PROLOUGE
Her face was so peaceful. The sun reflected off the pale skin Black hair shimmering in the ray of light. Sabriel, the former Abhorsen, was laid flat on a table. She was surrounded with her friends and family. Lirael walked up to her, and rested a gold hand on the late Sabriel's chest.
"Sabriel," said Lirael, suppressing her tears the most of the group. "I know that I did not spend as much time with you as the rest of the family, but even through our short time together, I feel I know you just as well. Goodbye, sister." And with that, she withdrew her hand, a combination of Charter magic and masterfully forged ore, the product of several months' labour from Prince Sameth.
With a nod of the head from King Touchstone, the circle around the dead body tightened as each individual lifted their right hand to a hovering height over their beloved friend, sister, mother and wife's corpse, another nod and in a monotonous voice, a Charter mark was spoken. A small spark emerged from each person's hand and floated down to the body. The cleansing spells were finding their mark. The sparks came closer still to the body and without warning erupted soundlessly, encircling the dead person and burning the body to ensure the soul stayed dead.
There was a silence for a moment, but soon a small crying, almost whimpering could be heard. The Charter Mages turned their heads to locate the origin of the sound. Surprisingly, it came from Touchstone.
"No," Touchstone, more recently known as Torrigan, whispered, but he repeated himself, this time a full blown scream, "NO!" The glint in his eye was gone, replaced by a dull, enraged look of intense ferocity. He hastily looked around him, looking for a weapon of destruction, his berserker blood boiled in his veins, but he was only set on destroying one life,. his own. What seemed like minutes, but was in reality seconds, to the King was just long enough to find his implement of suicide. Torrigan lunged towards Lirael, tearing off the Abhorsen's bandolier of bells. Looking up and down the row, his eyes settled on one bell, unbuckling it rather gently from its holster, being quite sure not to sound the clapper. He threw the remaining six bells to the ground, completely ignoring the ringing in the background.
The sounds of the bells finally got through to him. Ranna slowed him down only momentarily, but Kibeth more than doubled his speed. He was travelling at a mad dash away from the group of people.
Lirael picked up the bandolier, searching for which one the King had selected. In her mind, she already knew, but she was assured when all bells, but the last remained. Torrigan had chosen Astarael, the sorrowful from the bandolier, which would, when it rang out its depressing song throw all who heard it-including the wielder deep into death.
The King stopped on top of the hill, and looked over his shoulder to check for other people.
"I'm coming," a smile creeped onto his face, his eyes closed and a single tear broke its way through from the barrier of the eyelid. Without any regrets, King Touchstone I raised the seventh and most powerful bell above his head, and brought it down in one, final smooth motion. He immediately collapsed, while his soul travelled at breakneck speeds through the first, second, third and all the way to the ninth gate, a thin coat of ice spread over his face, but immediately thawed as his soul was lifted up, past the ninth Precinct.
He was dead.