The harsh coldness of the wind swept through their bodies as the rain hammered down on their faces and backs. The ice like rain and wind together sent chills down their spines as they trudged on begrudgingly. They were used to the weather naturally, being who they were, although at times it seemd to get the best of even them. Their noses tainted pink and their blue feet and hands numb, despite their thick clothes. Although their shrouded dark figures, which seemed all but passing shadows to the people in their warm homes, continued to go forward, their minds in the past although no one more than the midwife.
It had been exactly seventeen years since the woman had stumbled upon them in the midst of their packing up. She had been round with child and in severe pain. Her clothes were torn and dirtied, looking like she had gone through much. Although her face had been incrusted with dirt, the beauty was still vibrant. Her fierce look of determination and pain, her grey eyes hard and cold. The woman had collapsed just as the midwife had reached for her.
The dark clouds above had now turned darker and began to tear through the sky. The woman had died, holding onto life long enough to birth the babe. Yet it was all in vain, as the child had not wailed and no form of mist emitted from its mouth in a sign of a breath. At first glance it could have been sleeping, although blue had tinged its lips already.
At this point the midwife remembered the Abhorson's arrival. He had been tall and pale as if death had claimed him too. His words were smooth but cold like he had gone through many hardships. His claim to his title had created ripples through our group, as we had heard that name many of times and were not sure whether to be scared or awed.
His insistence on the babtism of the charter to happen to the still babe, had made us sceptical of his sanity. After all, the babe was dead.
The charter had accepted the babe to our astonishment, the mark clear on her forehead shone bright despite the darkening sky. The Abhorsen had called her Sabriel.
When she had looked over to the Abhorsen he was shrouded in a fine white mist which circulated him. She had watched as a thin layer of ice or snow slowly began to spread over his shoulders to the rest of his body. The other travellers had been afraid, yet everyone was too scared or in awe to move. As time went on, the ice had spread over his entire body, becoming thicker as more time passed.
After hearing the childs muffled wails from in her arms, she hadnt even noticed that the Abhorsen had been released from his frozen form until he was upon her. His arms reached out for the still deathly pale yet wailing child. The midwife had watched as the hard man she had percieved, cradled and looked upon the babe with love. He had admitted that he was Sabriels father and that the woman who had just died had been his wife and only love.
That had been one of the last times she had seen the man and the child Sabriel. After a small ceremony where his wife had been turned to ashes in case she were to rise again as necromancer's a doll, he had left with Sabriel wrapped in countless layers of cloth, fast asleep in her father's arms. She still wondered about the Abhorsen and the child from time to time. She would have been seventeen now and would still look out for a child with raven black hair and skin as pale as death. Although she had never come across such a girl, even after seventeen years she still wondered what became of her and her father. The streets had become worst and the walking dead had all but claimed the night.
Catching the old midwifes eye, was a flicker of black, white and blue. Turning she saw a figure with a blue surcoat covered in a pattern of silver keys. It was the Abhorsens surcoat. On closer inspection she noticed that it was not the Abhorsen she remembered, this one was female. Although this Abhorsen looked young, her face held that of a much older woman.
"Abhorsen!" The midwife watched as a young man with tight curly hair and a sword at his side, ran up to the seemingly frustrated girl.
"What have i told you about calling me that! I am not my father! My father will once again be the only Abhorsen when i rescue him. I am still only the Abhorsen in waiting. And besides i hate it how people call me that anyway. Dont we know each other enough? For the hundredth time, call me Sabriel!" The man didnt seem taken aback like he had heard this lecture many times before.
Sabriel. Sabriel? Was this the babe she had met all those years ago, but where was her father? The midwife watched as the raven haired girl with skin the shade of death, grabbed the mans hand roughly and dragged him through the crowds, much to the mans protest. Running from her group, the midwife tried to follow, but stopped herself. What would she say to her anyway? Looking up the midwife could no longer see any trace of the young pair and felt a tear trail slowly down her cheek. The midwife was relieved that the girl was doing so well. She had been so weak and small. Silently the midwife wished the girl luck before turning quickly to catch up once more with her group.