AUTHORS NOTE: I do not own Chlorr, Mogget or any of that stuff. It's all copyright Garth Nix. I wish it was mine.
Prologue
Grey morning light filtered through an open window, blanketing itself atop a young sleeping girl. The girl moaned and turned over, opening her eyes. She looked over to the window, pulling off her sheets, to see a message hawk perched on the sill. As she stepped over and patted the birds head, it chirped, "Message for Chlorr. Message."
"Yes, yes, I am Chlorr," the girl said softly, letting the hawk hop onto her arm.
The bird peeped once or twice before cocking its head to the side, and opening its beak. "My dearest Chlorr," said a voice, "I'm sorry to tell you that I sit on my death bed as I send this message to you. I was traveling out of High Bridge and was ambushed by the Dead. Luckily I found my way back to the town and they promise me that I will be properly put to rest. Soon, a white cat should come to your house, carrying-" The bird closed its beak and re-sat itself on the sill, its mind having reached its capacity.
"Hm..." Chlorr hummed, thinking of the news. Her father had died, and a white cat was to show up with something for her. She was never that close to her father; he always seemed preoccupied, and when she asked him what he was doing all the time he was gone, he dodged the question. Chlorr had hoped to get it out of him one day, but it seemed that day would never come. Sighing she sent the hawk on its way and got dressed. She was very mellow and no one would have guessed that her father had died from the way she acted. She was more upset by the fact that she wasn't mourning over her fathers death than she was of the fact itself.
She slipped on a warmer frock, the bell sleeves and long, flowing skirt draping her lean form. Stepping up to her mirror, Chlorr brushed her hair and adjusted her clothes to her liking. She washed her face and hands then found herself near the door. For some reason, she was anxious to step out. As if something important was there. She thought she was crazy. Maybe all of the solitude had finally gotten to her.
When she stepped out her door, tying back her long black hair, she was surprised by a white cat that lay curled up on top of a chest. This must be the cat her father had talked of. He was a very beautiful cat, his fur was sleek and shining and a lovely red-leather color set with Charter marks offset his fur wonderfully. Upon that collar was a silver bell which—on close examination—also had Charter marks on it. She sat on a bench to wait for the kitty to awaken. Just as she had sat down she saw one of the cat's green eyes peeked open.
"Oh, you're awake!" Chlorr exclaimed, standing up. There was something about the cats piercing gaze that made him seem less like the other cats she had often cuddled with.
"Yes, and I have been waiting for you to come out here for quite some time," the cat yawned, stretching his back. "You can call me Mogget, and nothing else."
"Uh, sorry. Mogget." She said, trying the name on her tongue. She was quite startled by the cat's sudden harshness, not to mention that it could talk at all. She supposed that the Charter marks on the collar gave it the ability to speak. "Are you the cat my father spoke of?" She tried to sound composed, but wasn't sure if she succeeded. Things like that didn't come easy to her. She couldn't just pretend that she was fine.
"I suppose so, yes." Mogget said dully, between licking himself. There was a pause as Chlorr simply stood there and Mogget continued to clean himself. "These are for you." He rapped his claws on the chest he sat on then jumped off. "The sendings couldn't just let me take them in a normal box..." he muttered as he looked at the elaborate chest. To make him come all this way, just to deliver a package.
Chlorr pulled the chest over and stared at it a moment, taking it in. It had two drawers near the bottom and one of the sides looked as if it opened out. She rested her hand on the carved oak and then undid the silver clasp that held it shut. It was admirably carved, with keys, stars, towers and trowels. She knew not what the symbols stood for, but their presence seemed to emit a sense of power. After touching it, she realized that it was deeply spelled with Charter magic as well.
Inside there was a neatly folded surcoat and chain mail accompanied by a sprig of lavender to keep them smelling fresh. Puzzled, she unfolded the surcoat to look at the design in the sunlight. Silver keys shone like stars on the deep blue sky of cloth. Folding the surcoat back up, she looked at the mail. It was made in an overlapping pattern, like fish scales, but they were very hard, yet still light-weight. Placing it back she gulped; these items didn't bode well for a safe future. Opening one of the drawers, she found a long sword the length of her arm, in its sheath. On top of the blade lay a belt with a place to attach the sword and a small pouch. Without closing that drawer she pulled open the other one. She saw a green leather book with a silver clasp. Just seeing it she felt a sense of foreboding and power. The drawer that it sat in seemed to be made for it, the velvet lining just touching the emerald spine. She was going to touch the book, but stopped, out of fear. She knew what would be in the pull out door. Lifting a delicate hand and letting her head droop slightly, she clicked it open. Upon the hook was a bandolier of bells, the tools of a necromancer.
She felt tears come, then swallowed them harshly. Her father hadn't merely been attacked by choice. Her father was a necromancer; he must have summoned them and lost control. The fate of her father dawned on her as the cat—Mogget, she remembered in the back of her mind—hopped onto her shoulder, making her jump. He draped himself around her neck and sighed, "Welcome, Abhorsen." in her ear, his voice sending shivers down her spine.
"Abhorsen?" she choked. The Abhorsen was the person who kept away the Dead. Or tried to, she thought of her father losing to the Dead.