the pit. It shattered on the rib-bones below, fragments scattering into silence.
The Bell of Bone swayed once more, but without the sinew's pull, it slowed, slowed… until it hung still, marrow-light fading from its cage. The chamber was quiet save for my ragged gasps.
Seraphine crouched beside me, eyes hard but voice low. "How much did it take this time?"
I opened the Ledger weakly. Ink scrawled:
Bearer lifespan reduced. Cost withheld.
I shut the book, throat bleeding from silence. My voice rasped only one word: "Enough."
Above us, the city sighed as the tolling ceased. Citizens would rise, confused, thinking the saint's bell had ended its feast-day chimes. They would not know the marrow-price that had been paid beneath their feet. They never did.
Seraphine helped me to my feet, iron arm steady, her human hand firm. We left the chamber together, bones crunching underfoot, the Ledger hot as a brand at my side.
But as we climbed back toward the Cathedral, I felt the silence differently. Not empty, not free. Waiting. Always waiting for the next toll.
—End of Chapter 27—