walksindeath (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
walksindeath) wrote2010-02-11 12:09 pm
walksindeath) wrote2010-02-11 12:09 pm
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.
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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"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."
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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--"
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"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."
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"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."
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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?"
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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.
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"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.
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Of course, Nick did have connections.
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"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.
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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.
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It was something she got very, very good at...but it was also very, very tiring.
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"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."
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"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.
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"No," she repeats, more quietly. "I looked in on Kerrigor when I visited the House. He sleeps still and forever under Ranna's spell, locked in the cellar, bound with every Mark of ward and guard your father and I have ever known. It is not Kerrigor."
Thank the Charter.
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"We four shall see to that. But for now, I suggest we all drink some mulled wine and talk of better things. How was the Midwinter Festival? Did I tell you that I danced the Bird of Dawning when I was your age, Sam? How did you do?"
He hoped to turn the topic to better things where they could be a family doing normal family things then people having a council of war.
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"I forgot the cups," as he hands over the still-warm jug.
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Oh dear.
"We can drink from the jug," says Sabriel. Frankly, given that she lives from water bottle as she treks across the kingdom most of the time, a jug is a step up -- she takes a swift and mostly elegant mouthful of wine and passes on the jug. "--Mm. That's good. Now tell me, how was your birthday, Sam? A good day?"
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It was a relief when the questioning moved to Ellimere and tennis. Apparently gossip about her traveled faster than his shortcomings, though he had to speak up again when Ellimere accused him of refusing to make more rackets. No else made them quite so well so he promised to make her twelve, they weren't hard to make just boring and his fingers always ended up hurting after wards.
The other continued to talk, but Sam just couldn't stop thinking about the books and the bells. What would he do if he had to fight the Dead? He hasn't been able to even open the book. Or what if he had to face the necromancer that he'd met in Death or someone more powerful? Kait and Gaius even Teja seemed to believe in him, clearly his parents did, but they don't know the truth.
Suddenly he blurted out, "What if it...this Enemy...isn't behind Corolini? What if he's going to do something else while you're both gone?"
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"If that is so, we will be just a week away, ten days at the most. A message-hawk to Barhedrin, a rider to the Perimeter, a telegraph from there or Bain to Corvere, train back to Bain - maybe even less than a week. But we think that whatever this Enemy - as you have dubbed it so well - plans, it must involve a great number of the Dead. The Clayr have Seen many possible futures in which our entire Kingdom is nothing more than a desert, inhabited only by the Dead. What else could bring this about but the sort of massing of the Dead that we suspect? And that could be brought about only by killing all those poor, unprotected refugees. Our people are too well guarded. In any case, apart from Belisaere, there are not two hundred thousand people in one place in all the Kingdom. And certainly not two hundred thousand without a single Charter mark among them."
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"I don't know what else it could be. I just wish you weren't going."
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