A wave of cheers greeted Lirael as she stumbled out of the hut. Clutching
Once-Nehima tightly, she stood up as straight as she could manage, pushing
her way through the adoring crowd that mobbed her.
"Charter bless you, Abhorsen!"
"Thank you Abhorsen! Thank you!"
"You've saved us all!" Nodding and smiling weakly at the villagers, Lirael continued to push through until she reached her Paperwing. She sat herself down with a loud sigh, and tucked her blade into the pocket at the side. She reached to remove her bandolier, but paused for a moment, looking down at the bells beneath her fingers. Her fingers grazed Ranna, settling on the age-smoothed wood of its handle. Pursing her lips, she looked up towards the villagers gathered about her. They all regarded her in awe, hanging off her very presence, every breath she drew. Exhaling, Lirael looked back towards Ranna before speaking.
"Bring me her bandolier. Don't touch any of the bells." She instructed. As her voice fell to silence, two of the villagers ran off to do as she had asked.
"And what of her body, Abhorsen?" One voice piped up above the steady hum of the crowd's chatter. Lirael looked towards the source-a tiny girl of no more than 14 years with dark hair, and even darker eyes. The Abhorsen opened her mouth to speak, but what words she intended to say died in her throat. This child looked exactly like she had at that age. With a slight cough, Lirael remembered her place. She was no longer that awkward, sightless daughter of the Clayr. She was the Abhorsen, and respected by all of the bloodlines, regardless of what twisted versions of the truth Ranna had shown her.
"Burn it." She said bluntly. "Burn it on a bed of Rowan branches, and make sure all present are wearing silver." The crowd all nodded simultaneously, taking in these instructions. If they understood the significance of Lirael's words, they gave no sign save wide- eyed adoration. It was at that moment that the crowd began to part, making way for something. As the crowd divided, the cause of their actions was revealed. They were parting to make way for the two villagers who had gone to retrieve the Necromancer's bandolier. They clutched nervously at either end of the leather band, careful to follow the Abhorsen's instructions about avoiding the bells. They gingerly handed off the bandolier off to Lirael, who noted their pale faces. Part of her wanted to offer them a reassuring smile, but a larger part of herself stopped her. She consoled herself by mumbling a quiet thanks as she tucked the bandolier into yet another hidden pouch aboard the Paperwing. With a final scan of the villagers, she motioned for them to back away from her craft. They obeyed, and Lirael closed her eyes. It took hardly any effort to throw herself into the ceaseless current of the Charter, and she had to fight off the temptation to simply float away and never come back. The Carter Marks she needed came quickly to her call, as if they expected her. Settling them into her mouth, she took a deep breath and launched them all out with a sharp whistle. The Marks set to their work without question as Lirael set to creating a Charter Wind to carry her out of there. Her next destination was unknown to even herself. All she truly cared about was that she was away from this village, and the strange, dark presence of the now dead Necromancer. As she completed the spell-song, the Paperwing began to glide forward slowly, lifting off the ground as it picked up speed. The manufactured wind caused Lirael's hair to flutter behind her as she reached an altitude of thirty-five feet from the ground. Her internal compass told her she was heading Northeast, towards an area known as the Great Sickle Wood. She recalled having traveled that way once or twice before, on business with Sabriel. Lirael remembered little of the area save the impression it had left on her-the sheer size of the trees had been mind blowing. The leaves and branches had seemed to sway with the breeze in a constant dance of life that almost seemed to rival the Charter in its glory. For some reason that Lirael could not quite place, she allowed the Paperwing to continue it's flight towards the woods, already making plans to land in the middle in order to pause and reflect. A shiver ran through Lirael's spine as she looked back towards the village rapidly disappearing behind her. Unpleasant memories of the Necromancer Terren, and the distorted visions displayed by the Free Magic version of Ranna came flooding back. Lirael bit her lower lip hard as she forced her attention back towards the horizon ahead. She couldn't remember exactly how far away the Great Sickle Wood was, just that it lay somewhere beyond that skyline.
Thirty miles, and a little over half an hour later, the Great Sickle Wood became visible to the very tired and shaken Abhorsen. Responding quickly to Lirael's touch, the Paperwing began to descend crisply towards the forest. The trees were dense, but not so dense that the Paperwing wouldn't be able to slip between them. Sliding in amongst the trees, the vessel slowed as it wound it's way about the trees. Lirael breathed in deeply as she ventured further into the woods. The air here was crisp and clean, a joy to inhale. This was a good a place as any to stop and rest, she decided. As the thought ran through Lirael's head, the Paperwing landed itself. Once it had come to a complete halt, she rose and strapped Once-Nehima about her waist. Stepping cautiously out of the Paperwing, feeling for the small pouch at her side out of habit before sitting down with a defeated moan. It was only now, away from Qyrre and its inhabitants, that she could address exactly what had happened. Closing her eyes, Lirael leaned back against a particularly majestic tree as she tried to recall exactly what had occurred. The more she tried to focus, however, the more she realized that she didn't really want to. The strange apparitions of her friends, her family. . . all displeased with her, all angry. None of it seemed at all fair or right to Lirael, so why was it all happening? She sighed to herself as the response came to her. No one ever said life was fair, least of all the life of the Abhorsen. A better question was why was she behaving like this? This was her calling. She had faced Necromancers before, why should this one be treated any differently because it had managed to find Lirael's weakness? It was no longer a concern. Its spirit was on its way through death, and its body would hopefully be nothing but ashes by now. Gathering some strength from these thoughts, she opened her eyes and stepped away from the tree. Doubts still lingered however, and Lirael searched for some way to assuage her fears. A gentle breeze rippled through the woods, tousling her surcoat. Automatically, Lirael reached to smooth the tunic out. As she caught sight of her pale, slender hands, the answer came to her. She would go into death and call upon the Necromancers spirit. She would know the truth, and put this uncertainty behind her. Reaching towards the Paperwing, she drew out her bandolier. She would be a fool to proceed with this plan unarmed. Strapping on both sword and bells, she put herself into the proper mindset for crossing over. Closing her eyes once more, she felt for that well-known boarder between life and death. Lirael found it easily, as only one who was truly accustomed to the River could. Glancing around, she drew out Saraneth while placing a hand to her sword. Sounding the Binder into the silence of the river, she called out in a strong voice as she could muster.
"Terren-Once Necromancer, servant of Free Magic. By Saraneth I call you forth to me, Lirael-the Abhorsen, servant of the Charter." A disturbance in the water drew Lirael's attention forward and to the left. A dark-robed figure, sporting dark curls and spiteful eyes stood up, reaching for a bandolier that was no longer there. Upon this discovery, Terren looked up scornfully at the Abhorsen.
"What is it you want, Lirael?" Terren spat, uttering her name like a curse.
"I'd ask you now if I weren't so sure you wouldn't aide me." Lirael replied, exchanging Saraneth for Belager. As if by it's own will, the Thinker resonated throughout the precinct. Terren cringed as the sound reached her ears. Falling to her knees, she clasped her hands against either side of her head in effort to keep the sound away. The bidding of the Thinker was not so easily ignored. Gradually, her hands came away from hr ears and hung at her sides. Rage twitched at her face, but Terren had no control anymore.
"Tell me, Terren . . . you seemed to take great pleasure in bringing up bad memories, and creating lies and fiction where you saw fit."
"I can't exactly do that anymore, can I?" She shot back.
"No. And the world's a better place for it." Terren had no reply to this. "I'm more interested in why than anything." Lirael continued. "Why did you choose my doubts and insecurities as a medium for my destruction?" A moment passed in which the former Necromancer struggled against the unseen hold of Belager, unwilling to relinquish the information without a fight. The will of the bell won over that of the woman in the end, and Terren was left with no choice but to answer.
"They were the quickest, easiest way. Drive you mad, and then destroy you and the Abhorsen line forever. That was the plan . . . my plan at least. It appears that it didn't work so well." Lirael's curiosity was piqued by those words-mine at least? What was that supposed to mean? Something bordering on familiarity, a memory on the verge of breaking through, tugged at the Abhorsen's psyche. What was it that Terren had said when she caught her off guard with Ranna? It came in a flash, a memory in its purest form. i"They call me Terren." The Necromancer smirked, her bell still exerting its pull over Lirael. "I'm a part of a very, very important group. One that will see you dead."/i A group? What group? Focusing her will back in to the bell in hand, Lirael spoke again.
"So you're not the only one trying to kill me."
"Brilliant deduction. Now let me guess your next inquiries. What is this group? What are our intentions? And what can you do to stop us?"
"You're not bad at this deduction thing yourself. Start answering." Terren managed to throw a haughty sneer at Lirael before Belager forced her response.
"We are the Council of Seven." She began, her voice brimming with obvious pride. "We will see the Abhorsen line destroyed. There is nothing you can do to stop us." Lirael noted the confidence in her voice, and the way in which she answered the questions in the most evasive, least wordy manner possible. She also noted that through her words, Terren still counted herself a member of the council.
"You're very clever." Lirael said, a combination of admiration and pity making up her tone. Terren simply looked confused, unsure of what to make of this all. With a deep breath, and a final force of will, Lirael asked her final question.
"If you were in my position, what questions would you ask in order to learn everything about the Council of Seven?" Terren's look of confusion gave way to one of horror. She had been outsmarted, and now had no choice but to answer the Abhorsen. Her eyes hardening, she answered in a cool, metallic voice.
"I would ask what rules we follow, what limitations bind us."
"Tell me then." Lirael encouraged, her own will added to by the strength of Belager. A look of pure hatred was her response, followed by cutting words.
"Each member has been called by a bell. Each member gets an opportunity to destroy you, starting with the member called by Ranna, and so on until the member called by Astarael. Each member is only permitted to use the bell that has called them against you." Satisfied, Lirael silenced the Thinker. This new information gave her much to think upon. First, however, she had to deal with Terren's spirit. Exchanging Belager for Saraneth once more, she rang the larger bell with all the strength her will could manage.
"Listen, Terren, and listen well. With Saraneth as both medium and witness, my will is now your one and only law. Hear my will now-you will walk through the nine precincts allowing nothing in all creation to stand in your way. You will walk further than you have ever done before, and you will face the stars beyond the eighth gate for the first and final time. Beyond the stars, I release you from my binding. From there, you will face your end, or whatever else may be there, alone." As Lirael finished her binding-spell, she silenced Saraneth and tucked it back into her bandolier. Her face showed no pity, and neither did her words. As Terren rose to continue her journey through death, Lirael added one more detail.
"And may the universe have mercy on your soul." Before Terren could reply, Lirael had already turned away and exited death. Biting her lip as she took a few more steps, the former Necromancer cast her own blessing of sorts out there into the vast nothingness of Death.
"And on yours, Abhorsen . . . and on yours."
"Charter bless you, Abhorsen!"
"Thank you Abhorsen! Thank you!"
"You've saved us all!" Nodding and smiling weakly at the villagers, Lirael continued to push through until she reached her Paperwing. She sat herself down with a loud sigh, and tucked her blade into the pocket at the side. She reached to remove her bandolier, but paused for a moment, looking down at the bells beneath her fingers. Her fingers grazed Ranna, settling on the age-smoothed wood of its handle. Pursing her lips, she looked up towards the villagers gathered about her. They all regarded her in awe, hanging off her very presence, every breath she drew. Exhaling, Lirael looked back towards Ranna before speaking.
"Bring me her bandolier. Don't touch any of the bells." She instructed. As her voice fell to silence, two of the villagers ran off to do as she had asked.
"And what of her body, Abhorsen?" One voice piped up above the steady hum of the crowd's chatter. Lirael looked towards the source-a tiny girl of no more than 14 years with dark hair, and even darker eyes. The Abhorsen opened her mouth to speak, but what words she intended to say died in her throat. This child looked exactly like she had at that age. With a slight cough, Lirael remembered her place. She was no longer that awkward, sightless daughter of the Clayr. She was the Abhorsen, and respected by all of the bloodlines, regardless of what twisted versions of the truth Ranna had shown her.
"Burn it." She said bluntly. "Burn it on a bed of Rowan branches, and make sure all present are wearing silver." The crowd all nodded simultaneously, taking in these instructions. If they understood the significance of Lirael's words, they gave no sign save wide- eyed adoration. It was at that moment that the crowd began to part, making way for something. As the crowd divided, the cause of their actions was revealed. They were parting to make way for the two villagers who had gone to retrieve the Necromancer's bandolier. They clutched nervously at either end of the leather band, careful to follow the Abhorsen's instructions about avoiding the bells. They gingerly handed off the bandolier off to Lirael, who noted their pale faces. Part of her wanted to offer them a reassuring smile, but a larger part of herself stopped her. She consoled herself by mumbling a quiet thanks as she tucked the bandolier into yet another hidden pouch aboard the Paperwing. With a final scan of the villagers, she motioned for them to back away from her craft. They obeyed, and Lirael closed her eyes. It took hardly any effort to throw herself into the ceaseless current of the Charter, and she had to fight off the temptation to simply float away and never come back. The Carter Marks she needed came quickly to her call, as if they expected her. Settling them into her mouth, she took a deep breath and launched them all out with a sharp whistle. The Marks set to their work without question as Lirael set to creating a Charter Wind to carry her out of there. Her next destination was unknown to even herself. All she truly cared about was that she was away from this village, and the strange, dark presence of the now dead Necromancer. As she completed the spell-song, the Paperwing began to glide forward slowly, lifting off the ground as it picked up speed. The manufactured wind caused Lirael's hair to flutter behind her as she reached an altitude of thirty-five feet from the ground. Her internal compass told her she was heading Northeast, towards an area known as the Great Sickle Wood. She recalled having traveled that way once or twice before, on business with Sabriel. Lirael remembered little of the area save the impression it had left on her-the sheer size of the trees had been mind blowing. The leaves and branches had seemed to sway with the breeze in a constant dance of life that almost seemed to rival the Charter in its glory. For some reason that Lirael could not quite place, she allowed the Paperwing to continue it's flight towards the woods, already making plans to land in the middle in order to pause and reflect. A shiver ran through Lirael's spine as she looked back towards the village rapidly disappearing behind her. Unpleasant memories of the Necromancer Terren, and the distorted visions displayed by the Free Magic version of Ranna came flooding back. Lirael bit her lower lip hard as she forced her attention back towards the horizon ahead. She couldn't remember exactly how far away the Great Sickle Wood was, just that it lay somewhere beyond that skyline.
Thirty miles, and a little over half an hour later, the Great Sickle Wood became visible to the very tired and shaken Abhorsen. Responding quickly to Lirael's touch, the Paperwing began to descend crisply towards the forest. The trees were dense, but not so dense that the Paperwing wouldn't be able to slip between them. Sliding in amongst the trees, the vessel slowed as it wound it's way about the trees. Lirael breathed in deeply as she ventured further into the woods. The air here was crisp and clean, a joy to inhale. This was a good a place as any to stop and rest, she decided. As the thought ran through Lirael's head, the Paperwing landed itself. Once it had come to a complete halt, she rose and strapped Once-Nehima about her waist. Stepping cautiously out of the Paperwing, feeling for the small pouch at her side out of habit before sitting down with a defeated moan. It was only now, away from Qyrre and its inhabitants, that she could address exactly what had happened. Closing her eyes, Lirael leaned back against a particularly majestic tree as she tried to recall exactly what had occurred. The more she tried to focus, however, the more she realized that she didn't really want to. The strange apparitions of her friends, her family. . . all displeased with her, all angry. None of it seemed at all fair or right to Lirael, so why was it all happening? She sighed to herself as the response came to her. No one ever said life was fair, least of all the life of the Abhorsen. A better question was why was she behaving like this? This was her calling. She had faced Necromancers before, why should this one be treated any differently because it had managed to find Lirael's weakness? It was no longer a concern. Its spirit was on its way through death, and its body would hopefully be nothing but ashes by now. Gathering some strength from these thoughts, she opened her eyes and stepped away from the tree. Doubts still lingered however, and Lirael searched for some way to assuage her fears. A gentle breeze rippled through the woods, tousling her surcoat. Automatically, Lirael reached to smooth the tunic out. As she caught sight of her pale, slender hands, the answer came to her. She would go into death and call upon the Necromancers spirit. She would know the truth, and put this uncertainty behind her. Reaching towards the Paperwing, she drew out her bandolier. She would be a fool to proceed with this plan unarmed. Strapping on both sword and bells, she put herself into the proper mindset for crossing over. Closing her eyes once more, she felt for that well-known boarder between life and death. Lirael found it easily, as only one who was truly accustomed to the River could. Glancing around, she drew out Saraneth while placing a hand to her sword. Sounding the Binder into the silence of the river, she called out in a strong voice as she could muster.
"Terren-Once Necromancer, servant of Free Magic. By Saraneth I call you forth to me, Lirael-the Abhorsen, servant of the Charter." A disturbance in the water drew Lirael's attention forward and to the left. A dark-robed figure, sporting dark curls and spiteful eyes stood up, reaching for a bandolier that was no longer there. Upon this discovery, Terren looked up scornfully at the Abhorsen.
"What is it you want, Lirael?" Terren spat, uttering her name like a curse.
"I'd ask you now if I weren't so sure you wouldn't aide me." Lirael replied, exchanging Saraneth for Belager. As if by it's own will, the Thinker resonated throughout the precinct. Terren cringed as the sound reached her ears. Falling to her knees, she clasped her hands against either side of her head in effort to keep the sound away. The bidding of the Thinker was not so easily ignored. Gradually, her hands came away from hr ears and hung at her sides. Rage twitched at her face, but Terren had no control anymore.
"Tell me, Terren . . . you seemed to take great pleasure in bringing up bad memories, and creating lies and fiction where you saw fit."
"I can't exactly do that anymore, can I?" She shot back.
"No. And the world's a better place for it." Terren had no reply to this. "I'm more interested in why than anything." Lirael continued. "Why did you choose my doubts and insecurities as a medium for my destruction?" A moment passed in which the former Necromancer struggled against the unseen hold of Belager, unwilling to relinquish the information without a fight. The will of the bell won over that of the woman in the end, and Terren was left with no choice but to answer.
"They were the quickest, easiest way. Drive you mad, and then destroy you and the Abhorsen line forever. That was the plan . . . my plan at least. It appears that it didn't work so well." Lirael's curiosity was piqued by those words-mine at least? What was that supposed to mean? Something bordering on familiarity, a memory on the verge of breaking through, tugged at the Abhorsen's psyche. What was it that Terren had said when she caught her off guard with Ranna? It came in a flash, a memory in its purest form. i"They call me Terren." The Necromancer smirked, her bell still exerting its pull over Lirael. "I'm a part of a very, very important group. One that will see you dead."/i A group? What group? Focusing her will back in to the bell in hand, Lirael spoke again.
"So you're not the only one trying to kill me."
"Brilliant deduction. Now let me guess your next inquiries. What is this group? What are our intentions? And what can you do to stop us?"
"You're not bad at this deduction thing yourself. Start answering." Terren managed to throw a haughty sneer at Lirael before Belager forced her response.
"We are the Council of Seven." She began, her voice brimming with obvious pride. "We will see the Abhorsen line destroyed. There is nothing you can do to stop us." Lirael noted the confidence in her voice, and the way in which she answered the questions in the most evasive, least wordy manner possible. She also noted that through her words, Terren still counted herself a member of the council.
"You're very clever." Lirael said, a combination of admiration and pity making up her tone. Terren simply looked confused, unsure of what to make of this all. With a deep breath, and a final force of will, Lirael asked her final question.
"If you were in my position, what questions would you ask in order to learn everything about the Council of Seven?" Terren's look of confusion gave way to one of horror. She had been outsmarted, and now had no choice but to answer the Abhorsen. Her eyes hardening, she answered in a cool, metallic voice.
"I would ask what rules we follow, what limitations bind us."
"Tell me then." Lirael encouraged, her own will added to by the strength of Belager. A look of pure hatred was her response, followed by cutting words.
"Each member has been called by a bell. Each member gets an opportunity to destroy you, starting with the member called by Ranna, and so on until the member called by Astarael. Each member is only permitted to use the bell that has called them against you." Satisfied, Lirael silenced the Thinker. This new information gave her much to think upon. First, however, she had to deal with Terren's spirit. Exchanging Belager for Saraneth once more, she rang the larger bell with all the strength her will could manage.
"Listen, Terren, and listen well. With Saraneth as both medium and witness, my will is now your one and only law. Hear my will now-you will walk through the nine precincts allowing nothing in all creation to stand in your way. You will walk further than you have ever done before, and you will face the stars beyond the eighth gate for the first and final time. Beyond the stars, I release you from my binding. From there, you will face your end, or whatever else may be there, alone." As Lirael finished her binding-spell, she silenced Saraneth and tucked it back into her bandolier. Her face showed no pity, and neither did her words. As Terren rose to continue her journey through death, Lirael added one more detail.
"And may the universe have mercy on your soul." Before Terren could reply, Lirael had already turned away and exited death. Biting her lip as she took a few more steps, the former Necromancer cast her own blessing of sorts out there into the vast nothingness of Death.
"And on yours, Abhorsen . . . and on yours."