The memory seemed as though it were years ago. In reality it was only one month since Katriel had left her home in Belisaere to search for her mother. She could still remember the dream – the vision – that lead to her departure. The way the tall, well muscled necromancer loomed above the small bodied Abhorsen on the ground. How her blood spilled forth from a wound at her side. She could still feel the blistering effect that the scent of Free Magic initiated. Bile rose to the back of her throat and she concentrated hard to suppress the urge to vomit. She remembered being three years old, running to her mother, pleading with her not to go on another Abhorsen's mission. The same urgent possessiveness engulfed her now as she fought back tears. Tears of desperation, amplified by her exhaustion. Tears released begrudgingly, not only for her mother, but for herself. Yet Katriel would not admit defeat.
The Dead that had been following her since Callibe were now very close. It began with gore crows. Katriel managed to dispose of them rather quickly, but not quickly enough, as they had already had the chance to relay their information to the necromancer who had summoned them. More followed, mostly dead hands. She was alone and now faced more than thirty Dead who were advancing rapidly. Katriel planned to escape them using water. One advantage of her lineage was that she was easily recognised as the Abhorsen. After borrowing the boat of a fisherman in Callibe, Katriel fled to the ocean. There was no reason to stay on land; her guards – all six of them – had been killed in Sindle, only three days into the venture. Her prized mare, Arrenah was left in the inn stables as Katriel fled on the back of the closest horse, which happened to be that of one of her royal guards. She did not have time to worry about her loyal companion, save for hoping that perhaps the Inn keeper had recognised it as hers and kept it safe for the Abhorsen-in-Waiting. Now she was again alone, as the borrowed grey stallion founded after loyally obliging to the needs of his master, crossing such a distance at great speed. The diversion to sea only slowed the dead. It was inevitable that Katriel would face them on land as she come ashore thirty miles from Holehallow. On the fringes of Great Sickle Wood, the Dead were waiting.
Katriel sat hunched by a large white gum, the foliage around it hiding her for the time being. She tried to steady her breathing which felt as though it had been rapid throughout the entire mission. For the first time in four days, she was thankful to have an empty stomach. Her supply of rations gathered in Callibe had dwindled whilst at sea, leaving only meagre proportions of dried fruit and a small amount of cheese. Exhaustion threatened to envelop her; she would need to focus all of her energy on defeating the Dead Hands who were advancing with immense speed. Slowly, she rose to her feet, as quietly as her weary body would allow. Though the Dead Hands seemed to be terribly decayed – from risking the afternoon sun - their strength rested in the sheer numbers. Still, it seemed as though their master – a necromancer – was a great distance away, evident in their clumsy gait. The sound of clinking joints alerted Katriel to their whereabouts, approximately ten feet to the north of her. Their audible decay was accentuated by the smell of rotting flesh. Reaching to her left hip, she slowly unsheathed Melekh, her spelled sword given to her as a gift by the Wallmaker himself, on her seventeenth birthday. The charter marks glowed as they danced along the blade. Engraved with magic, the inscription read: "The Clayr saw me, the Wallmaker made me, the Abhorsen wields me. I am Melekh." Everything about this sword exuded power, from its name, to the fact that it was made more of magic than steel.
Katriel silently loosened the leather clasp that quenched the sound of Saraneth. The bell threatened to overpower her as its strength fought with its wielder, yet the young Abhorsen-in-Waiting was adept and even in her weariness, controlled the bell easily. The dim rays of a swiftly setting sun struggled to filter through the canopy above, causing a morbid confidence in her pursuers. She stepped out of the protection of the scrub, facing the decrepit mob head on, a forced, confident expression on her face. In one swift movement, Katriel flipped the bell in her left hand, catching the mahogany handle and absorbing its weight. In that instant, Saraneth's melancholy sound rang out, dictating the will of its master. At least two thirds of the Dead Hands were bound without much effort, however ten of them were fighting back the urge to submit to Katriel's will. These ten kept advancing while the others wrestled against their own bodies. Soon, all of the Dead Hands would be free once again, unless she could convey them back into death. Whilst holding Saraneth still, she unclasped Kibeth, sliding the rich coloured handle into her grip. Holding both bells, whilst ringing one and silencing the other would be a difficult task yet she did not dare sheath Melekh. In one fluid moment, Kibeth sang her commands, releasing the spirits of all Dead Hands who remained bound.
"Go! Do not stop, do not tarry. Enter death and follow the current beyond the ninth gate!"
Katriel needed to move swiftly for one Dead Hand was upon her, hands stretched out to clasp and encircle her neck. Despite being dreadfully decomposed, the Hand held a vice like grip around her throat, blocking off the air flow within her trachea. Still clasping the bells, she found the more she laboured for air, the easier it became to be lured into Death, how easy it would be to slip into unconsciousness and immerse herself in the cool water of the first precinct.
No! Katriel you must try, snap out of this! You are not a coward!
With that last dash of motivation, she raised her leg and kicked the corpse in the stomach, loosening its grip long enough to send Melekh slicing through the neck, decapitating skull from body. She knew that this was her last chance. With all her will, Katriel rang Saraneth whilst retreating back a few paces from where the Hands stood, fixed in position as though glued to the earth. Confidently, she allowed the tone to ring out before silencing it. She then fervently rang Kibeth as loud and as enthusiastically as her sleep deprived body would allow her. Fortunately this was enough. Katriel issued her command before the remaining spirits shucked the bodies of the Dead Hands before her.
Katriel walked, almost unconsciously, step after step toward a road leading into Holehallow. She kept this numb rhythm going for a few miles, barely acknowledging that she had been deprived of sleep for seven days and before that only receiving minimal sleep prior to continuing her journey. Too drained to relish the relief that she could no longer sense the dead around her, Katriel succumbed to her body's desires and collapsed onto the dry earth.