Abhorsen

Outside, the rain came down in sheets and the lightning struck again and again into and around the pit. Thunder rumbled and shook as the Dead Hands of the Night Crew strained at the ropes, slowly dragging the first silver hemisphere towards the Red Lake and the second hemisphere up and out of the pit.

chapter seven

a last request

It was still raining two days after Lirael and Sam’s all too successful weather working. Despite the oilskin coats thoughtfully packed by the sendings back at the House, they were completely, and seemingly permanently, sodden. Fortunately the spell was finally weakening, particularly the wind-summoning aspect, so the rain had lessened and was no longer driving horizontally into their faces, and they weren’t being assaulted by sticks, leaves and other wind-borne debris.

On the positive side, as Lirael had to remind herself every few hours, the rain had made it absolutely impossible for any Gore Crows to find them. Though that was somehow not as cheering as it should have been.

It also wasn’t cold, which was another positive. They would have frozen to death otherwise, or exhausted themselves into immobility by using Charter Magic to stay alive. Both the wind and the rain were warm, and if there had been even an hour or two without them, Lirael would have thought their weather working a great success. As it was, misery rather tainted any pride in the spell.

They were getting close to the Red Lake now, climbing up through the lush forested foothills of Mount Abed and her sisters. The trees grew close here, forming a canopy overhead, interspersed with many ferns and plants Lirael knew only from books. The leaf litter from all of them was thick on the ground, making a carpet over the mud. Because of the rain, there were thousands of tiny rivulets of water everywhere, cascading among tree roots, down stone and around Lirael’s ankles. When she could see her ankles, because most of the time her legs were buried up to the shins in a mixture of wet leaves and mud.

It was very hard going and Lirael was more tired than she had thought possible. The rests, when they had them, consisted of finding the largest tree with the thickest foliage to keep out the rain, and the highest roots to sit on to keep out of the mud. Lirael had found that she could sleep even in these conditions, though more than once she awoke, after the scant two hours they allowed themselves, to find herself lying in the mud rather than sitting above it.

Of course, once they got back out in the rain, the mud soon washed off. Lirael wasn’t sure which was worse. Mud or rain. Or the middle course: the first ten minutes after moving out of shelter, when the mud was getting washed off and ru

It was at exactly that time after a rest, with her total attention on getting the mud out of her eyes as they climbed up yet another gully, that they found a dying Royal Guard, propped up against the trunk of a sheltering tree. Or rather, the Disreputable Dog found her, sniffing her out as she scrabbled ahead of Lirael and Sam.

The Guardswoman was unconscious, her red and gold surcoat stained black with blood, her mail hauberk ripped and torn in several places. She still held a notched and blunted sword firmly in her right hand, while her left was frozen in a spell-casting gesture she would never complete.

Both Lirael and Sam knew that she was almost gone, her spirit already stepping across the border into Death. Quickly Sam bent down, calling up the most powerful healing spell he knew. But even as the first Charter mark flowered brightly in his mind, she was dead. The faint sheen of life in her eyes disappeared, replaced by a dull, unseeing gaze. Sam let the healing mark go and brushed her eyelids gently shut.

“One of Father’s Guards,” he said heavily. “I don’t know her, though. She was probably from the Guard tower at Roble’s Town or Uppside. I wonder what she was doing...”

Lirael nodded, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the corpse. She felt so useless. She kept on being too late, too slow. The Southerling in the river, after the battle with Chlorr. Barra and the merchants. Now this woman. It was so unfair that she should die alone, with only a few minutes between death and rescue. If only they’d been quicker climbing the hill, or if they hadn’t stopped for that last rest...

“She was a few days dying,” said the Disreputable Dog, sniffing around the body. “But she can’t have come far, Mistress. Not with those wounds.”

“We must be close to Hedge and Nick then,” said Sam, straightening up to cast a wary eye around. “It’s so hard to tell under all these trees. We could be near the top of the ridge or still have miles to go.”

“I guess I’d better find out,” said Lirael slowly. She was still looking down at the dead body of the Guard. “What killed her, and where the Enemy are.”

“We must hurry then,” said the Dog, jumping up on her hind legs with sudden excitement. “The river will have taken her some distance.”

“You’re going into Death?” asked Sam. “Is that wise? I mean, Hedge could be nearby – or even waiting in Death!”

“I know,” said Lirael. She had been thinking exactly the same thing. “But I think it’s worth the risk. We need to find out exactly where Nick’s diggings are, and what happened to this Guard. We can’t just keep blindly marching on.”

“I suppose so,” said Sam, biting his lip with unconscious anxiety. “What will I do?”

“Watch over my body while I’m gone, please,” said Lirael.

“But don’t use any Charter Magic unless you have to,” added the Dog. “Someone like Hedge can smell it from miles away.

Even with this rain.”

“I know that,” replied Sam. He betrayed his nervousness by drawing his sword, as his eyes kept moving, checking out every tree and shrub. He even looked up, just in time to receive a trickle of rain that had made it through the thick branches overhead. It ran down his neck and under the oilskin, to make him even less comfortable. But nothing lurked in the branches of the tree, and from what little he could see of the sky, it seemed empty of anything but rain and clouds.

Lirael drew her sword too. She hesitated over which bell to choose for a moment, her hand flat against the bandoleer. She had entered Death only once before, when she had been so nearly defeated and enslaved by Hedge. This time, she told herself, she would be stronger and better prepared. Part of that meant choosing the right bell. Her fingers lightly touched each pouch till the sixth one, which she carefully opened. She took out the bell, holding it inside its mouth so the clapper couldn’t sound. She had chosen Saraneth, the Binder. Strongest of all the bells save Astarael.

“I am coming too, aren’t I?” asked the Dog eagerly, jumping around Lirael’s feet, her tail wagging at high speed.

Lirael nodded her acquiescence and began to reach out for Death. It was easy here, for the Guard’s passing had created a door that would link Life and Death at this spot for many days. A door that could work both ways.

The cold came quickly, banishing the humidity of the warm rain. Lirael shivered but kept forcing herself forward into Death, till the rain and the wind and the scent of wet leaves and Sam’s watching face were all gone, replaced by the chill, grey light of Death.

The river tugged at Lirael’s knees, willing her onwards. For a moment she resisted, reluctant to give up the feel of Life at her back. All she had to do was take one step backwards, reach out to Life and be back in the forest. But she would have learned nothing...

“I am the Abhorsen-in-Waiting,” she whispered, and she felt the river’s tug lessen. Or perhaps she just imagined it. Either way, she felt better. She had a right to be here.

She took her first slow step forward, and then another and another, until she was walking steadily forward, the Disreputable Dog plunging along at her side.