The King's Final Journey
By Vifetoile
A/N: I don't own anything of The Old Kingdom.
It was sunset on Midsummer's Day. A good day to die. A good time to die.
"After all," Sabriel said as she walked him to the door to the cellar, "Everything and everyone has a time to die."
Her voice was brave, but her eyes were bright with tears, and they never left Touchstone's face. He reached out a hand to stroke Sabriel's hair, now more silver than black. She caught his hand, and held it against her face for a long, silent moment. He wished with all his heart that that moment could continue forever – him and his wife, in the garden of Abhorsen's house, in the gentle heat of the Midsummer evening,
Sabriel let go of his hand. Touchstone let go of her face.
She lifted a heavy iron key from her belt and unlocked the rowan door with a loud click.
Into Touchstone's hands she pressed a key of silver, a key of oak, and a tiny key of bone. The last thing she gave him was a bell, fixing his fingers around the clapper so that it could not sound. "Go with love," she said to him, and they kissed, for one last time. Touchstone remembered what she had said when they had first kissed: "Think of life."
Think of life.
Go with love.
Everything under the Charter is in tune.
So with a smile, Touchstone turned away from his love, and his life, and he walked into the cold, close air of the stairwell down.
There were seven doors he'd have to open to reach his destination. The first was the door into the Abhorsen's garden itself. Then there was the door to the smaller, secret garden, where this door (the third, with the iron key) was hidden. Then the heavy stone door that only opened to silver, the sun-carved door that opened to oak, and the secret door that Touchstone opened with a word.
All these he saw, descending deeper and darker, by the light of the Charter marks that slid over walls and stairwells. Touchstone himself cast no magic: he would need all of his strength for what came ahead.
He could not help but think back on the past few hours. It had been a good day. He had foregone the usual celebration in Belisaire for a bright day with his family. There had been games on the lawn, and music, and laughter, and plenty of good food. Sameth had played a new musical instrument for them – a brass pipe based on something he'd seen in Ancelstierre, a "Saxon phone" or something similar. Nicholas had regaled the king's councilors with the stories of Ancelstierrian life. Even Lirael had been there, covering her mouth with her golden hand when she laughed. Sabriel had led a round of singing "Auld Lang Syne" as the party came to a close. The day had been bright, and sunny, and joyous.
It had been a good day.
Before the councilors and the Clayr, he had abdicated his throne to Ellimere with pride. After a last toast, he had bid good-bye to his children, kissing their foreheads lightly. Sam seemed to know what was coming, and Lirael's smile had faded – but then, Lirael always prepared for the worst.
A few more steps.
Ahead of the lone traveler was a final door. He lifted the key of bone to its latch, and carefully clicked the lock. The door slid open.
This chamber was cold, and there was a foul smell inside: the smell of Free Magic. When Touchstone stepped inside, Charter spells for light activated, not many, but just enough so that he could see what lay asleep, curled up on the floor, an innocuous little shape.
A black cat. With a red collar and a tiny silver bell. All it needed was a sunbeam to sleep in, and it would appear the picture of feline happiness.
But Touchstone knew better. He remembered the moment this spirit had been forced into this shape – when Sabriel had rung the first bell and forever bound the Great Dead Adept's spirit to Ranna, the Sleeper.
"The Sleeper is in our paths, brother," Touchstone murmured as he sat down and watched the cat's breathing, even, slow, in and out.
Touchstone set Astarael on the floor carefully.
"Rogirek," he said. Softly.
He tried to think of something else to say to his brother. "Thank you for breaking my life in half." "Sabriel survived your last assault on her." "I've missed you, brother." "I've healed the Charter Stones. It took my own life to do it, but I did it."
But no thoughts came to his mind. Instead, he carefully took the little cat into his lap, like it were any pet of his, though even touching the black fur made him feel sick and weak. But he cradled the form gently, and picked up the mahogany bell handle.
"It's time to go home."
He rang the bell.
Far above, under the dusk sky, Sabriel, in her vigil, more sensed the bell than heard it. She stepped away from the door, knowing that Touchstone would not want her to stay and listen, and die.
Underneath the well, not far away, the spirit of the Seventh Bright Shiner heard her own voice calling out to her in tones of silver, and she wept to hear it.
Touchstone slipped into the River of Death, as if he'd been lying on the beach and the waves had reached up to him and pulled him down. Sleep. True sleep, at last.
In his arms the cat shape began to awaken. Squirm. As they passed the First Gate, Touchstone heard yowlings that almost had a human tone to them. But he could ignore them as on down the river he went…
"Brother!"
Everything under the Charter is in tune.
"Brother!"
He might see his mother and sisters again. He would be able to apologize.
"Nagirrot, you born fool, release me!"
"No."
Touchstone, Torrigan, looked down, and the shape of the black spirit against his chest was now not even remotely cat-shaped. Touchstone frowned a little and clung on tighter. "Hello, Rogirek."
"What are you doing? Where are you taking me? Let me go this instant!" Actually, there was still something of the cat in the way that Kerrigor flailed and twisted, and in his limitations.
"We're going home."
"No! No – brother – please – no – let me go – I have so many plans – "
"Plans for the Kingdom?" Touchstone could talk lightly now; they were nearing the Second Gate, and everything from Life seemed more distant now. "Let me tell you: I've repaired all the Charter Stones. I reigned as King for a good forty-seven years. Now you and I are going to the Ninth Gate… where our path has always lain."
"You can't! You fool! I'll kill you!"
"I am already glad to die."
"Please – please, no, brother – I'll give you anything, anything you want—"
The Third Precinct was much calmer than Touchstone had expected.
"We shall rule together – Anything you've ever dreamed of—"
"My life has been full. I've had enough of everything. Besides, I've lived about two hundred and sixty years. Anyone should know when to just call it a day."
Rogir tried to plead again, but Touchstone's will was stronger. Touchstone's life had been strengthened by love, by work and striving, by everyday struggles and by unimaginable crises, by the joy of living. His life and his will overpowered that of Rogir's, whose life force was a weak shadow. But still, at the entrance to the Fifth Precinct, he managed, with a frenzied twist, to escape Touchstone's grasp.
Touchstone sat up, groping for his brother's spirit. Rogir was moving backwards towards the Fourth Gate, slowly, but with frightening tenacity. But Touchstone was uncertain now: should he go forward, or follow Rogir back into life? He hesitated, and then saw the Fourth Gate, just as Rogir reached it.
A black dog appeared at the Fourth Gate, as if it were any real gate back in the Kingdom. A black and tan dog with pointed ears and wise brown eyes, who stood at the Gate as if guarding it.
"No, Rogir," the dog said, and Touchstone remembered the Dog well. He bowed to Kibeth, even as Rogir's spirit hissed and arched.
The Dog chuckled. "I dealt with the Mogget, and I can certainly deal with you. Walk!" she barked, and the bark was filled with power. "Walk, necromancer-prince Rogirek, with your brother, to the Ninth Gate and beyond! And King Torrigan: ferry your brother to the Ninth Gate, and there, may you find your reward."
And Rogir's spirit was returning to Touchstone, again turning somewhat cat-like. It did not fight the command.
Touchstone nodded to the Disreputable Dog.
The Dog nodded back, and stayed watching until Touchstone and his brother passed through the Fifth Gate.
On, and on, through water and darkness…
… Until finally, the water stilled, and both brothers saw the stars…
Sabriel felt Touchstone's death. She and the Charter Sendings gathered the two bodies. Sameth the Wallmaker prepared the ship to be docked in Holehallow, the funerary ship of King Touchstone I. Sabriel herself laid the spells of final rest on the prow and stern. The body of the small cat was placed in a box of rowan wood, bound with silver, and placed at the feet of the King, where it would stay forever.
The prow of the ship was of King Touchstone, not naked and beardless, but crowned and aged, holding out the scroll of the Charter in one hand, and the bell Ranna in the other.