After Lirael had recounted twice everything she could remember from looking back, Sabriel told her what she had put together, a rapid-fire assessment of what was a much worse situation than anyone had thought only a few hours before.
“Your mother Saw truly indeed, I have no doubt,” said Sabriel. “There is a host on the steppe, doubtless growing by the day. We should know by tomorrow evening if it is at the Field Market, provided Ryelle returns safely . . . actually, I must send a message-hawk to the bridge, to warn her; there will be Gore Crows without a doubt. Hey, you!”
A young Clayr pressing herself against the side of the hallway to allow Sabriel to pass made a shivering reply.
“Yes, Abhorsen?”
“I need you to go to the Mews right now, tell the Hawkmistress or whoever is in charge there to send a message-hawk to the Greenwash Bridge from the Abhorsen Sabriel, for Ryelle of the Clayr. Message is ‘Beware Gore Crows and Free Magic at Field Market.’ Repeat that back to me.”
The girl stammered out the instructions and the message.
“Good work,” said Sabriel. “What’s your name?”
“Blindyl,” whispered the girl.
“Go!” ordered Sabriel, and Blindyl fled. Fortunately in the right direction to get to the Third Front Stair, Lirael noted, the quickest way to the Mews.
“So a host on the steppe, and that other thread definitely led to the Empty Lands, I could tell from the silence. What do you make of that?”
“I don’t know,” said Lirael. “I mean, one thread must lead to the necromancer who made the charm. That would be the Witch With No Face. I mean, Chlorr. Is that right?”
Sabriel stopped suddenly and gripped Lirael by the shoulders.
“Both lead to Chlorr!”
“Oh,” said Lirael, slowly putting it together. “You mean to . . . to Chlorr’s original body as well as her current Dead shape?”
“Yes!” cried Sabriel, striding off again, narrowly avoiding a collision with a steamworks engineer, who had to swing her toolbox behind herself to avoid tangling it up in Sabriel’s legs.
“And your mother told us that too,” continued Sabriel. “Follow the thread to the first Witch With No Face, the thread from the charm taken from an offering. They’re all joined together, just as Arielle Saw.”
“But what are the Empty Lands?” asked Lirael, taking Sabriel’s elbow to direct her to the left-hand door. “What lies beyond the Great Rift?”
“There are some inhabitable lands beyond the western arm of the Great Rift,” said Sabriel. “But beyond the northern arm there is a bleak and featureless plain where nothing lives, nothing at all. That is the Empty Lands. There are no plants, no animals, nothing. There is not even air to breathe.”
“What?”
“Free Magic sorcerers go there to collect spirit-glass, shards of volcanic glass that contain trapped spirits,” explained Sabriel. They were back at the Apple Peelings, and she broke into a run down the sloping corridor. “They use their magic to make bubbles of air around themselves that last long enough for a dash into the Empty Lands, a quick scrabble for spirit-glass and an even swifter return. Many die, of course.”
“But how can we go there?” asked Lirael. “We can’t do that.”
“You could make a bubble of air with Charter Magic, though, couldn’t you?” asked Sabriel.
“Yes,” said Lirael. “But I thought . . . Mother said the Charter isn’t there beyond the Rift.”
“It isn’t,” said Sabriel. “I think it is the remnant of a world destroyed by Orannis.”
“What!” exclaimed Lirael. She stopped mid-stride, suddenly remembering what she had seen in the Dark Mirror before the binding of Orannis. She had seen worlds destroyed, seen the awful power of the Destroyer, the rings of fiery devastation that exploded from it, each larger than the last . . .
“I think it is the remnant of a world destroyed by Orannis,” repeated Sabriel. “The spirit-glass fragments are the last surviving things left, Free Magic creatures that were either allies or enemies of the Destroyer, sufficiently powerful not to be entirely annihilated along with everything else. Come on!”
Sabriel took off again, with Lirael following more slowly. She called out after her half-sister, returning to her previous question.
“But if the Charter isn’t there, how can we make a bubble of air with Charter Magic to go there?”
“By taking the Charter with us!” shouted Sabriel, without slowing down. “Come on!”
Chapter Thirty-Two
WHO WILL SLAY THIS TROUBLESOME CHLORR?
The Clayr’s Glacier, Old Kingdom
There were even more people in the Map Room when Sabriel and Lirael burst back in. Several desks were in use with maps displayed; messengers were hurrying to and from the King or waiting to be heard; a group of librarians had brought in a trolley-load of books and were sorting them at another desk; Clayr on domestic-service duty were arranging wine bottles and glasses on the round table.
And Nick and Sam were sitting on a desk, talking rapidly to each other, with hand gestures and shrugging and smiles. Both leaped to their feet as Lirael came running in behind Sabriel, but she could do no more than smile and wave as she followed the Abhorsen in a beeline to the King.
“It’s all true,” snapped Sabriel from a dozen feet away. “A huge host on the steppe, lots of Dead and Free Magic creatures of all kinds, several tens of thousands of nomads. Almost certainly going to attack a week from tomorrow, on the full moon, or the day after.”
“I see,” said Touchstone calmly. “We might just be ready for them, in that case.”
“There’s more to it,” said Sabriel. She went to Touchstone’s side and briefly embraced him before continuing. “Some skulduggery, because the bridge is not their main target.”
“Not?” asked Touchstone. “But they cannot cross any other way.”
“That we know of,” said Sabriel. “The assault will come at the bridge, but with some other ploy. Sorcery, no doubt. Chlorr will have a great many Free Magic practitioners in her service. A hundred and fifty, or more. I am not sure what they could do together.”
“We will have as many strong Charter Mages,” said Touchstone, watching his wife carefully. “And many more, not so strong.”
“It is not just numbers, as you know,” said Sabriel. “It is knowledge. If they have some prepared spell to cast together, it would be almost impossible to counter in time. In any case, we are fortunate there is a way we might lop off the head that directs this host, and without it, the clans will split and go home. Or fight each other, as they usually do.”
“Chlorr, you mean?” asked Touchstone. “She is vulnerable in some way? I thought you said she cannot be permanently killed.”
“Not unless her original body is slain,” said Sabriel. “But now we know where it is, thanks to Lirael and her Dark Mirror.”
“Where is it?” asked Ferin, levering herself between two Clayr by judicious use of elbows and crutches. “I will kill her!”
“It is in the Empty Lands, beyond the Great Rift,” said Sabriel. “You are brave, Ferin, but you cannot go there. However, it is the charm I cut from you that will lead us to her. So you have done more than your part in bringing that to us, and in delivering your message.”
“It is not as satisfying as driving a knife home,” muttered Ferin, but no one was listening. Touchstone had gotten to his feet, his forehead furrowed as he clenched and unclenched his fingers.
“Uh-oh,” said Sameth, and hurried to his father’s side, with Nick close behind.
“Lead us to her?” asked Touchstone, dangerously quiet. “You cannot mean to go beyond the Great Rift, Sabriel. The Charter does not exist there. Would you use Free Magic? You know the dangers of that, even for an Abhorsen. Especially for an Abhorsen.”
“I do mean to go,” said Sabriel, equally quietly, her voice determined. “But not to use Free Magic. I will take a source of Charter Magic with me. If he agrees to come.”
Touch
stone’s head swiveled to look at Nick and he groaned.
“How do you always find some way to undertake the most dangerous, crazy, ill-thought-out—”
“I beg your pardon,” interrupted Lirael, “but this is not for Sabriel to do. My mother, Arielle . . . she Saw it in the ice of the frozen waterfall. I am the one who must go beyond the Great Rift to slay the first Chlorr.”
Sabriel turned to her, eyes flashing in anger, but Lirael met her gaze. After a moment, the Abhorsen sighed and her face relaxed.
“I wondered if you’d remember that,” she said grudgingly. “And I suppose there will be plenty to do at the bridge anyway.”
Lirael looked at Nick. He knew what she was asking. She didn’t need to say anything, or he to answer. He moved to her side and took her hand. Her left hand.
“Like that, is it?” asked Sam. He smiled and nodded at them both. “I approve, Auntie. But if you’re going to go to parts unknown with my rather magically mixed-up friend, I’d better come with you. You will need someone who knows advanced Charter Magic, after all.”
“No one is going anywhere until we sit down and I hear everything I need to know,” said Touchstone firmly. “Why does this family forever run straight at the first enemy that sticks up its head? We need planning! Forethought and planning, which is based on actually sharing all the knowledge you lot have gained in Death or the past or wherever you have found it!”
“I think you should have a glass of wine,” said Sabriel gently. “The Charter knows I could do with one.”
It took several glasses of wine, and barley water, and cups of tea before the matter was settled, if not entirely to everyone’s satisfaction.
“Time,” said Touchstone. “Never enough time. As it is, we won’t even have half the Trained Bands to the bridge by the full moon. The Bridge Company has managed to let almost the whole Winter Shift go on leave, to Belisaere and parts farther south, and may not be able to collect them on time, or at all.”
He frowned, and changed tack suddenly.
“Are you sure you can fly as far as the Rift in owl shape, Lirael? Carrying Nicholas?”
“I flew before, carrying Sam,” said Lirael. “This will take longer; it is much farther. Several days, or nights, rather. I’ll need to rest in the day.”
“I will show you on the map the places where you might find safe havens,” said Ferin. “Anywhere it is hard for a horse to go is good. But there are not many on the steppe. Rocks, areas of nice sharp rocks, these are plentiful. A few hills, lonely hills, but they are very rare. Marshes. Full of biting insects, but no horse nomads.”
“You’ll need my jumping frog to eat bugs,” said Sam. “Lucky I brought it with me; always handy on a boat. Though I still think I should be going too.”
“I can’t carry you both,” said Lirael. “And the paperwings can’t or won’t fly that far beyond the Greenwash. Besides, I’m sure you’ll be needed at the bridge.”
“You can put spells on my arrows,” said Ferin, her scratched-all-over face beaming with enthusiasm. “Like Young Laska did to hers. Good for wood-weirds and Spirit-Walkers.”
“Y-e-es,” agreed Sam. He put his head to one side and looked at Ferin, perhaps seeing past the bloodied and bloodthirsty exterior for the first time to the young woman behind. “In fact, I’ll get everyone to spelling arrows, build up as many stocks as we can. Good idea.”
“And you’ll make me a foot later? Sabriel said you would. Better than carving my own.”
“Well, if Mother said I would, then of course I’ll be happy to oblige,” said Sam, slightly taken aback by the matter-of-fact way Ferin seemed to be dealing with the loss of an important limb. “It will take several months at least. You’ll need to come to Belisaere, to my workshop.”
“If we live, I will go there,” said Ferin. She eyed Sam up and down, either to gauge his use as a maker of a new foot or to size him up for some other purpose. He straightened his back and sucked in his stomach, before looking away to speak hurriedly to Lirael.
“Speaking of magical prosthetics! As we are. I hope Nick can keep your hand working. It’ll just be a lump of metal otherwise.”
“I’ll do my best,” said Nick very seriously.
“We would not put you to such a test, not so soon, if it were not necessary,” said Sabriel.
“I know,” muttered Nick. He did know, just as he knew that Sabriel and Touchstone and Sameth and Lirael would not spare themselves either, not from anything. If something needed to be done, they would do it, no matter the personal cost.
He cast a nervous look at Lirael, hoping he wasn’t showing his anxiety. On one level he was excited to be going to do something important with her, but he was also very apprehensive about something happening to Lirael. They had only just found each other, and now, to go into unknown dangers where he didn’t really know what he could do to help, and might even end up as a hindrance . . .
Lirael was thinking very similar thoughts. She had tried and tried again to think of some way she could go into the Empty Lands without Nick. But there was no one else who could be a source of Charter Magic. Which reminded her that they needed to practice together to make sure it would work, though this was also greatly influenced by her desire to be alone with him again. Alone somewhere safe, not in the wilds where they would always need to be on guard . . .
“Nick and I need to practice with me using him to access the Charter,” she said.
“And I need to help you remake your owl Charter skin,” said Sam. Lirael had told the group she had one prepared, which they could partially unstitch and just make larger. At least she could with Sam’s help. “I wonder who did fold it, by the way.”
“One of the old Abhorsen’s Sendings, I suppose,” said Lirael.
“Hmm,” replied Sam. “I don’t know the ones here. I guess it would be possible to make a Sending who could do that. It would be very difficult. . . .”
“Go practice,” said Sabriel. “And make the Charter skin. Ferin, do you wish to fly with me to the bridge?”
“Yes!” said Ferin, clashing her crutches on the floor.
“We will fly at dawn tomorrow,” said Touchstone. “Sam with me, Ferin with Sabriel. You should go tonight, Lirael. If your Charter skin can be ready.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Lirael. The comfortable, safe night she’d thought lay ahead popped like a soap bubble in the bath floating under the hot water.
“Time,” said Touchstone. “Two or three days to fly to the Great Rift, at least another three crossing it, another day searching for the sarcophagus—”
“I have Ferin’s charm,” said Lirael. “I will follow the thread in Death once we are there, find the place quickly.”
“Maybe,” said Touchstone. “But many things could happen. If you can finish off Chlorr once and for all, it would be best done before we come to battle. It might save many lives. On both sides.”
“This is what my elders feared,” said Ferin, suddenly very serious. “The Athask are the bravest; we will be the first sent in to battle. And if all our grown men and women are slain, what will become of the clan?”
“Yes,” said Lirael. “We will go tonight. Midnight, probably, from the paperwing terrace.”
She thought for a moment, then added, “Sam, can you see what you can get for Nick in the way of armor, and a traveler’s pack? Hard rations and a water bottle too, that sort of thing? Ask Mirelle; the Rangers have good equipment. I’ll meet you both in the Abhorsen’s Rooms later to work on the Charter skin, and practice with you, Nick. Ferin, I’d welcome your advice on where to stop. Come and look at the map with me.”
“We will all see you off,” said Sabriel. “Oh, I wish I could go myself!”
Chapter Thirty-Three
ACROSS THE GREENWASH
The North/The Greenwash Bridge
Lirael was very out of practice flying as a barking owl, particularly as a giant owl carrying a man weighed down with a pack and weapons. Launching from the paperwing terrace was a nightma
re, and she seriously frightened both herself and Nick by dropping at least four hundred feet toward the glacier below before managing to get her wings beating hard enough to lift them up and begin to climb over the massive monolith of ice and head north.
Her right wing was golden, which was part of the reason for Lirael’s panic. For a few seconds she thought it wouldn’t work, so it didn’t. But then it did, and apart from the color, it seemed to be just as good as the other one.
Once out of the mountains, when she could fly lower, with a warm wind carrying them in the right direction, it grew easier. She could glide a great deal of the time, and even talk to Nick, though he found it difficult to understand the words screeched from her beak, a noise that caused several curious night birds to immediately reverse direction and go elsewhere.
Toward dawn, Lirael sighted the Greenwash and the bridge, both easily visible from on high with the moon and a clear sky. The bridge was far off to the east, so though she had thought about resting there, she decided against it. She could also see a few hills ahead, eight or nine leagues north of the Greenwash, where the ground began to rise up toward the beginnings of the steppe. She could be there well before the sun was high enough to trouble her huge golden eyes.
Landing, as always, was a problem. Lirael had to make three attempts, almost smashing Nick into the ground on the first two. He was lying in a hammock she carried in her claws, and though he got his legs out and held himself ready, she still approached too fast.
But on the third try she managed to slow to a complete stop, beating her vast wings in a flurry that raised a huge column of dust, hopefully not too visible in the predawn light. Dropping Nick down, she let go of the net, flew up again, and came around to land a dozen paces away.
Nick came over and scratched the feathers on top of her head. They’d landed in a hollow between two bare hills, quite shielded from view, but Lirael hadn’t noticed there was a small spring bubbling away on the side of the northern hill. While water would be welcome, it might also be a known supply where nomads came with their horses.