Three

Renowe

(I own only "Mogget's" names and the plot)

Touchstone signaled to the truck drivers to stop, and the trucks halted, engines jabbering to a standstill. He moved Sabriel into Nick's truck, while Major Greene moved Ellimere as well. Both women had pulses and were breathing regularly, as if they were asleep, rather than knocked out.

They were near enough to the Wall now for Touchstone to reach the Charter easily, and he let himself slip into its eternal dance. He had intended to heal both women, but then realized that he didn't know how, because there didn't seem to be anything wrong with them.

Nick stirred and muttered indistinctly.

Frustrated and worried, Touchstone sat tailor style, his legs crossed to watch and to think.

The white cat, formerly called both Mogget and Wong, sat on his haunches, listening to something indistinct, his ears pricked forward, his eyes narrowed, and his tail twitching slightly.

One moment, Lirael had been enveloped in black, dreamless, velvet sleep; the kind that comes only when one is finally resting after hard work. It is the deepest sleep, and the most refreshing. The next moment, she found herself drifting through a reddish haze that slowly turned to gray. The air was cold, and water rushed about her feet, trying to trip her and pull her under. The stub of her arm where her hand had been began to ache.

She was too tired to deal with this. Why was she in Death? Why did she have to come across more complications after what had just happened? And why did she have to be here without her bells? The Destroyer was bound. As soon as they were able they would force the ancient evil back under layers of earth, stone, wood, and bone. So why did she suddenly have to have been thrown into Death, and not of her own volition?

The roar of the First Gate lessened for a moment, signaling that something had just come through. It started on its way toward her. From the sound of the splashing it was a small creature. But Lirael knew that size does not matter in Death. Carefully, very aware that she had no means of defense, she began to back towards the warmth of Life.

But she couldn't find it. Somehow it had disappeared or moved, or perhaps her sense of direction had been toyed with, but she was sure she should have been through already.

That was when the panic hit her. She was tired, unarmed, and extremely vulnerable. And right now she knew exactly how much she really wanted to live. Binding Orannis had shown her that. She didn't want to go until it was her time, and her choice.

The creature was gaining on her, and she had nowhere to go. Somehow, Life had been blocked or moved, and she didn't know how or why. But that was where she knew she wanted to be. The panic lifted her out of her common sense, and she began to run. She didn't know where, she didn't know why. All that mattered was to find Life.

The creature still gained on her, loosing its gait to a long-legged lollop that would soon eclipse Lirael's path. She ran on blindly, the river pulling at her ankles and batting at her knees.

The creature was almost upon her. It crouched, leaped into the air, shedding water like a slippery cloth. Lirael, glancing over her shoulder, saw it coming and almost lost her balance before the first bark echoed in her head. The creature was caught mid leap and crashed back into the water, the River enveloping it and pulling it back the way it had come.

The second bark came a moment later, forcing her muscles to move. She fought against it at first, but realized that as she was walked, the river's pull lessened slightly, and the roar of the first gate grew dimmer.

She let herself be carried towards Life like a rag doll held up by string and moved by some invisible hand.

As soon as she felt the warmth of Life on her face she was stopped.

"Dog?" she whispered. Then there was a cut-off yip, and a jolt of energy coursed through her.

Lirael opened her eyes as she fell back into her body, still aching from the strangeness of the passage. She felt the anxious worry as it boiled up out of her stomach and sank through her nerves until she shook, ice cracking and flaking to the floor. She rolled over and rummaged around near where she had been sleeping, taking no notice of Sanar and Ryelle as they stirred and turned to see what their patient was doing.

The small soapstone carving seemed to warm immediately at her touch, "Please be alright, Dog," Lirael whispered.

Before the ice had fully begun to melt, before the cramping and shaking that were the result of her venture in Death began to fade, Lirael began to cast the spell she remembered only vaguely from so long ago when she had only wanted a small charter sending. Now she wanted more.

The charter marks spilled from her hands and caught up the still melting ice from the river of Death. It steamed and twisted into the air like glitter in a snow-globe, catching the light that flowed about the back of the now halted trucks.

The large, black and tan Dog stopped short as something reached out for her Mistress. Her eyes widened. The white light that had enveloped her had pulled her through back into Life, but it had not been gentle about it.

She cocked her head to the right and stared briefly at the place where her mistress had gone through, then let out a low, tentative, "Woof." She sat down right there on her tail, and watched.

The light was a dim gold color, cast by miniscule, glowing charter marks that floated and twinkled in and out of existence. A white haze swirled around him as Sam pulled back the canvas flap on the slowly jolting truck. He clambered in carelessly, the thick white air parting around him and eddying like snow.

Lirael sat with her back to the entrance, her hair spilling down over her shoulders instead of pinned up in its usual fashion. The two Clayr were sitting on either side of her, their hands reaching for her shoulders, but it was as if they were frozen, and had never quite finished the gesture. Light spilled from something that Lirael was holding in her hands. Her entire body was shaking, and there was melting ice on the floor. It was evident that she had just been in Death.

"Lirael! Lirael!" Sam gasped. He looked over her shoulder. Cradled in her good hand was the small soapstone carving that she seemed to think had replaced the Disreputable Dog. A vivid white light emanated from her hand and wrist. It looked like Free Magic, yet held none of its corrosive, illness-inducing stench.

Nick was dreaming. He knew he was dreaming. He understood that he was dreaming. But he was very confused. He wasn't sure which was dreaming, his waking hours or his sleeping hours. He had briefly revisited that old tent where he'd seen the dog with wings and the owl. He understood now who they were, but he didn't understand why he understood. He was confused.

His dreamscape resolved itself from purple-black to a gray river. A familiar river; one he had stood in not long ago. But this time he was very afraid. He didn't want to see this river again until he was very old. He wished Lirael were there; something told him she understood this place, Death.

The odd thing, he thought, was that last time he'd been here the river had wanted him, pulled at him, tugged at his spirit. But now he felt nothing. He was standing right there in the middle of the river, but there was no sensation of water on his feet, or for that matter anything t all but the view, and the sound of that waterfall off in the distance. From this information, his more reasonable mind came to the conclusion that he was not really there.

Suddenly he saw her. She was standing awkwardly in the mist, seeming completely disoriented. She looked twice as scared as he felt.

The roar of the waterfall faltered slightly and he began to shake. Something moved right by him, straight towards her. She began to run, but stopped briefly, seeming completely lost. Suddenly he heard a sharp yip, and whatever it has been that had been attacking Lirael fell through the current and didn't resurface. He heard another bark and she began to walk, halfheartedly, away from him.

Lirael, he tried to say. No! He tried to reach for her but couldn't. Something white and powerful welled up inside him and he experienced a brief feeling of pain, like an electrical shock, before everything went blank, and he slept again.

Sam sat down in front of his aunt and stared pointedly first at her, then at the tiny carving in her hand. Lirael stared back at him, but didn't seem to see farther than her nose. Tears were streaming down her face, yet her breath was slow and steady, as if she were merely sleeping. The water around her was cold, as Sam discovered by touching it.

He began to observe the light that was flowing around her. It had the looked almost exactly like Free Magic, but it was far too fluid, and light. It seemed almost like a strange mix of Charter Magic and Free Magic.

"Lirael," he whispered, "Where are you getting this power?"

She did not stir. Her attention seemed to be wholly focused on the figurine in front of her, yet her energy was going fast as well. Her already pale skin was bleaching white like snow.

Curious, Sam reached out to touch the thick white light that was pouring off her.

At first it merely settled into his hands like milky water, but then an image began to form in it.

Nick sat in a grey field, eyes closed, head lolling to one side. Whiteness poured from his hands and head. Sam could see it now, connecting Nick to Lirael through a web of a magic he had never seen nor heard of before. He had to break the tie. All that magic was flowing from Nick, to Lirael, and pouring into the soapstone dog. What would happen when the dog overflowed?

Frightened, Sam threw the strangely tangible power to the floor of the truck, clambered back out and ran along the strangely quiescent truck. He practically fell into the truck where Touchstone and the White Cat were anxiously keeping watch over Nick, and Sam's Mother and Sister.

"Dad," Sam said.

"What is it?" The way his son had spoken, Touchstone knew that Sam was rushing, and he had found something out.

"Dad, there's some sort of strange connection between Nick and Lirael—" He stopped short, finally noticing the other two sleeping figures, "What happened to mum? And Ellimere?"

Touchstone glanced at them briefly, his eyes troubled. "I don't know. They collapsed about the same time you got into the other truck. What's happening? There's a connection…?"

Sam got back to the point, almost panicking, but not quite, "There's magic coming from Nick and going to Lirael. We have to break the connection somehow. And I've never seen this kind of thing before. I could pick up the light that was coming off of her. It's not Free Magic, because it doesn't make me sick, and there's so much we could smell it from here if it was. But it's not Charter, either, since it's white and consists of some sort of strange liquid, rather than marks. It reflects the Charter marks, though, and changes them.

"I don't know how to break the connection, but I know we have to."

Sam then turned to the cat, "What do you know? Can you help? And what is your name this time?"

"Ellsei is my name, if you must know, and I feel rather disinclined to help you at all. But the Abhorsens never did learn manners, so I will acquiesce— if you promise you'll find me some more of those lovely fish."

"Sardines?"

"Yes, them."

"I'll give you a whole case, uh, Ellsei, just tell me what I need to do."

Touchstone watched the exchange with some amusement, despite the gravity of the situation. He realized there was much that had been left out of the story he'd heard from Sam. Perhaps there was some humor to be found after all. Sardines.

Nick woke with a start. That strange cat was licking his ear. Sam was sitting near him, face haunted and frightened.

"Nick," he said quietly, "What are you doing?"

"I was sleeping… if that's what you mean?" He felt better, somehow more himself, and far less confused. It was as if he had shed a blanket of fog. Yet something felt wrong. Certainly he had gained clarity, but there seemed to be something missing, something he couldn't quite place.

"Nick, what is this power you're passing to Lirael?"

Nick's eyes were curious, but disbelieving for a moment in the light of Touchstone's Charter light.

"Power?" he coughed nervously, "I don't have any pow—" he paused for a moment as if a thought had struck him. He was remembering. He was passing something to Lirael? Why? Was there something wrong with that?

"I don't know," he continued, suddenly terrified, "What is it doing?"

"We haven't any idea, only that whatever this stuff is, it's coming from you, and flowing through Lirael. You have to break the connection, Nick. I don't know what will happen if you don't, but I don't want to know."

I have to break the connection. It sounded a lot like what he'd thought he should do back at the lightning farm.

I have to break the connection.

"How?" Nicholas Sayre asked wearily.

A small sarcastic voice mewed, "How? How? Well I suppose we would know? Lucky for you, I do," Ellsei paused smugly, and Sam poked him lightly in the ear.

"Tell us!"

"I'm getting there, I'm getting there. Visualize this 'power' as a rope or thread between you and Lirael."

Nick closed his eyes and tried. He saw it suddenly; that great expansive tangle of cream-white liquid threads stretching and flowing out of some deep well in his body. He spread his hands, making gathering movements. Without being told he had formed the Charter marks for weaving and gathering. Tiny golden sparks winked about among the mass of liquid power. Soon he held before him not a great tangle of yarns, but a shimmering cloth of power, laced with golden charter marks and emanating silver-white light.

"Cut it," Ellsei murmured.

Cut it. Nick heard. He heard, but the cloth before him was so beautiful. He wanted to learn more about it. He began to pull it toward him, but, to his dismay, it simply melted into his midriff.

"Cut it!" Ellsei fairly screeched out the words. Sam and Touchstone stared in surprise at Nick. He had started to glow white. But it was not the same as the way Lirael had been glowing. Where the whiteness had flown in rivers and risen in mist around the Abhorsen-in-Waiting, the same light merely radiated like real light from Nick's body. It seemed he was absorbing it.

Cut it!

I have to break the connection.

Nick took a deep breath and cut. He wasn't sure how he did it. One moment he was gathering the cloth, the next he held six sharp marks in his hand. He had never used the Charter before, but they came to him somehow. He cut the cloth and it dissolved, and unraveled, leaving only a few small puddles and a faint tang of wet dog.

Nick opened his eyes.

"I did it!"