walksindeath | In the reservoir

In the reservoir

The faint light from the Charter Stones seems to turn everything to muted grey and gold from behind Sabriel's half-closed eyes. It is warm here in the centre of the reservoir, slowly melting away the chill from crossing the water earlier. She lies still in the bottom of the boat so as not to jar her leg; it still hurts, but by now in a healthier, sorer way as the spells drain away the inflammation and infection, bolstered by the strength of the Charter stones above.

The stones are always comforting, although sometimes if she thinks too deeply, she wonders if the darker traces on the rock under the flow of charter marks are Touchstone's blood, from the many months he had spent mending them. And then she remembers coming down here the first time, into the horror of black water broken stones and oncoming Dead.

Maudlin thoughts, and probably feverish.

She closes her eyes all the way, and wills the Charter to heal her faster. There's so little time for anything, these days.

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Scowling Touchstone said,"Except for when I caught that salmon last year."

"Mogget would not wake," continued Sabriel, suppressing a smile without much success -- which then softens into something prouder as she looks at her son.

"But as I have my own, these are clearly meant for the Abhorsen-in-Waiting. Congratulations, Sam."

Sam nodded, not even opening the package, he could feel the weight and power of the seven Charter-spelled bells of an Abhorsen.

"Aren't you going to open it?"

"Later."

Sam could hear his voice sounding almost like a croak and tried for a smile that he knew didn't work.

His mother's eyes were on him, but he couldn't look at her, he kept thinking about Kait asking him why he did something he hated.

He still didn't have any other answer than there was no one else so he'd somehow learn to use the bells.

"I'm glad the bells have come," Sabriel says. "Most Abhorsens before me worked with their successors, sometimes for many years, as I hope we will work together. According to Mogget, my father trained with his aunt for nearly a decade. I have often wished I had had the same opportunity."

Mogget again, of course. She misses him oddly when he's in his deep sleep periods.

And worries for the future, knowing that some day he will break free again, and be as he is in the bar. Not that he's uncontrolled or even entirely unpleasant, there -- it's wondering how that robs her of sleep at night.

She hesitates, then continues on. Sameth is so young - but he must understand how urgently he is needed.

"To tell the truth, I will need your help, Sam."

He nodded as his confession dried up in his mouth, he was the only one with the birthright, the book and the bells.

He would just have to be braver and read it, not matter how much it terrified him. Since he had to do this, there was no one else.

Finally he looked up to look his mother in the eyes sounding as sure of himself as he could manage,

"I'll do my best."

Sabriel smiles at him, so proud she thinks she might burst.

"I have to go to Ancelstierre, for I still know their ways much better than your father does," she says.

"And quite a few of my old schoolfriends have become influential, or have married so. But I didn't want to leave without knowing there was an Abhorsen here to protect the people from the Dead. Thank you, Sam."

"But I'm not..."

The words rushed out before he could stop himself, she shouldn't trust so much in him,

"I'm not ready. I haven't finished the book, I mean and--"

"I'm sure you know more than you think," Sabriel says dryly, remembering the strange first days when the teachings of the Book of the Dead had sunk into her subconscious, unremembered until she needed them.

"In any case, there should be little trouble now that Spring is in full bloom. Every stream and river is flowing with snow-melt and spring rain. The days are getting longer. There are never any major threats from the Dead this late in Spring, or through the Summer. The most you'll have to deal with is a rogue Hand or pehaps a Mordaut. I have every confidence you can manage that."

"What about the missing Southerlings?" asks Ellimere, with a look that speaks volumes about her confidence in Sam. "Nine hundred Dead are a major threat."

"They must have disappeared into the area around the Red Lake or the Clayr would have Seen them," Sabriel says. She wishes they could find out just what barred the place from their Sight, but the fact that it the only known blind spot they have narrows down their search enough.

"So the should be confined there by the spring floods. I would go and deal with them first, but the greater danger lies with the many more Southerlings in Ancelstierre. We will have to trust in the flooded rivers, and in you, Sam."

"But--" Sam began to say.

"Mind you, the necromancer or necromancers who oppose us are not to be trifled with," Sabriel is continuing, frowning at the thought of more than one, and of Sam facing them along.

He is still so young - and looks it more than ever right now.

"If the dare to confront you, you must fight them in Life. Do not fight one of them in Death again, Sam. You were brave to do so before, but also lucky. You must also be very careful with the bells. As you know, they can force you into Death, or trick you into it. Use them only when you are confident you have learned the lessons in the book. Do you promise?"

"Yes," said Sam.

Somehow he found the breath for that word and it was full of relief. He could probably take care of the Lesser Dead with Charter Magic alone.

His resolution to be a proper Abhorsen hadn't completely gotten rid of his fear and his fingers were cold where they touched the wrapped-up bells.

Not noticing the uneasiness in his son, Touchstone turned to other matters. "Now," He said, "I wonder if you have any insights into dealing with the Ancelstierrans, you two, from your schooling there. This Corolini for instance, the leaser of the Our Country Party. Could he be from the Old Kingdom himself, do you think?"

"After my time," says Ellie, who has been a whole year out of school and has a tendency to consider her Ancelstierre days as ancient history.

"I don't know," replied Sam,

"He was in the newspapers a lot before I left, but they never mentioned where he came from. My friend Nicholas might know, and he would be able to help, I think. His uncle is the Chief Minister, Edward Sayre, you know. Nick is coming to visit next month, but you should be able to catch him before he leaves."

Sam can't help but smile when he thinks of Nick, he makes things exciting.

Touchstone stops himself from looking surprised. "He's coming here?" he asked. He remembered Nick from the hospital after the necromancer's attack. ""I'm surprised they'll let him. I don't think the Army has issued a permit in years, apart from that lot of refugees---and that was a political show. The Army didn't have a choice."

Of course, Nick did have connections.

"Nick can be very persuasive," said Sam, think of various scrapes Nick had talked him into at school---and less often, out of the blame afterwards.

"I asked Ellimere to seal a visa for him, for our side."

The thought of Nick coming has made the past few months slightly more bearable.

"I sent it ages ago," she says with a snide glance at Sam. "Some of us are efficient, you know."

"Good," said Touchstone. "It will be a useful connection, and important for one of Ancelstierre's ruling families to see that we do not invent the stories they hear about the Kingdom. I'll also make sure the Barhedrin Guard Post provides an escort from the Wall. It wouldn't help negotiations if we lose the Cheif Minster's nephew."

Though, privately Touchstone thought that the ruling families could have a Wild Magic creature dropped in their laps and ask for tea and they still wouldn't believe it.

"What are we negotiating with?" she asks "I mean, down in Corvere they like to pretend that we don't even exist." She makes a bit of a face. "I was always having to convince stuck-up city girls that I wasn't making the Kingdom up."

It was something she got very, very good at...but it was also very, very tiring.

"Two things," Sabriel replies.

"Gold and fear. We have only a modest amount of gold, but it might be enough to tip the balance if it goes into the right pockets. And there are many Northerners who remember when Kerrigor crossed the Wall. We shall try to convince them that this will happen again if they send the Southerling refugees north."

"It couldn't be Kerrigor, could it?" asked Sam.

"I mean whoever is behind all the trouble."

He just wants to have a name for the necromancer who attacked the game, maybe that will make that man less scary.

In the reservoir

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