A/N: These next few chapters are going to take tons of
planning, so I won't be able to update as often as I'd like
to. :'( Everything is going to happen fairly quickly,
because I'm just sick and tired of fooling around with this
story. We need action!!! Adventure, danger, and just a
little romance to tie everything together.
: D So prepare yourselves for a wild ride! (Hopefully!)
Sabriel was tucked away in a study chair as dusk settled on the Old Kingdom. In her lap lay a thick, leather bound book, its pages yellowed with age. She poured over the text in earnest, searching for the information she needed. This was the last in a stack of fifteen, the only ones in the collection that even mentioned necromancy and the creation of the bells. So far all that she had found was worthless prattle about the dangers of the bells once they were formed. Nothing on which Charter marks to infuse into the bells and handles that would mix with the Free Magic required to fashion the bells themselves. That was what she really needed to find. Astarael needed to be rigorously cleaned, as debris from the fight with Kerrigor still clogged its interior, holding the clapper in place and keeping it from ringing true. Of course, she needed to completely remake Kibeth and Saraneth, as those had been shattered and turned to dust. She still trembled at the memory of that encounter.
Turning the final page, she dropped the book onto the table next to her with an exasperated sigh. She hadn't found anything! They couldn't possibly go to Belisaere and reclaim the palace grounds without all of her bells in the bandolier. Sure, there were a few other sets around the house, but she still needed to re-craft the two bells that had been lost so this group would be complete if she ever needed it. That, and they had been her father's bells. She wanted to keep them with her, so a part of him would always be near her heart. Groaning at the pain in her legs from sitting for so long, she pulled herself up by the arms of the chair. Dinner ought to be ready soon, and she thought to head down, but a nagging feeling made her stop and turn around. Looking directly at the desk, her gaze fell on the Book of the Dead. It was glowing with this strange, greenish light, almost begging her to open it.
She quickly undid the clasp and pulled open the cover, letting the pages fall where they would. The heavy parchment moved rapidly, pages turning as if a strong wind whipped them along. When they were finally still, Sabriel looked down at the words scrawled there. Bless the Charter! Three, no, four, no, five! whole pages of detailed instructions on the cleaning and crafting of the bells of a necromancer! She squealed like a little piglet, grabbed the book and her bandolier and flew down the stairs to the workshop. Glancing quickly at the metals she would need, Sabriel yanked the cupboards open and searched for the box marked "Silvers" that should be on one of these shelves, somewhere...there! She grabbed it and reached inside, searching for the sizes she would need. For Kibeth, a piece roughly the size of her fist and for Saraneth, one about the mass of a small jar. She moved quickly now, searching out and finding the molds that each and every Abhorsen before her had used to fashion their own bells, humming softly to herself as she went about preparing everything. A sending came in and started a blazing fire and melted the silver in two separate pots, pouring the molten metal into the molds and squeezing them shut, as the red hotness of the cast didn't burn their Charter made hands. Sabriel had discovered some handles made specifically for the bells and fastened them to the newly crafted bells, letting the sending smooth the seam. While the bells had been setting, she had read and reread the section in the Book of the Dead that detailed the process, memorizing the steps, Master marks, and Free Magic words that needed to be placed into the bells for them to ring true in Death. For if they did not ring true, the Dead would not be bound; and these were her two most used bells, so it must be perfect. The sending motioned to her that the bells were ready, and she meditated for a moment, clearing her mind of everything but the task at hand. Exhaling slowly, she went over to the table where the two bells waited. Drawing the five Master Charter marks into her head, she made them strong and let them flow down her arm and linger in her fingertips. Inhaling sharply, she touched her hand to the bell that would be Kibeth, whispering the acidic Free Magic spells that went along with the marks. She felt the bell tremble beneath her fingers and she pushed more power into the bell, forcing it to accept the magic she had placed into it. As Kibeth absorbed the enchantments, Sabriel formed the bell's Charter mark in her mind, the mark for walking and movement and motion, letting it build in her subconscious until it nearly blinded her then covered the bell with her hand and let it flow. There was a loud, surreal humming, and she screamed as the bell grew hot and blisters appeared on her palm. In the moment before she let go she named the bell. "Kibeth!" she cried, yanking her hand away as the bell sounded for a split second, then silenced. The sending placed her steaming hand in a bucket of cold water, soothing the burns for the time being. Her hands would need to be wrapped and salved later on, but this must be finished first. She moved now to the bell that would become Saraneth. Readying herself, she brought the Master marks into her mind and let them glow for a moment before she sent them out and into the bell, uttering the bitter words that accompanied them. The bell trembled, trying to free itself as though it did not want its fate. Grimacing, she called upon the mark for Saraneth, the mark that symbolized strength, and bonding. She threw all of her will into this bell, forcing the metal to succumb to her will just as the bell would the Dead. For this bell was only as strong as the crafter's will, and it must be able to bind even the strongest of the Greater Dead. The bell grew fiery hot, burning her good hand and making her scream with pain. But she did not let go, forcing all of her strength and endurance and determination into the bell, compelling it to accept all the magic she had placed into it. She felt the bell succumb for a moment and knew that if she did not name it now she wouldn't be able to name it at all. "Saraneth!" she yelled, tearing her hand away not a second too soon. The bells completed, she collapsed to the floor, all of her vigor gone. The last coherent thought she had before she fainted was that her father would be proud of her. "Daddy," she whispered, and then faded.
"Are you awake now beautiful?" Sabriel stirred and found herself looking up at Touchstone's concerned face. She moaned and put a bandaged hand to her forehead. "The bells..." she said, her thoughts jumping to the ceremony she had performed. "Safely polished and in your bandolier. I wish you had told me what you were doing; I would have lent you my strength. You're not recovered enough to be performing energy draining tasks like that." "It had to be done. I'm the Abhorsen, I can't go to Belisaere without a complete bandolier, especially if we're going to reclaim that palace of yours, your majesty." He grinned at her, brushing a strand of black hair from her forehead. "I don't know what I'm going to do with you, Miss Abhorsen. You're far too much work for me. How am I supposed to go about running and restoring a kingdom when I've got to worry about you all of the time?" he asked, gazing into her eyes. The crease between his eyebrows told her he was serious. "I'm the Abhorsen, I can't die. At least not yet. There's no Abhorsen-in-Waiting to take my place dear-heart. So rest assured that until we have children of our own who are old enough to take my place, I won't be leaving you for the Ninth Gate." "You damn well better not leave me. Where else am I going to find a Queen like you?" She smiled and he brushed her cheek with a kiss. "Get some rest, you're going to need it, and all of your energy, soon enough."
She nodded, watching him leave her room. He was such a caring man. I don't know what I'd do without him, she thought, then drifted off into a dreamless, exhaustion- induced sleep.
Sabriel was tucked away in a study chair as dusk settled on the Old Kingdom. In her lap lay a thick, leather bound book, its pages yellowed with age. She poured over the text in earnest, searching for the information she needed. This was the last in a stack of fifteen, the only ones in the collection that even mentioned necromancy and the creation of the bells. So far all that she had found was worthless prattle about the dangers of the bells once they were formed. Nothing on which Charter marks to infuse into the bells and handles that would mix with the Free Magic required to fashion the bells themselves. That was what she really needed to find. Astarael needed to be rigorously cleaned, as debris from the fight with Kerrigor still clogged its interior, holding the clapper in place and keeping it from ringing true. Of course, she needed to completely remake Kibeth and Saraneth, as those had been shattered and turned to dust. She still trembled at the memory of that encounter.
Turning the final page, she dropped the book onto the table next to her with an exasperated sigh. She hadn't found anything! They couldn't possibly go to Belisaere and reclaim the palace grounds without all of her bells in the bandolier. Sure, there were a few other sets around the house, but she still needed to re-craft the two bells that had been lost so this group would be complete if she ever needed it. That, and they had been her father's bells. She wanted to keep them with her, so a part of him would always be near her heart. Groaning at the pain in her legs from sitting for so long, she pulled herself up by the arms of the chair. Dinner ought to be ready soon, and she thought to head down, but a nagging feeling made her stop and turn around. Looking directly at the desk, her gaze fell on the Book of the Dead. It was glowing with this strange, greenish light, almost begging her to open it.
She quickly undid the clasp and pulled open the cover, letting the pages fall where they would. The heavy parchment moved rapidly, pages turning as if a strong wind whipped them along. When they were finally still, Sabriel looked down at the words scrawled there. Bless the Charter! Three, no, four, no, five! whole pages of detailed instructions on the cleaning and crafting of the bells of a necromancer! She squealed like a little piglet, grabbed the book and her bandolier and flew down the stairs to the workshop. Glancing quickly at the metals she would need, Sabriel yanked the cupboards open and searched for the box marked "Silvers" that should be on one of these shelves, somewhere...there! She grabbed it and reached inside, searching for the sizes she would need. For Kibeth, a piece roughly the size of her fist and for Saraneth, one about the mass of a small jar. She moved quickly now, searching out and finding the molds that each and every Abhorsen before her had used to fashion their own bells, humming softly to herself as she went about preparing everything. A sending came in and started a blazing fire and melted the silver in two separate pots, pouring the molten metal into the molds and squeezing them shut, as the red hotness of the cast didn't burn their Charter made hands. Sabriel had discovered some handles made specifically for the bells and fastened them to the newly crafted bells, letting the sending smooth the seam. While the bells had been setting, she had read and reread the section in the Book of the Dead that detailed the process, memorizing the steps, Master marks, and Free Magic words that needed to be placed into the bells for them to ring true in Death. For if they did not ring true, the Dead would not be bound; and these were her two most used bells, so it must be perfect. The sending motioned to her that the bells were ready, and she meditated for a moment, clearing her mind of everything but the task at hand. Exhaling slowly, she went over to the table where the two bells waited. Drawing the five Master Charter marks into her head, she made them strong and let them flow down her arm and linger in her fingertips. Inhaling sharply, she touched her hand to the bell that would be Kibeth, whispering the acidic Free Magic spells that went along with the marks. She felt the bell tremble beneath her fingers and she pushed more power into the bell, forcing it to accept the magic she had placed into it. As Kibeth absorbed the enchantments, Sabriel formed the bell's Charter mark in her mind, the mark for walking and movement and motion, letting it build in her subconscious until it nearly blinded her then covered the bell with her hand and let it flow. There was a loud, surreal humming, and she screamed as the bell grew hot and blisters appeared on her palm. In the moment before she let go she named the bell. "Kibeth!" she cried, yanking her hand away as the bell sounded for a split second, then silenced. The sending placed her steaming hand in a bucket of cold water, soothing the burns for the time being. Her hands would need to be wrapped and salved later on, but this must be finished first. She moved now to the bell that would become Saraneth. Readying herself, she brought the Master marks into her mind and let them glow for a moment before she sent them out and into the bell, uttering the bitter words that accompanied them. The bell trembled, trying to free itself as though it did not want its fate. Grimacing, she called upon the mark for Saraneth, the mark that symbolized strength, and bonding. She threw all of her will into this bell, forcing the metal to succumb to her will just as the bell would the Dead. For this bell was only as strong as the crafter's will, and it must be able to bind even the strongest of the Greater Dead. The bell grew fiery hot, burning her good hand and making her scream with pain. But she did not let go, forcing all of her strength and endurance and determination into the bell, compelling it to accept all the magic she had placed into it. She felt the bell succumb for a moment and knew that if she did not name it now she wouldn't be able to name it at all. "Saraneth!" she yelled, tearing her hand away not a second too soon. The bells completed, she collapsed to the floor, all of her vigor gone. The last coherent thought she had before she fainted was that her father would be proud of her. "Daddy," she whispered, and then faded.
"Are you awake now beautiful?" Sabriel stirred and found herself looking up at Touchstone's concerned face. She moaned and put a bandaged hand to her forehead. "The bells..." she said, her thoughts jumping to the ceremony she had performed. "Safely polished and in your bandolier. I wish you had told me what you were doing; I would have lent you my strength. You're not recovered enough to be performing energy draining tasks like that." "It had to be done. I'm the Abhorsen, I can't go to Belisaere without a complete bandolier, especially if we're going to reclaim that palace of yours, your majesty." He grinned at her, brushing a strand of black hair from her forehead. "I don't know what I'm going to do with you, Miss Abhorsen. You're far too much work for me. How am I supposed to go about running and restoring a kingdom when I've got to worry about you all of the time?" he asked, gazing into her eyes. The crease between his eyebrows told her he was serious. "I'm the Abhorsen, I can't die. At least not yet. There's no Abhorsen-in-Waiting to take my place dear-heart. So rest assured that until we have children of our own who are old enough to take my place, I won't be leaving you for the Ninth Gate." "You damn well better not leave me. Where else am I going to find a Queen like you?" She smiled and he brushed her cheek with a kiss. "Get some rest, you're going to need it, and all of your energy, soon enough."
She nodded, watching him leave her room. He was such a caring man. I don't know what I'd do without him, she thought, then drifted off into a dreamless, exhaustion- induced sleep.
