Lirael_ Daughter Of The Clayr Part 23

Lirael closed her eyes to concentrate harder, furrows forming across her forehead. She could feel Death now, like a cold pressure against her face. She pushed against it, feel-ing its chill sink into her cheekbones and lips, soaking into her outstretched hands. It was strange with the sun still hot against her bare neck.

It grew colder still, and colder, as the chill moved up her feet and legs. She felt a tug against her knees, a tug that wasn't one of the Dog's gentle reminders. It was like being gripped by a current, a strong current that wanted to take her away and force her under.

She opened her eyes. A river flowed against her legs, but it was not the Ratterlin. It was black and opaque, and there was no sign of the island, the blue sky, or the sun. The light was grey, grey and dull as far as she could see, out to a totally flat horizon.

Lirael shuddered, not just from the cold, for she had successfully entered Death. She could hear a waterfall somewhere in the distance. The First Gate, she supposed, from the description in the book.

The river tugged at her again, and without thinking, she went with it for a few steps. It tugged again, even harder, the cold spreading into her very bones. It would be easy to let that chill spread through her entire body, to lie down and let the current take her where it willed- "No!" she snapped, forcing herself back a step. This was what the book had warned her about. The river's strength wasn't just in the current. She had also to resist its compulsion to walk farther into Death, or to lie down and let it carry her away.

Fortunately, the book was also right about something more favorable. She could feel the way back to Life, and instinctively knew exactly where to go and how to get back there, which was a relief.

Apart from the distant roar of the First Gate, Lirael could hear nothing else moving in the river. Lirael listened carefully, nerves drawn tight, muscles ready for immediate flight. Still there was nothing, not even a ripple.

Then her Death sense twitched, and she quickly scanned the river to either side of her again. For a moment, she thought she saw something move on the surface, a thin line of darkness under the water, moving farther back into Death. But then it was gone, and she could neither see nor sense anything. After a minute, she wasn't even sure if there had been anything there in the first place.

Sighing, she carefully sheathed her sword, put the panpipes back in her waistcoat pocket, and drew out the Dark Mirror. Here, in the First Precinct of Death, she could look just a little way into the past. To look further back, she would have to travel deeper in, past the First Gate or even far beyond it. But today she only planned to look back a matter of twenty years or so.

The click that accompanied the opening of the Mirror seemed far too loud, echoing across the dark waters. Lirael flinched at the sound-then screamed as it was followed by a loud splash directly behind her!

Reflexively, she jumped-farther into Death-swapped the Mirror into her left hand, and drew her sword, all before she even knew what was happening.

"It's only me," said the Dog, her tail slapping the water as it wagged. "I got bored waiting."

"How did you get here?" whispered Lirael, sheathing her sword with a shaking hand. "You scared me to death!"

"I followed you," said the Dog. "It's just a different sort of walk."

Not for the first time, Lirael wondered what the Dog really was, and the extent of her powers. But there was no time for speculation now. The Book of Remembrance and Forgetting The Book of Remembrance and Forgetting had warned her not to stay too long in any one place in Death, because things would come looking. Things she didn't want to meet. had warned her not to stay too long in any one place in Death, because things would come looking. Things she didn't want to meet.

"Who's going to guard my body if you're here?" she asked reproachfully. If anything happened to her body back in Life, she would have no choice but to follow the river onwards, or to become some sort of Dead spirit herself, eternally trying to get back into Life, by stealing someone else's body. Or to become a shadow, drinking blood and Life to keep itself out of Death.

"I'll know if anyone comes close," said the Dog, sniffing the river. "Can we go farther in?"

"No!" snapped Lirael. "I'm going to use the Dark Mirror here. But you're going back straight away! This is Death, Dog, not the Glacier!"

"True," mumbled the Dog. She looked up pleadingly at Lirael and added, "But it's only the very edge of Death-"

"Back! Now!" commanded Lirael, pointing. The Dog stopped her pleading look, showed the whites of her eyes in disapproval, and slunk away with her tail down. A second later, she vanished-back into Life.

Lirael ignored her and opened the Mirror, holding it close to her right eye. "Focus on the Mirror with one eye," the book had said, "and look into Death with the other, lest harm befall you there."

Good advice, but hardly practical, Lirael thought, as she struggled to focus on two different things at once. But after a minute, the Mirror's opaque surface began to clear, its darkness lifting. Instead of looking at her reflection, Lirael found that she was somehow looking through the mirror, and it was not the cold river of Death she saw beyond. She saw swirling lights, lights that she soon realized were actually the pa.s.sage of the sun across the sky, so fast it was a blur. The sun was going backwards.

Excitement grew in her as she realized this was the beginning of the magic. Now she had to think of what she wanted to see. She began to form an image of her mother in her mind, borrowing more from the charcoal drawing Aunt Kirrith had given her years ago than from her own recollection, which was the mixed-up memory of a child, all feelings and soft-edged images.

Holding the picture of her mother in her head, she spoke aloud, infusing her voice with the Charter marks she'd learned from the book, symbols of power and command that would make the Dark Mirror show her what she wanted to see.

"My mother I knew, a little," Lirael said, her words loud against the murmur of the river. "My father I knew not, and would see through the veil of time. So let it be."

The swift pa.s.sage of backwards suns began to slow as she spoke, and Lirael felt herself drawn closer to the image in the Mirror, till a single sun filled all her vision, blinding her with its light. Then it was gone, and there was darkness.

Slowly, the darkness ebbed, and Lirael saw a room, strangely superimposed upon the river of Death she saw through her other eye. Both images were blurry, as if her eyes were full of tears, but they were not. Lirael blinked several times, but the vision grew no clearer.

She saw a large room-a hall, in fact-dominated at one end by a large window, which was a blur of different colors rather than clear gla.s.s. Lirael sensed there was some sort of magic in the window, for the colors and patterns changed, though she couldn't see it clearly enough to make it out.

A long, brilliantly polished table of some light and l.u.s.trous wood stretched the full length of the hall. It was loaded with silver of many kinds: candelabra with beeswax candles burning clean yellow flames, salt cellars and pepper grinders, sauce boats and tureens, and many ornaments Lirael had never seen. A roast goose, half-carved, sat on a platter, encircled by plates of lesser foods.

There were only two people at the table, sitting at the other end, so Lirael had to squint to try to see them more clearly. One, a man, sat at the head of the table in a high-backed chair, almost a throne. Despite his simple white s.h.i.+rt and lack of jewelry, he had the bearing of a man of rank and power. Lirael frowned and s.h.i.+fted the Dark Mirror a little, to see if she could make the vision sharper. Rainbows briefly rippled through the room, but nothing else seemed to change.

There were spells to use to refine the vision, but Lirael didn't want to try them just yet, in case they made the vision go away completely. Instead she concentrated on the other person. She could see her more clearly than the man.

It was her mother. Arielle, Kirrith's little sister. She looked beautiful in the soft candlelight, her long blond hair hanging in a brilliant waterfall down the back of her dress, an elegant creation of ice-blue adorned with golden stars. It was cut low across the neck and back, and she wore a necklace of sapphires and diamonds.

As Lirael concentrated, the vision of the past grew sharper around the two people, but even muddier everywhere else, as if all the color and light were gathering around the point of her focus. At the same time, her view of the river of Death clouded. Sounds began to come to her, as if she were listening to two people conversing as they walked towards her. They were speaking in the courtly fas.h.i.+on, which was rarely used in the Glacier. Obviously they didn't know each other very well.

"I have heard many strange things under this roof, Mistress," the man was saying as he poured himself more wine, waving back a sending servant that had begun to attend to him. "But none so strange as this."

"It is not something I sought," replied the woman, her voice strangely familiar to Lirael's ears. Surely she didn't remember it? She had been only five when Arielle had abandoned her. Then she realized that it was Kirrith's voice it reminded her of. Though it was sweeter than Kirrith's had ever been.

"And none of your Vision-Sisters have Seen what you wish of me?" asked the man. "None of the Nine Day Watch?"

"None," said Arielle, bending her head, a blush spreading across her neck. Lirael watched in amazement. Her own mother embarra.s.sed! But then the Arielle she saw here wasn't much older than herself. She seemed very young.

The man seemed to be thinking along similar lines, because he said, "My wife has been dead these eighteen years, but I have a daughter grown who would be near your age. I am not unfamiliar with the ... the ..."

"Imaginings of young women? Or the infatuations of youth?" interrupted Arielle, looking back up at him, her face angry now. "I am five and twenty, sir, and no girlish virgin dreaming of her mate. I am a Daughter of the Clayr, and nothing but my Sight would have brought me here to lie with a man I have never met who is old enough to be my father!"

The man put his cup down and smiled ruefully, but his eyes were tired and untouched by the smile.

"I beg your pardon, Mistress. In truth, I heard the sound of prophecy when you first spoke to me today, but I put it from my mind. I must leave here tomorrow, to face many perils. I have no time for thoughts of love, and I have been proven a less than perfect parent. Even if I were not away tomorrow, and could linger here with you, any child you bear would likely see little of its father."

"This is not a matter of love," said Arielle quietly, meeting his gaze. "And a single night may beget a child as well as a year of striving. As it will, for I have Seen her. As to the lack of a father, I fear she will have neither parent for very long."

"You speak of a certainty," said the man. "Yet the Clayr often See many threads, which the future may weave this way or that."

"I See only a single thread in this, sir," said Arielle, reaching across to take the man's pale hand in her own brown fingers. "I am here, called by the visions granted by my Blood, as you are governed by yours. It is meant to be, cousin. But perhaps we can at least enjoy our single night, forgetting higher reasons. Let us to bed."

The man hesitated, his fingers open. Then he laughed, and raised Arielle's hand to his lips for a gentle kiss.

"We shall have our night," he said, rising from the chair. "I know not what it means, or what future we will here secure. But for once I am tired of responsibility and care! As you say, my dear cousin, let us to bed!"

The two embraced, and Lirael shut her right eye, stricken with embarra.s.sment and a slight, uneasy feeling of shame. If she kept watching, she might even see the moment of her own conception, and that was too embarra.s.sing to even contemplate. But even with her eye shut, the vision lingered, till Lirael blinked it away, this time with an actual tear.

She had secretly expected more from the vision, some indication of her parents' having a forbidden love or some great bond that would be revealed to their daughter. But it seemed she was the result of a single evening's coupling, which was either predestined or the result of her mother's mad imagination. Lirael didn't know which would be worse. And she still had no clear idea who her father was, though some of the things she had seen and heard were certainly suggestive and would require further thought.

Snapping the mirror shut, she put it back into her belt pouch. Only then did she realize that the sound of the First Gate had stopped. Something was coming through the waterfall-something from the deeper reaches of Death.

Chapter Thirty-Six.

A Denizen of Death A few seconds after Lirael noticed the silence of the First Gate, the sound of the cras.h.i.+ng water resumed. Whatever had stilled it had pa.s.sed through, and was now in the First Precinct of Death. With Lirael. after Lirael noticed the silence of the First Gate, the sound of the cras.h.i.+ng water resumed. Whatever had stilled it had pa.s.sed through, and was now in the First Precinct of Death. With Lirael.

Lirael peered into the distance, unable to see anything moving. The grey light and flatness of the river made it hard to work out distances, and she had no idea whether the First Gate was as close as it sounded. She knew it was marked by a veil of mist, and she couldn't see it.

To be on the safe side, Lirael drew both sword and pipes and took several steps towards Life, till she was close enough to feel its warmth at her back. She should cross now, she knew, but a daredevil curiosity gripped her and kept her there-the urge to see, albeit briefly, a denizen of Death.

When she did see the first signs of it, all her curiosity was gone in an instant, replaced by fear. For something was approaching under the river, not upon it, a vee of ripples heading straight for her, moving swiftly against the current. Something large and hidden, able to cloak itself against her senses. She hadn't felt its presence at all, and saw the ripples purely by chance, as a result of her own caution.

Instantly, she felt for Life again, but at the same time, the vee exploded into a leaping figure, a shape of fire and darkness. It held a bell, a bell that rang with power, fixing her on the very border of Life and Death.

The bell was Saraneth, Lirael somehow knew, recognizing it deep in her bones as the bell's fierce power fought against her straining muscles. But a raw Saraneth, one that was not partnered with Charter Magic, as in her pipes or an Abhorsen's bells. There was more power here, and less art. It had to be the bell of a Free Magic sorcerer. A necromancer!

She could feel the wielder's will behind the bell, seeking domination of her spirit, an implacable force of hatred beating down her own pathetic resistance. Now Lirael saw the wielder clearly, despite the steam that eddied around his body as if he were a hot iron plunged into the river.

It was Hedge, the necromancer from the vision the twins had shown her. She could feel the fires of Free Magic that burnt in him, defeating even the chill of Death.

"Kneel before your master!" commanded Hedge, striding towards her, the bell in one hand, a sword burning with dark, liquid flames in the other. His voice was harsh and cruel, the words infused with fire and smoke.

The necromancer's command struck at Lirael like a blow, and she felt her knees unlock, her legs beginning to crumple. Hedge already had her in his power, the deep commanding tone of Saraneth still ringing in her ears, echoing inside her head, a sound she couldn't dislodge from her mind.

He came still closer, the sword raised above his head, and she knew that it would soon fall upon her unprotected neck. Her own sword was in her hand, the Charter marks burning like golden suns as Nehima reacted angrily to the Free Magic menace that approached. But her sword arm was locked at the elbow by her enemy's will, held in place by the terrible power of the bell.

Desperately she tried to pour strength into her arm, to no avail. Then she tried to reach into the Charter, to draw forth a spell to blast the necromancer with silver darts or red-gold fire.

"Kneel!" the necromancer commanded again, and she knelt, the cold river clutching at her stomach and b.r.e.a.s.t.s, welcoming her in its soon-to-be-permanent embrace. The muscles in her neck twitched and stood out in cords as she fought the compulsion to bend her head.

Then she realized that by giving in, just a little, she could bend her head down, enough so her lips could touch the panpipes held in her frozen left hand. So she submitted, too quickly, lips meeting silver with b.l.o.o.d.y force, not even knowing which pipe would sound. At the worst, it would be Astarael, and then she would take the necromancer with her into the deeper realms of Death.

She blew as hard as she could, forcing all that remained of her will into directing the clear note that cut through the echoing remnants of the necromancer's bell.

The pipe was Kibeth. The sound struck Hedge as he swung for a beheading blow. It caught his feet with joyful trickery, spinning him around completely. His sword-stroke swung wide, high above Lirael, and then Kibeth was walking and dancing him like a drunken fool, sending him cavorting towards the First Gate.

But even surprised by Kibeth, his will and Saraneth fought to hold Lirael as she tried to throw herself back into Life. Her arms and legs felt like clumsy sacks of earth, the river like quicksand, trying to suck her under. Desperately, she pushed to free herself, reaching towards Life, reaching for the day, for the Dog, for everything she loved.

Finally, as if a rope that held her snapped, Lirael pitched forward into sunlight and cool breezes, but not before the necromancer had shouted out his farewell, in words as cold and threatening as the river of Death itself.

"I know you! You cannot hide! I will-"

His last words were cut off as Lirael completely re-occupied her body, senses re-arranging themselves for the living world. As the Book had warned, there was ice and frost all over her, lining every fold of her clothing. There was even an icicle hanging from her nose. She broke it off, which hurt, and sneezed.

"What! What was that!" barked the Dog, who was practically under her feet. Clearly, she had sensed that Lirael had been attacked.

"A n-necromancer," said Lirael, s.h.i.+vering. "The one ... the vision ... that the Clayr showed me. Hedge. He ... he ... almost killed me!"

The Dog growled, low in her throat, and Lirael suddenly noticed that she had grown as tall as her own shoulder and now sported much larger and sharper teeth. "I knew I should have stayed with you, Mistress!"

"Yes, yes," mumbled Lirael. She still could hardly speak, her breath coming in little panicked pants. She knew the necromancer couldn't follow her back here-he would have to return to his own body in Life. Unfortunately, her little Kibeth pipe wouldn't have walked him far. He was easily powerful enough to come back and send Dead spirits through to pursue her. The bodiless ones.

"He'll send something after me. We've got to get out of here!"

The Dog growled again but didn't object as Lirael stumbled back across the stony island, intent on getting aboard Finder Finder as quickly as possible. She circled behind Lirael, so every time the girl looked back nervously, there was the Dog, standing between her and danger. as quickly as possible. She circled behind Lirael, so every time the girl looked back nervously, there was the Dog, standing between her and danger.

A few minutes later, safe in the swift waters of the Ratterlin, Lirael collapsed from the shock, lying down in the boat with just one hand lightly touching the rudder. Finder Finder could be trusted to steer her own course. could be trusted to steer her own course.

"I would have bitten that necromancer's throat out," said the Dog, after letting Lirael gasp and shake for several minutes. "He'd have had cause to remember my teeth!"

"I don't think he would notice if you did did rip his throat out," said Lirael, s.h.i.+vering. "He felt more Dead than alive. He said, 'I know you,'" she continued slowly, looking up at the sky, angling her face back to catch more of the sun, delighting in its blessed heat upon her still frosted lips and nose. "How could he know me?" rip his throat out," said Lirael, s.h.i.+vering. "He felt more Dead than alive. He said, 'I know you,'" she continued slowly, looking up at the sky, angling her face back to catch more of the sun, delighting in its blessed heat upon her still frosted lips and nose. "How could he know me?"

"Free Magic eats up necromancers," said the Dog, shrinking herself down to a less belligerent and more conversational size. "The power they seek to wield-the Free Magic they profess to master-ultimately devours them. That power recognizes your Blood. That's probably what he meant by 'I know you.'"

"I don't like the thought of anyone outside the Glacier knowing me," said Lirael, shuddering. "Knowing who I am. And that necromancer's probably with Nicholas now, in Life. So when I find Nicholas, I'll find the necromancer. Like a bug going to a spider to find a fly."

"Tomorrow's trouble," said the Dog, soothing her, not very convincingly. "At least we're done with today's. We're safe on the river."

Lirael nodded, thinking. Then she sat up and scratched the Dog under the chin and all around her ears.

"Dog," she said hesitantly, "there's Free Magic in you, maybe even more than the Charter Magic in your collar. Why don't you ... why aren't you ... why aren't you like the necromancer?"

The Dog sighed, with a meaty "oof" that made Lirael wrinkle her nose. The hound tilted her head to one side, thinking before she answered.

"In the Beginning, all magic was Free Magic-unconstrained, raw, unchanneled. Then the Charter was created, which took most of the Free Magic and made it ordered, subject to structure, constrained by symbols. The Free Magic that remained separate from the Charter is the Free Magic of necromancy, of Stilken, Margrue, and Hish, of a.n.a.lem and Gorger, and all the other fell creatures, constructs, and familiars. It is the random magic that persists outside the Charter.

"There is also the Free Magic that helped make the Charter but was not consumed by it," continued the Dog. "That is quite different from the Free Magic that would not join in the creation of the Charter."

"You speak of the Beginning," said Lirael, who wasn't at all sure she understood. "But could that be before the Charter? It doesn't have a Beginning-or an End."

"Everything has a Beginning," replied the Dog. "Including the Charter. I should know, since I was there at the birth of it, when the Seven chose to make the Charter and the Five gave themselves to the making. In a sense, you were there too, Mistress. You are descended from the Five."

"The Five Great Charters?" asked Lirael, fascinated by this information. "I remember the rhyme about that. It must have been one of the first things we memorized as children."

She sat up even straighter, and clasped her hands behind her back, unconsciously a.s.suming the recital position she'd learned as a child.

"Five Great Charters knit the land,Together linked, hand in hand.One in the people who wear the crown,Two in the folk who keep the Dead down,Three and Five became stone and mortar,Four sees all in frozen water."

"Yes," said the Dog. "A good rhyme for pups to learn. The Great Charters are the keystones of the Charter. The bloodlines, the Wall, and the Charter Stones all come from the original sacrifice of the Five, who poured their power into the men and women who were your ancestors. Some of those, in turn, pa.s.sed that power into stone and mortar, when blood alone was judged to be too easily diluted or led astray."

"So if the Five were sort of ... dissolved into the Charter, what happened to the other two?" asked Lirael, digesting this information with a frown. Everything she had read said the Charter had always existed and always would. "You said there were Seven who chose to make the Charter."

"It began with the Nine," replied the Dog quietly. "Nine who were most powerful, who possessed the conscious thought and foresight that raised them above all the tens of thousands of Free Magic beings that clamored and strove to exist upon the earth. Yet of the Nine, only Seven agreed to make the Charter. One chose to ignore the Seven's work but was finally bound to serve the Charter. The Ninth fought and was barely defeated."