Lirael (Abhorsen 2)

Reluctantly, Lirael tore herself away and concentrated on the task at hand. The Chief’s bedroom had to be beyond this room. But where was the door? There were only the window, the door leading outside, and the bookshelves. . . .

Lirael smiled as she saw that the end of one shelf was occupied by a door-handle rather than tightly packed books. Trust the Chief to have a door that doubled as a bookshelf.

“The sword is on a stand just to the left,” whispered the Dog, who suddenly seemed a bit anxious. “Don’t open the door too much.”

“Thanks,” replied Lirael as she gingerly tested the door handle, to see if it had to be pulled, pushed, or turned. “But I thought you weren’t helping.”

The Dog didn’t answer, because as soon as Lirael touched it, the whole bookcase swung open. Lirael only just managed to get a firm enough grasp on the handle to stop it from opening completely, and had to haul it back to leave a gap wide enough for herself to slide through.

The bedroom was dark, lit only by the moonlight in the outer chamber. Lirael poked her head in very slowly and let her eyes adjust, her ears trying to catch any sound of movement or sudden waking.

After a minute or so, she could see the faint dark mass of a bed, and the regular breathing of someone asleep—though she wasn’t sure if she could really hear that or was just imagining it.

As the Dog had said, there was a stand near the door. A sort of cylindrical metal cage that was open only at the top. Even in the dim light, Lirael could see that Binder was there, in its scabbard. The pommel was only a few inches below the top of the stand, in easy reach. But she would have to be right next to the stand to lift the sword high enough to clear the cage.

She ducked back out and took a deep breath. The air seemed closer in the bedroom somehow. Darker, and cloying, as if it conspired against thieves like Lirael.

The Dog looked at her and winked encouragingly. Still, Lirael’s heart started to beat faster and faster as she edged back through the door, and she suddenly felt strangely cold.

A few, small, careful steps took her next to the stand. She touched it with both hands, then gingerly moved to grab the sword by the grip, and the scabbard just below the hilt.

Lirael’s fingers had barely touched the metal when the sword suddenly let out a low whistle, and Charter marks flared into brilliance across the hilt. Instantly, Lirael let go and hunched forward, trying to muffle both light and sound with her body. She didn’t dare turn around. She didn’t want to see the Chief awake and furious.

But there was no sudden shout of outrage, no stern voice demanding to know what she was doing. The red blur in front of her eyes faded as her night vision returned, and she cocked an ear to try and hear anything above the steady drum-beat of her own heart.

Both whistle and the light had lasted no more than a second, she realized. Even so, it was clear that Binder chose who would—or would not—wield it.

Lirael thought about this for a moment, then bent down and whispered, so low that she could hardly hear it herself.

“Binder, I would borrow you for this night, for I need your help to bind a Stilken, a creature of Free Magic. I promise that you will be returned before the dawn. I swear this by the Charter, whose mark I bear.”

She touched the Charter mark on her forehead, wincing as its sudden flare of light lit up the stand. Then she touched the pommel of Binder with the same two fingers.

It didn’t whistle, and the marks in its hilt merely glowed. Lirael almost sighed, but swallowed the sigh at the last moment, before it could give her away.

The sword came free of the stand without a sound, though Lirael had to lift it high over her own head for the point to clear, and it was heavy. She hadn’t realized how heavy it would be, or how long. It felt as if it weighed double her little practice sword, and it was easily a third as long again. Too long to clip the scabbard to her belt, unless she wore the belt under her armpits, or let the point drag along the ground.

This sword was never made for a fourteen-year-old girl, Lirael concluded, as she edged back out and carefully shut the door. She resisted thinking any further than that.

There was no sign of the Disreputable Dog. Lirael looked around, but there was nothing big enough for the Dog to hide behind—unless she’d somehow shrunk herself and gone under one of the chairs.

“Dog! I’ve got it! Let’s go!” hissed Lirael.

There was no answer. Lirael waited for at least a minute, though it seemed much longer. Then she went to the outer door and put her head against it, listening for footsteps in the corridor outside. Getting back to the Library with the sword would be the trickiest part of the venture. It would be impossible to explain to any Clayr she met.

She couldn’t hear anything, so she slipped outside. As the door clicked shut behind her, Lirael saw a shadow suddenly stretch out of the dark edge on the other side, and a jolt of fear went through her. But once again, it was only the Disreputable Dog.

“You scared me!” whispered Lirael, as she hurried into the shadows herself, and along to the Second Back Stair that would take her directly down to the Library. “Why didn’t you wait?”

“I don’t like waiting,” said the Dog, trotting along at her heels. “Besides, I wanted to take a look in Mirelle’s rooms.”

“No!” exclaimed Lirael, louder than she intended. She dropped to one knee, put the sword into the crook of one arm, and gripped the Dog’s lower jaw. “I told you not to go into people’s rooms! What will we do if someone decides you’re a menace?”

“I am a menace,” mumbled the Dog. “When I want to be. Besides, I knew she wasn’t there. I could smell she wasn’t.”

“Please, please, don’t go looking anywhere people might see you,” begged Lirael. “Promise me you won’t.”

The Dog tried to look away, but Lirael held her jaw. Eventually she muttered something that possibly contained the word “promise.” Lirael decided that, given the circumstances, that would have to do.

A few minutes later, slinking down the Second Back Stair, Lirael remembered her own promise to Binder. She’d sworn she’d return it to Vancelle’s bedroom before dawn. But what if she couldn’t?

They left the Stair and headed down the main spiral until they were almost at the door to the flower-field room. When it came in sight, Lirael suddenly stopped. The Dog, who was several yards behind, loped up and looked at her enquiringly.

“Dog,” Lirael said slowly. “I know you won’t help me fight the Stilken. But if I can’t bind it, I want you to get Binder and take it back to Vancelle’s. Before the dawn.”

“You will take it back yourself, Mistress,” said the Dog confidently, her voice almost a growl. Then she hesitated, and said in a softer tone, “But I will do as you ask, if it proves necessary. You have my promise.”

Lirael nodded her thanks, unable to speak. She wal

ked the final thirty feet to the door. There, she checked that the clockwork mouse was in her right waistcoat pocket and the small silver bottle in her left. Then she unsheathed Binder and, for the first time, held it as a weapon, on guard. The Charter marks on the blade burst into brilliant fire as they sensed the foe, and Lirael felt the latent strength of the sword’s magic. Binder had defeated many strange creatures, she knew, and this filled her with hope—until she remembered that this was probably the first time it was being wielded by a girl who didn’t really know what she was doing.

Before that thought could paralyze her, Lirael reached out and broke the locking-spell on the door. As the Dog had said, the spell had been corroded by Free Magic, a corrosion so fierce that the spell broke apart merely at her touch and a whispered command.

Then she waved her wrist. The emeralds of her bracelet flashed, and the door groaned open. Lirael braced herself for the sudden rush of the Stilken’s attack—but there was nothing there.

Hesitantly, she stepped through the doorway, her nose twitching, seeking any scent of Free Magic, her eyes wide for the slightest hint of the creature’s presence.

Unlike on her earlier visit, there was no bright light beyond the corridor—just an eerie glow, a Charter Magic imitation of moonlight that reduced all colors to shades of grey. Somewhere, in that half-darkness, the Stilken lurked. Lirael raised the sword higher and stepped out into the chamber, the flowers rustling under her feet.

The Disreputable Dog followed ten paces behind, every hair on her back stuck up in a ridge, a low growl rumbling in her chest. There were traces of the Stilken here, but no active scent. It was hiding somehow, waiting in ambush. For a moment the Dog almost spoke. Then she remembered: Lirael must defeat the Stilken alone. She hunkered down on her belly, watching as her mistress walked on through the flowers, towards the tree and the pool—where the Stilken’s ambush must surely lie.

Chapter Thirteen

Of Stilken and Strange Magic