“At the bridge,” said Lirael. “But she said there was some other plan as well, which she could not See. And in many, perhaps most futures, we lose the battle anyway.”
“Not very encouraging,” said Sabriel.
“She told me I had to kill the Witch With No Face’s first body. She is in a sarcophagus beyond the Great Rift, where the sorcerers go for spirit-glass,” continued Lirael.
“Ah,” said Sabriel bleakly. “Unfortunately, that does make sense. Chlorr’s original body, her anchor in Life. But beyond the Great Rift . . .”
“I know nothing about that place,” said Lirael.
“We will talk of it when we go back,” said Sabriel. She stopped to listen and look around again, Lirael doing likewise. “But before we do, could you keep watch while I examine this charm I took from Ferin?”
Lirael nodded. She found herself shaking slightly from seeing her mother in such straits, so distressed and ill. But the river would exploit such weakness, so she willed herself to be still, to put aside the emotional turmoil that threatened to rise within her.
Next to her, Sabriel opened the metal box with the bone charm. Red fire sprang up around it, far more than had out in the living world, in the Map Room. Outlined by the fire, both Abhorsens saw two threads of absolute blackness connected to the bone.
Both threads led back into Life, but one went to the right, and the other to the left.
Chapter Thirty-One
THREADS FROM A CHARM OF BONE
In Death
How very unusual,” said Sabriel, lifting the box to watch the threads lift out of the river. “Both go back into Life. We must follow them, see where they go.”
Lirael nodded. She knew about such threads from The Book of the Dead. They were typically used by powerful necromancers to control distant spirits in their power, or as trip wires to alert a necromancer to something of theirs being disturbed in Death. But she had not read about two such threads connecting a charm that had been cut out of a living person, or ones which lead from Death back out into Life.
The first thread took them some hundred paces along the border before it went out into Life.
“Watch my back,” warned Sabriel. She went right up to the edge of Life. Even a few steps away, Lirael could feel the warmth of it, the lure of the living world. But if she went out here, it would not be back into her own body.
Sabriel placed her hand in seemingly empty air, feeling for the unseen border where Death met Life. Then she laid her head against it and shut her eyes.
Lirael knew how to look out into Life in this way, though she was by no means as practiced at it as she would like to be. She watched Sabriel for a few seconds, then quickly looked away, to concentrate on the river, to listen for the First Gate. If the sound of the waterfall paused, it would mean something was coming through from deeper in Death.
Sabriel did not stay in her eavesdropping pose for long. She straightened up and turned away, holding the bone charm in the box up to lift the second thread, which ran along the border in the opposite direction.
“That first one goes out somewhere in the far north,” she said. “I would say beyond the Great Rift, which fits in with what Arielle had to say. Let us see where this other one goes.”
Lirael nodded, and followed. As always, it was very tiring to be in Death. The river constantly leached away heat and energy and hopefulness. She could feel it in every small wavelet that washed around her legs, inviting her to give up, to lie down, to be swept away. A constant refrain that she had to shut out and ignore, in addition to resisting the sheer physical force of the current upon her spirit form.
Sabriel crouched longer where the second thread went out into Life. When she straightened up, it was with a cry of alarm.
“Stand ready! Shadow Hands!”
Irregular shapes of blackest shadow sprang from Life into the river, goaded by their master somewhere in the living world beyond. Impossibly long claws of stretching darkness reached for Sabriel, but she was retreating fast, and Saraneth was already ringing.
The harsh voice of the bell held the Shadow Hands in place, but there were a dozen of them, and more were coming through. Lirael returned Ranna to the bandolier, slapping home the strap that kept it silent, and as swiftly drew her own Saraneth. Swinging the bell in a long overhand loop, she added its voice to Sabriel’s. This was something they had practiced together often, for it more than doubled the power of the individual bells. Provided neither of them made a mistake, and a bell twisted in their hand . . .
“Hold them there,” ordered Sabriel. “We will return to Life.”
Slowly they edged along the border, still ringing their bells, seeking the place where their bodies awaited them. Lirael was surprised by this retreat, because Sabriel usually would want to bind any Dead they found, and send them on to die the final death. The Abhorsen had never retreated in the time Lirael had learned from her, and though there were now sixteen Shadow Hands, that was not too many for Sabriel and her apprentice, at least in Lirael’s opinion.
But as they neared their crossing point, Lirael saw why Sabriel had retreated. Scores more Dead were coming through. Dead drawn out of the bodies they were inhabiting in Life, so things of lesser power than Shadow Hands, but there were so many of them! A hundred, perhaps more, and behind these lesser creatures came several hulking shapes of shadow, with burning fire in their eye sockets, flames dripping from their hands. Greater Dead, at least five of them.
Coming from the wrong direction, coming from Life into Death. Even without intervention from the Abhorsens, many of these Dead would be taken by the river. Which meant there was something or someone making them come back to the place they had fought so long to leave.
“Out!” said Sabriel, and stepped into Life, Lirael close at her heels.
Ice cracked and fell from skin and armor as they returned. Clayr rangers turned swiftly to look at them, then resumed their watching, though many hands stayed in spell-casting gestures or on bows and swords.
“Stay ready!” warned Sabriel to Lirael. “Some might be driven to come throu
gh, even with the sun.”
Shadow Hands were fast. As close as they had been, it would not be too difficult for them to come back into Life, particularly here where the border had been crossed and made more permeable.
The tentative attack, when it came, was exactly as Sabriel predicted. A Shadow Hand oozed out slowly into Life, a thin tendril of shadow appearing in midair, which immediately smoked and bubbled under the sun. It tried to recoil, but Sabriel was already ringing Saraneth, and under the compulsion of the bell, the entire spirit was forced to emerge.
Rays of sunshine bored holes in its shadowy spirit flesh as it fought against the bell and Sabriel’s implacable will. Smoke boiled and eddied from it as it writhed and wriggled, desperate to get under some rock if it could not escape to Death. Yet still Saraneth rang, its commanding voice impossible to avoid, ordering obedience or else.
A minute later, the Shadow Hand ceased to exist. The afternoon sun on a spring day was more than strong enough to quickly slay all but one of the Greater Dead, and even they would fear it.
“I do not think more will follow,” said Sabriel, returning her bell to the bandolier. “But I would double the watch here tonight, you rangers, and summon many Charter lights. Come, Lirael. We had best get back to the council, and I need you to tell me exactly what Arielle said. I fear she did indeed See truly. That second thread led to a great host, including many Dead and Free Magic creatures, and it was somewhere on the steppe. Quite possibly the Field Market.”
Lirael told Sabriel as much as she could remember as they raced down from the lookout. The Abhorsen listened carefully, firing off questions as they negotiated stairs and doors and sloping corridors and groups of Clayr who scattered like ants fleeing heavy raindrops when Sabriel charged toward them, calling “Urgent business!” in a voice that brooked no argument.