Chapter 3 :: The Dream
The thunderstorm finally let up, revealing that it evening, and twilight was just closing in. Lirael cursed the inconvenience of the thunderstorm, but decided to travel during the night instead. Mogget seemed to have no qualms, and Lirael was well-rested enough. The clear night, nearly free of clouds now, greeted her with a cool gust of air as she guided the Paperwing north.
After that, it didn't take very long to get to Belisaere, though true night had finally conquered any light. Lirael approached Belisaere nervously, lest there be any wandering Dead, but then shook her head: in the city of the Abhorsen herself, would any Dead dare tread? It was silly to think that any Dead would escape Sabriel's notice.
Two people awaited her as she carefully landed her Paperwing in the Palace's hangar. Prince Sameth, smiling broadly as his aunt stepped out cautiously from the Paperwing, and Sabriel herself, arms open in warm welcome.
"Greetings, sister," said the Abhorsen, embracing Lirael.
A long yowl interrupted the reunion, and Mogget leaped out nimbly from his seat in the Paperwing, strolling over haughtily to Sam. The Prince reached down and absently petted the cat's head, much to Mogget's pleasure.
"Welcome back, Aunt Lirael," Sam said cheerfully.
Lirael noticed that they did not mention the reason for her coming to the Palace, but decided to keep it that way. Wordlessly she returned her half-sister's hug, and grinned at Sameth.
"It's good to be back," she said softly.
"We expected you'd come late," Sam explained, "because of the storm and all. We were just going to go back in, too. I told Mom, 'Watch, she'll come just as we're about to leave,' and here you came!" He beamed at this revelation as if it were something fascinating. "Didn't I tell you, Mom," he informed Sabriel importantly.
"You most certainly told me," agreed the Queen. "Come, Lirael, to your room. You're probably exhausted, flying all the way from Abhorsen's House to Belisaere…"
"With Mogget, too," added Sam wickedly, then scratching the white cat behind the ears as a peace offering. Mogget sniffed disdainfully but otherwise took no notice of Sam's remark.
Lirael followed them silently, glad to see them but tired and troubled. Neither Sabriel nor Sam had yet mentioned Clayr's Glacier, and Lirael expected they did it out of respect for her tiredness. But she was impatient. She did not like the feeling of being too late, a feeling she was unfortunately acquainted with.
"Is Clayr's Glacier melting?" she demanded, more severely than she intended, just before she had gotten to her room.
Sabriel sighed, and suddenly Lirael could see the great weariness in her spirit. "That's what we've heard, and I'm willing to believe, much as I don't want to," she answered quietly.
Sam was uncharacteristically silent.
"But," the Abhorsen went on, "even if it is, it will take many years for it to make any real progress. A few hours won't matter, Lirael. You can sleep, and don't worry yourself over it."
Lirael nodded, silently thankful for Sabriel's reassurance. Maybe Sabriel, too, was sick of being too late, and understood how Lirael felt. Nevertheless, it relieved Lirael to hear that she could sleep.
"Sleep," urged Sabriel. "It will do you a world of good."
Lirael was quite willing to believe her, and accepted the glorious refreshing sleep that came to her, one blessedly untroubled by dreams.
======================================================================================
There were bodies—bodies all around, dying people with only one shred of hope, to which they clung in vain. Someone would rescue them. That was their one hope, rapidly fading as time stretched on, and the seconds counted down for the vast amount of people.
Their one hope stood in the body of one young man, a boy in the eyes of some, and his Charter Magic that was said to heal everything instantly at his command. All these people's lives rested on him.
But he didn't have the strength, he could not possibly save every person.
He would just have to save as many as he could, and maybe kill himself in the process.
But then, a flow of energy, coming from his ankle, someone grabbing it—and though it seemed to come from a dying person, it was bright and golden and seemed to warm his very bones. He suddenly had the confidence and the strength to save all these people, and heal their broken bodies. He alone.
No. He was not alone, he realized. That golden touch symbolized that someone was with him…someone who could always save him…
Time was slowly ticking away, and he realized how little of it he had. He had to heal them all, or else he'd never be able to live with himself afterwards…
======================================================================================
"Nick!" someone was shouting his name. The voice was slightly muffled, which led Nicholas Sayre to believe that whoever it was was standing behind the door. That was just too bad, he thought, turning over in his bed.
A loud flurry of knocks succeeded the call. Nick grumbled before understanding that the person would not go away until he answered, or showed some kind of sign that he was awake.
"I'm here," he said irritably, sitting up.
The door opened, yielding his tormentors. Ellimere and Sam. Of course, thought Nick dimly. They'd been waking him up like that ever since he came to the Belisaere Palace…though Sam less as enthusiastically. Sam's expression could be compared to that of one of the Dead.
"You must come to breakfast," chirped Ellimere, with more cheerfulness than Nick thought possible for an early morning.
"Alright, let a chap get dressed first," said Nick, waving Ellimere away. She went, slightly miffed, but understood the nature of privacy to the extent that she would leave Nick alone while he was getting dressed. Sam, however, lingered, waiting for his old friend to prepare.
"Guess who's come," announced Sam as Nick pulled on a shirt.
"I'd rather not, thanks," replied Nick, rummaging for a belt. "If I could, I would know the scientific facts, rather than create a hypothesis before testing it out—"
"Nick," said Sam, shaking his head. "I thought we cured you of your scientific nature."
"Can't change a chap in personality," said Nick brightly as he finished dressing. "It's…ah…instinct, yes. Something that no one can 'cure' me of, as you so termed it."
"Anyway," resumed Sam, grinning at his friend, "Aunt Lirael's here! She arrived last night."
"Did she?" asked Nick with interest. "That's wonderful news, old chap. Lirael! It'd be good to see her again. Why's she…? Ah," Nick amended, answering his own unfinished question when Sam gave him a look. "That Glacier. Right." He nodded fervently. "It's her home, isn't it?"
"She grew up there, yes," said Sam as the two boys went down to breakfast, where they knew Ellimere was waiting.
"I see," said Nick, suddenly remembering something. The force of the memory so shocked him that he stopped walking for a moment. Sam paused too, frowning, but Nick shook his head and smiled cheerily before continuing on. "Just thinking."
"You think too much," Sam teased softly.
But Nick had just recalled the dream he'd had the night before. He was surrounded by countless bodies—and he somehow felt compelled that he alone could save them. Now that was strange, he thought, shaking his head. Nicholas Sayre was nobody's hero.
A/N: Yes, I apologize for the somewhat short chapters, and the abrupt endings, such as this one. I'm trying to keep each chapter down to a certain maximum length, and this chapter would just have kept going and going and going…so I stopped it there. Rather awkward, I know, but shush. No one will know…
Anyway, aside from the sudden ending in this chapter, how do you like the plot? Please, if you have any criticism, share it with me. Flames I will not accept, nor will I tolerate them. If you wish to insult my work, then do it with some sort of argument, so that you're not just basing it on…whatever flamers base their junk on. And please refrain from insulting me, because reviews are for the story, not the author's personality.
Yes. That is my mini-speech of the day. Thank you -bows-