Six

Renowe

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

The company slept well that night, at least as well as possible in the back of a moving truck. They drew near the perimeter at dawn, and both Sabriel and Lirael woke suddenly in their separate trucks. A tangible cold had wrapped itself around the caravan, which had taken an extra detour around a road which had been all but destroyed. At their slower, more relaxed pace and with the detours, the time to get from the perimeter garrison to the mill had tripled.

Sabriel inched to the back of the truck and looked out. A cloak of mist was draping itself around them, obscuring the road from view and slowing the trucks to a crawl. Touchstone stirred, mumbling. Sabriel tugged the army standard blanket back over his toes and jumped out, walking quickly and quietly toward Lirael's truck. The lorries inched along, and one of the soldiers in the cabin squinted through his window at her as she passed.

A dark shape loomed ahead, and Sabriel froze. As whatever it was came closer, it began to take the distinguishable shape of a human. A human wearing a surcoat and bells, cradling the stump of a missing hand against her belt.

"Lirael?" her half sister hissed.

"Sabriel?" came the reply.

They managed to jump back into Lirael's vehicle as it trundled, rattling, past.

Inside, the Clayr were asleep still.

"Do you feel it? This cold…" Lirael asked nervously.

"Yes, that's why I came to find you. Sam wasn't awake. I wonder if he can sense it as strongly when he sleeps. Perhaps he is ignoring—"

Sam, as if on cue, came barreling into the truck. Sanar and Ryelle stirred.

"—it," Sabriel finished.

"I take it you felt it too, then?" Lirael said quietly, indicating that he should be quiet too.

Sam grinned sheepishly, "Well, not at first, but I saw mum leave, and once I got outside it hit me. It's not the same as the Dead, though, is it?"

The three of them sat there in silence for a moment, contemplating the odd sensation. It was sharper than the Dead, but much thinner, like the kind of ice that shatters when you tap it with a forefinger.

As the caravan drew closer to the warning signs, Sabriel found herself searching for the absence of sound she associated with her father and the tall, thin, reed-like sticks she had placed about the wall twenty years before.

"The wind flutes!" she cried, comprehension dawning on her face. "That's why we encountered the dead in organized numbers. They must have been soldiers."

"So, then, is that what this feeling is? The broken wind flutes? What are they doing?" Sam hesitated before continuing, "Nick has a piece of wood he won't let go of… He can't remember where he got it, but he refuses to part with it. It looks a lot like a wind flute, now that I think about it. A broken wind flute."

"He showed it to me," Lirael said suddenly, "When we were waiting around for you to finish off the Dead. He asked if I knew what it was. I couldn't…"

Sabriel looked thoughtful, "Well, I suppose we'll have to think on that later. For now, this problem shouldn't be that hard to fix. We can mend the wind flutes before we cross the wall. Let's see what needs to be done."

As the three of them, Abhorsen, Abhorsen-in-Waiting and Abhorsen's son, stepped out into the dull, chilly air, the putrid smell of rotting bodies reached their noses. Lirael and Sabriel felt around the sensation of death that was arising through the mist, and found it so thick that it could barely be distinguished as more than a huge lump of death, splayed out on the ground. They entered the family lorry, where Touchstone and Ellimere were still asleep.

As they clambered in the slowly jolting vehicle, they heard a sickening crunch and winced. From the driver's compartment they heard a yell of horror, which woke the two remaining sleepers.

"Whaz goinon?" Touchstone muttered, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. Sabriel inched her way over to her sleeping roll, next to his.

"We've reached the perimeter. And we think," she winced again as the brakes screeched on the lumbering caravan a moment too late. The engines of the trucks died as soldiers clambered out to see what was going on. Sabriel continued in a hurried tone, "we think that was probably the second body they've bumped into. The fog is thicker than the stuff in Corvere, and it's impossible to tell where you're going. The wind flutes are broken. We're going to have to keep the Dead at bay while I put them back up."

Touchstone yawned, and nodded, though he didn't seem to have comprehended much of what she'd said. Ellimere was already pulling on her clothes under cover of her bedroll.

"How many are there, mother?" she asked, her voice muffled in cloth.

"It's hard to tell. There are hundreds of bodies, to begin with, but I'd guess there's at least a hundred Hands blundering around."

Touchstone, seeming to at last have woken up, scrambled into boots and jumped out of the truck saying, "I'm going to talk to Major Greene."

Nick was floating above blood stained grass. Echoes of screams dissipated against the brick wall on his left. On his right, a building, streaked with spilled white paint, rose upwards. He didn't know where he was, but he thought the screams might be coming from the top floor.

Lazily he wafted himself upwards on a piece of shimmering, white cloth that seemed to him like a magic carpet. As he rose, the screams grew more desperate, and he saw a face appear at a window. The face of a young woman, with blonde hair that had fallen from its place. Her face was pale and drawn with distress. She leaned out the window, reaching toward him.

He wafted nearer, thinking of rescuing her.

"Is there anyone else in there with you?" he called out.

"Not anymore! It's just me, now. First Alic, then Ellen went, and then…" she choked on her words, her eyes empty of tears. She seemed to have run out of them. He finally bumped against the window ledge. She stared at him, wide eyed.

"Come on! Get out of there!"

"How?"

"Just get onto the carpet!"

"What carpet?"

She seemed to think he was mad. It occurred to him that maybe she couldn't see it.

"Can you trust me?"

"Do I have any choice?"

"Climb out the window. I promise you'll be safe. Word of Sayre."

"Sayre? Sayre? Who are you?"

"Just get out the window!"

Carefully, she edged her tiny frame over the ledge and dangled her feet an inch above the shimmering cloth. He put her feet onto it, and she felt it under them. She was barefoot. Her eyes widened, but she plopped the rest of herself down on it with relief on her face. Nick sighed too, and urged the carpet to waft back to the ground. It would do no such thing. Up? Up they went, and she grabbed his arm in fright. His enjoyment of the ride turned to horror as he saw what lay below him. Corvere was in smoking ruins. The capitol building, just visible through the smoke, had clearly been bombed, smashed in like a badly made sponge cake.

"Sayre! Help!"

He turned to look at the girl. She was sinking through the carpet, all her weight, though there wasn't much of it, was supported by his arm. He was surprised he hadn't felt it.

"You promised I would be safe!" Her eyes were wide and haunted. Desperately, he tried to pull her back through, but she sank still. They were three hundred feet in the air. If she fell, she would be quite dead. Her hands were slipping.

He grabbed a hold of her collar, finally, with his other hand. It changed color, and she shrieked. Her entire dress was now the same shimmering white substance of the carpet. He let go. And she stayed, floating 300 feet above the blackened city of Corvere.

"You can let go of me no and get back on the carpet," he said, "I think it will hold you."

"Not without my clothes!"

"What? You are wearing clothes!"

"You mean you can't see through this weirdness that's wrapped—"

"No, I can't"

"Promise?"

"Word of a Sayre, now get back up here."

Eyeing him carefully, she pulled herself partway through, but couldn't go any further. He seized her under the arms and hoisted her onto a different part of the carpet.

He ignored her, then, and focused on getting the carpet back towards the ground. As they began to sink gently, he looked up. She was gone.

"No! No! Word of a Sayre! I promised!"

"Word of a Sayre," he mumbled. He sat up quickly, woken from the nightmare by the halting of his lorry. Gasping pain rushed down his side, and he lay back down again, frustrated. What was going on? Was Corvere really under siege? Both his dreams had been so real…

A cat blinked at him.

"Erete? Is that you?"

"Who else would it be? A sphinx?"

"I only just woke up—"

"And my name is not Erete."

"If you're not careful, we may just end up calling you Mogget again," said Sam, climbing into the truck.

"But I am not in your service anymore, Prince, and so I can do whatever I want… to you." The cat purred disdainfully.

"Are you ever going to stop changing your name? What's gotten into you?" Sam inquired.

The cat blinked, stretched and yawned, "I don't know why I'm telling you this, but I got so used to being forced to obey, that it's not really in my nature anymore to do otherwise," The cat paced around Nick's foot a few times, "You haven't paid me my fish," he mewed, stopping his pacing to lick his paw.

"When we get to the garrison I can get you all the sardines you want," Sam sighed.

"Fine then."

"Are you saying you're under orders to change your name every five hours?" Nick asked incredulously.

"No, idiot, I haven't finished my story. It's not my fault my name is changing every five hours. It's you who asked what I should be called, and I hadn't gotten to the point where I could decide. So then I pick a name, and when I here you say it, I don't like it."

"So where did the 'Wong' come from?"

"Well, given what's bound to happen once we get across the wall, I thought it was appropriate. But it sounded silly, so I dropped it."

"Fine. Let us know when you decide on something for now I'm calling you Cat."

"Very well, but my name is now Rone."

"Sounds like something you'd call a deer," mused Nick.

"Thank you ever so much for the compliment. Prince Sameth, what have come in here for anyway?"

Sam explained why the trucks stopped, and that Nick was to sit tight while the rest of them kept off the Dead Sabriel and Lirael replaced the wind flutes. It could take hours.

Nick experienced an odd sinking sensation when Sam told him she would be going too. He must have shown it, because his companion looked at him with one eyebrow half-raised.

"Good luck!" he called as Sam scrambled back out of the silent lorry. It wasn't until the flap had stopped shaking that Nick realized Sam had left something behind: A small but serviceable sword with some hastily made charter marks and a small coin.

He picked up the coin and flipped it over. Both sides were blank. He tossed it up. It stayed, hovering at the top of it's arc. It wouldn't come down.

Rone watched it warily, "So, he's given you one of those? Put it away. It's annoying me."

"It's annoying me, too," Nick muttered, "How do I get it down?"

The cat opened one eye and glared, "I'm not telling you, if you don't know."

Nick gritted his teeth and told it to come down. It hovered cheerfully in midair, ignoring him. Well, at least I have something to do, he thought.

Alright, here it is. It was a bit of a push to get this up before I leave for school, so it's a little sloppy in places. I don't know how many have read the new short story out called "Nicholas and the Creature in the Case," but I'm trying to move this story around a bit so that it will fit in neatly between Abhorsen and that story. Obviously there are some things that won't make sense… But there we have it. It will probably be another few months before I get through seven. Originally Six was to be longer, but I ran out of time, and ended up with writer's block.

Renowe