Five

Renowe

I own "Mogget's" new names and the plot continuations. Cheers to Garth Nix for everything else.

Nick was now propped up in a sitting position against a backpack in the jolting lorry, eyes half lidded, hands resting lethargically at his sides. His hair was flopped about messily in a way that many females might find intriguing.

But he was worried. He couldn't forget the vision he'd had. The blood on the lawn of his uncle's house, the empty silence of the Corvere air, and that scream…

What was happening back at home? Now that the Destroyer was no longer a looming threat, his mind returned to his family. He'd heard Sabriel talk of Corolini's supporters as if they were an army. He desperately hoped this wasn't so. He'd seen those who should be dead rise and walk, and those who should be alive, fall. He didn't dare think what might have happened if they had somehow made it to the capitol and its crowds of skeptics…or if those crowds of skeptics had somehow made an allegiance with the Dead.

Nearby, Ellimere and Sabriel were having a heated discussion of Charter and Free Magic. Mother and daughter both seemed to hold strong beliefs about what might happen if they were to be combined, or if it was even possible.

Nicholas Sayre returned his attention to their discussion.

"…but wouldn't they clash and destroy the person they inhabited?" Ellimere was saying.

"Ellie, you know very well that my bells are made of free magic contained in charter marks. When I walk in Death, I must use free magic to cross the precincts. If, indeed, Nicholas has been bestowed with a late baptism from who-knows-where, it is probably keeping the free magic that the Destroyer imbued in him at bay. He may have a kind of magic that can be channeled using both marks and various words without corrosive smell, or complicated weaving.

"There may even be a grain of truth to those old stories they tell in Ancelstierre, of 'wizards' who draw their power from within and use wands and fingertips to concentrate it," Sabriel concluded.

Ellimere looked at her hands for a moment, "But, mother, we already know there's a grain of truth to those stories: the Clayr have wands, we use our fingertips to sketch Charter Marks…"

"Yes, but Nicholas' power is more liquid than Charter magic, and far less hot than free magic. It seems the sort of thing that will spread unless controlled. If he isn't trained he might leave a trail of odd happenings in his wake. Just look what happened to the connection between him and Lirael.

"His power seems to be like a malleable thread. Liquid unless held onto, strong if spun, and able to be drawn back into oneself."

Ellimere backed down. She didn't like losing a debate, but she knew when it was time to give up so she wouldn't look a fool.

Sabriel continued, "Will you be willing to help me figure this out? Or else find someone who can figure it out for us?"

As Ellimere nodded an all too familiar sensation of cold washed over her mother, while, in the back of the following truck, Lirael sat upright in alarm and the hairs on the back of Sam's neck began to rise. Nick felt a sudden bolt of freezing energy race through his left side and he doubled over in pain again, clutching at his chest.

"The Dead," Sabriel spoke grimly, "Fourteen approaching to the North, all Hands as far as I can tell. And in daylight… They must be desperate."

Ellimere reached for her sword, and mother and daughter quickly geared up for battle.

The white cat in the corner opened one green eye and then closed it again. A few seconds later he opened both eyes and said to Nick, "You can call me Erete. I will be back." Arching his spine, the feline fluffed up into a standing position.

"Where are you going?" Nick asked Erete, momentarily distracting Sabriel from her quick check of her bells.

"Fishing…" was the reply, as he slid out of the back of the truck.

Ellimere's eyes narrowed as she watched him go, then she followed her mother, who had already jumped out the back of the truck and was shouting to the drivers to be ready.

The trucks suddenly sputtered to a halt, though whether it was because they chose, or because the wind had shifted to the north, no one was really sure.

Nick found himself rolled off of the backpack and onto the still floor as sounds could suddenly be heard, now that the engines had ceased their grumbling. Belly crawling to the canvas flap, he looked out and saw Sameth come barreling out of Lirael's truck, his surcoat bright red, boots muddy and ragged.

And, not far behind, came Lirael at a much slower pace, looking much better than she had even when he'd first vaguely seen her in a reed boat on a lake. She seemed, for one thing, much more awake, and almost, somehow, less burdened.

She was in the process of strapping on her bell bandolier one handed. She didn't have a sword, and somehow Nick found this odd, as the first thing she'd really done besides talk to him was threaten him with one.

Following her came the two Clayr, looking imposing and regal, waves of blond hair shining in the faint light of the sun. One of them, Nick was never sure which was which, caught up with Lirael and grabbed her shoulder, gesturing to the stump of her right arm. The second came and took her elbow. They clearly wanted her to go back to the truck and stay there.

Nick understood the look on her face. He didn't like being left behind either, but it was out of the question that he so much as sit up without support. Healing marks had been placed on his wounds, and they diminished the pain somewhat, but he was still not at all capable of much movement. And they wanted her to stay back for lack of a hand.

Lirael broke free from her cousins and continued walking purposefully towards Nick's truck, which, he realized had been her aim all along. Quickly he withdrew and lay back down on the wads of cloaks and backpacks nearby, staring up at the ceiling. Why did she make him so nervous?

Lirael approached the still truck with a small amount of discomfort that she couldn't quite understand. What was wrong with her? She knew she had to stay with Nick so she could guard him against the Dead. Sanar and Ryelle could take care of themselves. It was the injured she was worried about, and currently that amounted to her and Nick.

Cold waves were rippling down her spine, the effects of the Dead nearby. She clambered, with relief, into the truck just as she heard the first tolls of Saraneth ringing across the eerie, momentary silence that had descended upon them. She felt the first dead hand slip away before her eyes adjusted to the dark of the truck.

"Lirael?" a voice queried on her left.

The hands approached in broad daylight, their joints clicking like seizures, skin rotting in strips and falling from their skeletons as they attacked the party. Had they known Saraneth and Kibeth were waiting for them, they would have not come near. Instead, now they could not resist the command of the bells. Saraneth rang out from Sabriel, binding two at once. Sam used several charter marks to cut off another's legs so it was momentarily unable to move. They were still out of sword reach, so he continued throwing marks here and there in combination with his sister, who's clear voice and swift, precise movements were staggering the remaining ten Hands. Touchstone was the first to engage his blade, easily cutting through the groping fingers of the one closest. Sabriel continued to ring both bells. It was not long before all fourteen were only heaps of bleached bones, surrounded by a stench of decay that caused all present to cover their noses and mouths.

Sam and Ellimere expended some energy casting charter marks over the corpses, until all were nothing but small heaps of ash. Touchstone and Sabriel went with Major Greene to see if the trucks couldn't be restarted.

"It's not right, the Dead appearing in daylight in large, organized numbers," Ellimere said to Sam as they walked back toward the trucks, which were still immobile.

"I know, Ellie, but where's our explanation for it?" Sam replied, a little exasperated.

"When we flew over the Wall yesterday," Ellimere mused, "Mum noted that her wind flutes were broken."

"So you're saying that the Dead are organized because in Life they were in the army, and they have been allowed to rise again?" Sam asked, "I had never thought of that before, but the bodies were so rotten, there was no way of knowing what they used to be. They were certainly old enough…" He scratched his head as he reached up to grab the edge of the canvas flap and pulled it open to clamber in, Ellimere close behind.

A faint white light greeted them as they entered; its source was the soapstone dog, which Lirael held in her remaining hand. Nick was propped up against his pack, still, but he seemed less pale, and more alive than before. He turned his head slowly as the siblings jumbled in. "You're back already?" he said, "Are they gotten rid of?" He still wasn't sure how one was supposed to vanquish these creatures that he had so recently believed to be villagers with a plague.

Sam looked at his friend as he sat down, laying his sword beside him. "There were only fourteen, and they weren't very strong, the sun is too high," He shrugged, "With four of us there, it didn't take much to send them beyond the Ninth Gate."

Ellimere noted the look of complete incomprehension on Nick's face and asked, "How much do you know of the Charter?"

"Not much," Nick replied, "Before all of this I wouldn't have believed any of it. And no one has told much of it to me since yesterday," he tilted his head a little so his hair fell out of his eyes and his new Charter Mark shone through, "Will you explain it?"

"Oh, of course," Sam said, " I keep assuming you know because, well, it's stupid of me really, but I don't know why." A look of pure bewilderment crossed his face. "Anyhow, Death is a river and… Ellimere, you're better at explaining, you explain."

"Oh, fine," she said, and began to teach Nick about the Charter and Death while Sam interjected important information.

Lirael, sitting in the corner, watching the rapport between her niece, nephew, and Nick, smiled and returned her gaze to the soapstone dog in her hand.

"You always lit up my life, Dog," she whispered, "Now you're gone, but you are still lighting my path." A single tear slid down her cheek, she wiped it on the sleeve of her right arm, and the bandage on her wrist shifted, reminding her of the reason she was still alive. She drifted back into dreamless sleep.

The trucks jumped back into life rather suddenly, and they began lurching back down the road toward the perimeter. Touchstone and Sabriel had joined them by now, all laughingly arguing philosophy while Nick soaked in the information. Lirael had woken again when the adults got into the truck, and was half listening to the conversation, still half asleep, but she sat up very quickly as she felt the coldness again, subtly.

Sabriel twitched slightly and turned around at that instant. Their eyes met, and an understanding passed between them. She interrupted Sam, who was in the middle of a heated discussion of whether Audriel or Amnael had been the tenth queen in Belisaere. "Sam, did you feel that?"

He jumped, "Feel what?" the atmosphere in the truck immediately

Sabriel shook her head, "I can't explain it. There's something Dead near, but it's so slight…so small…"

At that instant, Erete jumped into the back of the moving truck. In his mouth was a tiny mouse. He carried it to Sabriel and dropped it at her feet. He then sat down and watched it twitch feebly and try to move.

Sam looked at the cat, interested, "Ellsei— Erete… Why are you bringing this to us? Mum… what is it?"

Sabriel looked as though she had just discovered something. Lifting the animal up by its tail she held it in front of her and examined it carefully. It trembled and squirmed under her gaze, large chunks of fur falling out of it and drifting to the floor, until she took out Ranna and rang it very gently. The animal instantly became quiescent. Erete yawned, being the closest to the bell aside from Sabriel and the mouse, and everyone else looked slightly dazed. Quieting the bell, Sabriel tucked it back into her bandolier and put the rodent on the floor. Erete sniffed it halfheartedly, and then said, "You know what this is, don't you?"

The statement was clearly addressed to Touchstone, rather than Sabriel, which caught him off-guard.

"What?"

Erete flicked his ears back, swished his tail and glanced away as though thoroughly disgusted.

Sabriel commented, "There have been too many 'Whats' tonight. I think I know what this is. It's a gorecrow, except in the form of a mouse. Odd to go to all that trouble for several of these: they don't seem very practical—"

"On the contrary," Touchstone choked out, "They are very useful if you want to follow someone on long journeys, or spying in palaces: a gore crow would hardly be left in Life if it were found the in palace, but a mouse…When my mother was Queen," he said, looking down, "The Abhorsen came to the palace on his way to do some work north of Belisaere. It was a leisurely visit, and not at all of a grim nature. He was walking by the kitchen when he sensed them, and he purged the castle of the spies. They were Rogir's. It wasn't long after the Abhorsen left that Rogir returned…

"The creatures are exactly like gorecrows, called goremice, except the Necromancer keeps one with him or her, since they cannot fly back to pass on their information. They are not really useful in the palace anymore, since there are spells against them… I put them there when we redid the castle, but I forgot to tell you. I guess I assumed it was common knowledge back then."

Sabriel looked at him with a slight tilt of the head, as though assessing something. Then she asked, "Then should we kill it?"

"If we kill it, we will never know where it came from," Erete said from his position at the end of the lurching truck.

Lirael, had, by now, scooted over to sit closer to the rest of the group and watch what was going on. "But if we kill it, the necromancer who has the other one will stop receiving information from it. Not only that, but the rest of them will be forced to go through the gates," she said. This sparked another short debate between Erete, Abhorsen and Abhorsen-in-waiting, and Nick, who was all for experimenting on the creature to see if they could use it to their own advantage. The rest of the group just sat and watched the discussion like, Sam noted, people watching cricket. They would look between people, but different people at different times. At various points all the attention would be on one of them. He got so caught up in the analogy that he didn't notice until too late that Nick had reached out to grab the mouse's rotting tail. The rodent had woken up.

"Shouldn't this little bugger still be asleep?" Nick asked as Erete sniffed disdainfully at Sabriel. Lirael's eyes fell instantly upon the animal. She glanced at Sabriel for a brief moment, questioning, then reached out to take the again squealing rodent by the tail. In the instant when both Nick and Lirael's hands were touching the scaly, unpleasant flesh a bolt of white energy shot through the animal, and Lirael jumped. The mouse fell, squeaking, to the floor, its fur now glossy white, and the feeling of the Dead gone from the truck. Erete pounced on the creature instantly and watched, amused, as it tried to get away.

"Well," said Nick, looking a bit shaken into the surprised silence, "I guess that settles that argument."

Erete looked up, briefly and said merely, "Lunchtime. Does anyone have any fish, or shall I have to eat this morsel?" he indicated the white mouse squirming under his paw, "It seems like a perfectly normal, juicy mouse, now." Still pinning the animal down, he began to indifferently lick his other forepaw.

Ellimere grinned a little, which started Sam into laughing. Nick glanced around, quite confused and then caught the laughter, too. Lirael tried for a moment to suppress the unexplainable smile that was tugging at the corners of her mouth, but then gave up and just let herself be. Touchstone and Sabriel, finding themselves suddenly surrounded by laughing friends, just looked at each other, bewildered at what was so funny. Then, seeing the looks on each other's faces began to laugh too.

Lirael, smiling broadly, suddenly realized that the last time she had felt this comfortable, this happy had been before she'd turned ten and heard of her mother's death. She felt in her pocket for the soapstone dog and squeezed it, tight.

Well, here it is. The next installment may take quite a while, as I am about to immerse myself once more in school. Six is however, in the making… As soon as I can, I will post it.

Renowe