Note- I do not own the Old Kingdom, I do not own the House, I do not own
the title Abhorsen (though that would be cool) In fact, I own nary a thing,
save the happenings of the story and the Abhorsen of this time period. The
ideas and universe belong solely to Garth Nix with his assortment of
novels.
Gently the wind rolled over the water, and gently the waves caressed the shore. The
smooth white sand cradled and refreshed her wearied feet, and the wind smoothed her hair
and the rhythm of the roaring falls danced in her ears. The peace of the land trembled
through her bones, but she did not quiver nor flinch
She felt alone in her world, of bells and of Death, but loneliness could find no dark
corner to reside in, to tuck itself inside of. For the Charter was new, and the
Charterstones strong, plenty, and unbroken. She could feel the endless flow of the
Charter, describing all things, hiding none. She let her mind slip into the warm welcome of
the Charter. She felt it course over and around her as surely as if she had let her slight
body into the River Ratterlin which flowed before her. Not that the Ratterlin would be so
gentle or kind with her body as the Charter was with her mind.
She lingered longer than required, much longer, in the endless flow, but,
reluctantly, she found her mark and slipped out again. The river of Life, as such the
Charter could surely be named, was a peaceful respite from the horrors and cold that
fought and rushed in the river of Death.
At the thought of death, Wrenael's pale fingertips fluttered to her leather
bandolier, coming to rest on the third bell down, the third smallest.
"Kibeth" The name whisped from her tongue before she finished the thought. The
whispers of the syllables rested between her teeth and tongue in a sort of prayer to the
bell. Kibeth the Walker. Reverently she bowed her head "May I only walk where I do bid,
in Life as well as Death," but even as they passed her lips, a contrary thought bubble
through her mind. 'Does the walker choose the path, or the path the walker?'
And in those words she found the strength to face another winter. The air was
crisp and there was no delaying the autumn which was quickly falling. No more than was
there delaying the night which would descend upon her in but a moment.
And so, pulling out the Chartermark much more quickly now, the Abhorsen turned
and walked into the House, spelled light bobbing in front of her, quiding the way.
Into the House to converse with the Eighth, to prepare for the Winter's battle with
the Ninth.
Gently the wind rolled over the water, and gently the waves caressed the shore. The
smooth white sand cradled and refreshed her wearied feet, and the wind smoothed her hair
and the rhythm of the roaring falls danced in her ears. The peace of the land trembled
through her bones, but she did not quiver nor flinch
She felt alone in her world, of bells and of Death, but loneliness could find no dark
corner to reside in, to tuck itself inside of. For the Charter was new, and the
Charterstones strong, plenty, and unbroken. She could feel the endless flow of the
Charter, describing all things, hiding none. She let her mind slip into the warm welcome of
the Charter. She felt it course over and around her as surely as if she had let her slight
body into the River Ratterlin which flowed before her. Not that the Ratterlin would be so
gentle or kind with her body as the Charter was with her mind.
She lingered longer than required, much longer, in the endless flow, but,
reluctantly, she found her mark and slipped out again. The river of Life, as such the
Charter could surely be named, was a peaceful respite from the horrors and cold that
fought and rushed in the river of Death.
At the thought of death, Wrenael's pale fingertips fluttered to her leather
bandolier, coming to rest on the third bell down, the third smallest.
"Kibeth" The name whisped from her tongue before she finished the thought. The
whispers of the syllables rested between her teeth and tongue in a sort of prayer to the
bell. Kibeth the Walker. Reverently she bowed her head "May I only walk where I do bid,
in Life as well as Death," but even as they passed her lips, a contrary thought bubble
through her mind. 'Does the walker choose the path, or the path the walker?'
And in those words she found the strength to face another winter. The air was
crisp and there was no delaying the autumn which was quickly falling. No more than was
there delaying the night which would descend upon her in but a moment.
And so, pulling out the Chartermark much more quickly now, the Abhorsen turned
and walked into the House, spelled light bobbing in front of her, quiding the way.
Into the House to converse with the Eighth, to prepare for the Winter's battle with
the Ninth.
