The sun was high in the sky by the time Lirael, daughter of the Clayr, Abhorsen, and binder of Orannis woke.

Her eyes snapped open, and quickly shut again as sunlight blinded her. She groaned. Too bright. Too much.

She lay there for a while, comfy and warm beneath the linen sheets. They were tangled, twisted and evidence of the bed dreams she had been having. Slowly, she sat up, her black hair falling over one of her eyes. She remembered a time when she would have kept it there, but now was not the time any more, so she tucked it behind her ear and breathed. The room was stuffy but she couldn't tell, being the one who had slept there, and she was too comfy to open the window herself.

Fortunately, Ellimere was happy to do this of her, and in she came, her robes swishing gently. 'Morning!' she said brightly, opening the windows. The sun shone in ever brighter and fresh air gushed in, cool and crisp.

Lirael mumbled something and Ellimere laughed.

'Get up, lazy! You're as bad as Sam!'

'Yes I am,' Lirael agreed with her niece. The niece who was her own age. She turned over, 'Please leave me alone, Ellie.'

Ellimere laughed again. 'Never!' she declared, 'We're crossing the wall today, back to the Old Kingdom!'

'That's nice.' Lirael mumbled into her pillow. 'Be with you in a couple of hours.'

'Come on!' Ellimere insisted, 'Mother needs your help, Lirael!'

Lirael stretched, a long sighing stretch and pushed her hair out of her eyes. 'I know.' She sighed.

Reaching over to her dressing table, her fingers found the material she was looking for. It was a golden glove, Charter marks swam on it's surface, and Lirael slipped the glove onto her right wrist. There was no hand there now, merely a stump that itched now and then. Orannis had claimed that hand. Ellimere stopped pressing Lirael to get up at the sight of the glove.

It had been made by Sameth, Lirael's nephew and Ellimere's brother. He was a wallmaker: a sort of inventor, very skilled in making both magical and non-magical objects.

Lirael herself had been doubtful when he had handed it to her, but as she slipped the glove on, it shivered and bulged, as if a hand were suddenly growing inside it, the fabric glittered and Lirael gazed at a now fully operational false hand.

Now that it was done, Ellimere felt she could now press her aunt once more.

'Up?' she pleaded.

'Alright.' Lirael said, smiling. She did want to get up, really, and she had been missing her sister, Sabriel, the Abhorsen. She had missed her sister's company while fighting off stray dead that had somehow managed to struggle into Ancelistierre, but that was done now, and Ellimere, heir to the throne of the Old Kingdom had been settling feud between two Lords fro the Old Kingdom. Both had finished what they set out to do and both were ready to go back home. It had been a year since Orannis was bound anew, and Lirael had found her true family at last, a family that adored her and one that she loved, most of all Sam.

            Her happiness had been doused a lot by the responsibilities of being the Abhorsen. There had once been only one, and in truth Sabriel was still that one, but Lirael had grown used to binding the dead, and it was now a responsibility she took solemnly. But not without drawbacks.

Even now, a year later the dull hole where her first true friend The Disreputable Dog had been was far from healed.

            Lirael knew that the hole would never fully heal at all. It would remain a scar, like a tattoo it would stay with her forever. Her hope only stretched to that, one day she too would pass beyond the ninth gate like her dear friend and they would be united there together once more.

            As Lirael came out of the hotel she and Ellimere had been staying, she found that two horses had been saddled for them both, and she smiled, remembering that time barely six months ago when Sameth had insisted on teaching her how to ride. She had accepted his offer graciously, and much bucking and falling off later, she had mastered it. That time seemed so far away. Was it really a year since The Disreputable Dog had gone?

Lirael shook herself. Not the time.

Sighing, she swung her bandoleer onto her chest and buckled the straps. It was only then that she noticed that she was not alone, and that something, a spirit of the greater dead was closing in. Lirael cursed, her hand gripping each of the bell handles in turn, finding Astrael first. After all, it was her bell.

Instead of the weeper, however, Lirael's hand(s) found Kibeth and Saraneth, bells of The Dog and Sabriel.

'Lirael?' Ellimere called, emerging from inside the foyer of the hotel, 'Lirael? What's going on?'

Lirael turned to her niece, her eyes wide. 'Dead.' She whispered. 'Get inside, Ellie, it's coming fast.'

Ellimere bit her lip. 'Shouldn't we run?'

Lirael's eyes looked puzzled, her mind reached out. Was this spirit after her? What was it? Mordicant?

Perhaps Ellimere was right, perhaps staying there would only lead the dead creature to the hotel full of innocents. 'Ok.' She said, pushing Kibeth back into it's pouch, but keeping a hold of Saraneth. Swinging herself up into the saddle, she beckoned to Ellimere who swung up nimbly onto the horse beside her.

'Go,' Lirael ordered, 'I'll follow, but I want us to distract it, in case it senses the Life in the village.'

'What if it's after you?' Ellimere said, panic clearly showing up in her voice. 'Won't that give it away our position?'

'I'll risk it.' Lirael muttered, 'Now get out of here!'

Ellimere was shaking her head, smiling, 'You are too much like Sam.'

She whirled her horse around and galloped away, shouting, 'Come Quickly, Lirael!'

Lirael smiled. She would give the dead something to follow

Lirael pushed her horse into a trot, she could still hear Ellimere, cantering off fast, her direction unseen through the thick trees that masked the road. As her horse took the first step onto the road, the sense of the dead suddenly became overpowering. She took in a sharp breath and gripped Saraneth's handle fast, holding it steady so it did not sound.

            The dead thing was just beyond her vision, but she kept her sight focused on a apple tree just on the edge of the road where the sense of the dead was most strong.

            She took a grip on Saraneth and rang it, hard, thinking, out from behind the tree, OUT.

Oh, for the Disreputable Dog at moments such as these. Pushing this dreary thought away, Lirael called again, encoding her will to the sound of the bell. She was suddenly all too aware that perhaps she knew this dead thing. Had she met it before?

She let the bell's sound fade away, and was about to take out Kibeth when the sound of footsteps from behind the tree met her ears and she watched intently, her eyes sharp and wide.

The dead thing stumbled out. But it wasn't dead. The man's head was covered in thick brown hair, and his eyes were sleepy, his chin was covered in stubble, and his eyes found Lirael's as he tottered forward, half dragging himself out from behind the tree, clinging to the bark as means of support.

'Nick!' Lirael cried, jumping swiftly off her horse and running forward to help him forward. Her head was buzzing. But she had sensed dead, and Nick, most certainly was not dead, though he looked pale and was sweating badly. Gingerly, Lirael reached out to touch his charter mark. She had no idea how he had got it, or how he was alive now, but for some reason, the destruction of Orannis meant the re-awakening of Nick – a Nick that somehow bore a charter mark on his forehead –sign of the charter mage.

As she touched his mark, expecting to feel the never-ending charter in her fingers, she instead felt the stunted, parasitic growth of something that most definitely was not supposed to be there, and there was still that creeping, sinister feel of the dead nearby. 

            And then a light flicked on inside her head, a light that particularly cast a beam on a certain page from The Book Of The Dead. A page, that illuminated the existence of the parasitic Mordaut. Quite apart from The Book Of The Dead's advice on how to deal with such dead things, Lirael recalled a story Sabriel had told her about her own encounter with one, and Lirael remembered that primarily, she must not alarm the Mordaut, lest it suck its host dry of life.

'Hang on Nick,' Lirael said, trying to keep her voice steady, 'You just wait there, and I'll just get a blanket – you look quite cold.'

Nick did not appear to hear, and Lirael turned her back on him, walking up to her horse and making a show of trying to pull a blanket free out of one of the saddle bags, secretly drawing Ranna, and holding it still to her breast.

            She knew the will of Saraneth was gone, as she heard Nick get up, his breaths shallow. The Mordaut had clearly decided to try and infest her in place of Nick, and if she didn't act quickly The Mordaut would consume its current host before it moved on to her. That was something she could not let happen.

            Holding Ranna still, she tried to make it look like she was only just getting to blanket to come free, before the Mordaut came at her.

Lirael whirled around, her black hair flipping around to cast her face into dangerous shadow. As the Mordaut leapt, Lirael rang Ranna. Nick froze as he heard it, and the Mordaut with him.

Ranna's sweet peals blossomed into the air, an intoxicatingly relaxing tune.

Nick stumbled and fell, his eyes fell shut and the air became filled with his deep breaths.

Lirael wasted no time, falling to her knees, she turned him on his front and lifted up his shirt, so that she could see his back.

There it was, like a spider, its rotten legs sinking into Nick's flesh, its main body resting in a lumpy mass at the base of his spine, brown and rotten.

Lirael fumbled with her bell straps, drew Saraneth and rang it hard, making sure its call held the Mordaut still.

It was not going anywhere, but she took no chances.

Pushing Saraneth back into it's pouch, she re-drew Kibeth, and swung it above her head, letting the jig reign above Nick's body.

The Mordaut woke, but its will was bound to the walker, and it was pulled away from the warm life it infested, but could not consume him, being bound.

Lirael smiled with relief as she heard the jolly sounds of the walker, nowadays she recognized it as the echo of the Dog, and it was comforting to hear it as it marched dead thing back to where they were supposed to be.

It was gone in minutes, leaving Nick limp and stunned. Lirael lifted hi gently onto her lap, and his eyes, dizzy and unfocused recognized her.

'Lirael!' he whispered. 'Lirael!'

'Its alright, Nick.' Lirael soothed, 'I'm here. Come, can you stand?'

But Nick would not. Instead he took a grasp on Lirael's hand. It was an unusually strong grip and it alarmed her.

'What is it, Nick? What's wrong?'

'You…' his voice was distant, faraway. 'You must… g…get back… across the wall.' He croaked. 'We must get there. Is… Ellimere?'

'Yes,' Lirael re-assured him, 'Ellimere is safe. Please, Nick, I need you to be strong. Can you walk?'

She was frightened by the urgency in his voice, and she was overcome with the will to comply to his wishes. Yes, they must get back across the wall.

'Be strong, Nick,' Lirael whispered, placing her hand on his chest and calling charter marks for strength and energy. They sank into him and his gaze grew stronger.

Shakily, Lirael helped him up onto her horse, and leaped up Nimbly behind him.

'On, Heai,' she urged her horse, 'Onto Ellimere.'

            When they found Lirael's niece, she looked rather relieved to see her aunt alive, and shocked to see Nicholas. 'How did he get here?' she demanded.

'No idea,' Lirael replied, sensing that they must move on, 'But we've got to get going, Ellie, its seemed pretty urgent to Nick that we get across the wall.'

'Alright.' Ellimere agreed, her face set determinedly, and Lirael smiled as she saw Touchstone's preparation for battle manner in her niece.

'Lets Go.'