He started to run down to them but stopped after only two paces. They were all hurrying up, and his place was here, by Lirael. She was still frozen in place, still somewhere in Death, facing who knew what dangers. That realization brought Sam back to the current situation. The Dead had fled from Saraneth as wielded by the Abhorsen. But they were only lesser minions of the real Enemy.
"The lightning has stopped," said Tim Wallach. "Listen-there's no thunder now."
Everyone turned back to the ridge. Sam's feelings of relief vanished in an instant. The thunder and lightning had faded away to nothing, sure enough, but the fog was as thick as ever. It was no longer lit with blue flashes but by a steady, pulsing red that grew brighter as they watched-as if an enormous heart of fire grew in the valley beyond.
Something was coming down from the ridge, a shape that seemed to have too many arms, an awful silhouette backlit by the blood-red glow from behind the ridge.
Sam raised his sword and felt for the panpipes. Whatever this was didn't seem to be Dead-or at least he couldn't sense it. But it carried the hot stench of Free Magic with it-and it was coming straight towards him.
Then the thing shouted, with the voice of Mogget.
"It's me-Mogget! I've got Nicholas!"
The fog eddied, and Sam saw that the voice came from the strange little man with the pale hair and skin who he had last seen on the hill above the Red Lake. He was carrying an emaciated body that just might be Nick. Whoever it was, Mogget held the man's right arm out to the side, where it writhed and twitched with a life of its own, all too like a tentacle.
"What is that?" asked Major Greene quietly as he signaled his men to close up again around Lirael.
"It's Mogget," replied Sam with a frown. "He had that shape in my grandfather's time. And that ... that is my friend Nick."
"Of course it is!" shouted Mogget, who hadn't stopped walking down. "Where is the Abhorsen? And Lirael? We must hurry-the hemispheres have almost joined. If we can get Nicholas farther away, the fragment will not be able to join and the hemispheres will be incomplete-"
He was interrupted by a terrible scream. Nick's eyes flashed open and his whole body jerked into rigidity, one arm pointed back towards the loch valley like a gun. Something brighter than the sun flared at his fingertip for a moment, then it flashed over the ridge, too fast to follow.
"No!" Nick screamed. His mouth frothed with bloody foam, and his fingers clutched uselessly at empty air. But his scream was lost in another sound, a sound that welled up from the red heart of the fog beyond the ridge. An indescribable shout of triumph, greed, and fury. With that shout, a column of fire boiled up to the sky. It climbed up and up till it loomed high above the ridge. The fog swirled around it like a cloak and began to burn away.
"Free!" boomed the Destroyer. The word howled across the watchers like a hot wind, stripping the moisture from their eyes and mouths. On and on the sound carried, echoing from distant hills, screaming through far-off towns, striking fear into all who heard it, long after the word itself was lost.
"Too late," said Mogget. He laid Nick carefully down on the rocky ground and crouched himself. His pale hair began to spread down his neck and face, and his bones contracted and tightened under the skin. Inside a minute, he was once again a little white cat, with Ranna tinkling on his collar.
Sam hardly noticed the transformation. He hurried up to Nick and bent over him, already reaching for the strongest Charter marks he knew for healing, assembling them in his mind. There was no question that his friend was dying. Sam could feel his spirit slipping through to Death, see the terrible pallor of Nick's face, the blood on his mouth, and the deep bruises on his chest and arm.
Golden fire grew in Sam's gesturing hands as he pulled marks from the Charter with ferocious haste. Then he gently laid his palms on Nick's chest and sent the healing magic into his damaged body.
Only the spell wouldn't take hold. The marks slid away and were lost, and blue sparks crackled under Sam's palms. He cursed and tried again, but it was no use. There was still too strong a residue of Free Magic in Nick, and it repulsed all Sam's efforts.
All it did do was bring Nick back into consciousness-of a sort. He smiled as he saw Sam, thinking himself back at school again, struck down by a fastball. But Sam was in some weird armor, not in cricket whites. And there was thick fog behind him, not bright sunshine, and stones and stunted trees, not new-mown grass.
Nick remembered, and his smile disappeared. With memory came pain, everywhere in his body, but there was a welcome lightness as well. He felt clear and unrestricted, as if he were a prisoner freed from a lifetime locked in a single room.
"I'm sorry," he gasped, the blood in his mouth choking him as he spoke. "I didn't know, Sam. I didn't know ..."
"It's all right," said Sam. He wiped the bloody froth away from Nick's mouth with the sleeve of his surcoat. "It's not your fault. I should have realized something had happened to you...."
"The sunken road," whispered Nick. He closed his eyes again, his breath coming in choking gasps. "After you went into Death on the hill. I can remember it now. I ran down to see what I could do and fell into the road. Hedge was waiting. He thought I was you, Sam...."
His voice trailed off. Sam bent over him again, trying to force the healing marks into him by strength of will. For the third time, they slid off.
Nick's lips moved and he said something too faint to hear. Sam bent still closer, his ear to Nick's mouth, and he took his hand and held it as if he might physically drag his friend back from Death.
"Lirael," whispered Nick. "Tell Lirael I remembered her. I tried ..."
"You can tell her yourself," Sam said urgently. "She'll be here! Any moment. Nick-you have to fight it!"
"That's what she said," coughed Nick. Specks of blood stained Sam's cheek, but he didn't move. He didn't hear the soft bark of the Dog as she returned to Life, or the cracking of ice, or Lirael's exclamation of surprise. For Sam, there was only the space he and Nicholas occupied. Everything else had ceased to exist.
Then he felt a cold hand on his shoulder, and he looked around. Lirael was standing there. She was still covered in frost. Ice flaked from her as she moved. She looked at Nick, and Sam saw a fleeting expression that he could not place. Then it was gone, visibly repressed by a hardness that reminded Sam of his mother.
"Nick's dying," said Sam, his eyes bright with tears. "The healing spells won't- The shard flew out of him- I can't do anything!"
"I know how to bind and break the Destroyer," said Lirael urgently. She turned her gaze away from Nick and looked directly at Sam. "You have to make a weapon for me, Sam. Now!"
"But Nick!" protested Sam. He didn't let go of his friend's hand.
Lirael glanced at the column of fire. She could feel its heat now, could gauge the state of the Destroyer's power by its color and the height of the flames. There were still minutes left-but very few of them. Even twice as many would not be enough for Nick.
"There's ... there's nothing you can do for Nick," she said, though the words came out with a sob. "There's no time, and I need ... I need to tell you what must be done. We have a chance, Sam! I didn't think we would, but the Clayr did See who was needed and they're here. But we have to act now!"
Sam looked down at his best friend. Nick's eyes were open again, but he was looking past Sam, at Lirael.
"Do what she says, Sam," Nick whispered, attempting a smile. "Try and make it right."
Then his eyes lost their focus, and his ragged breath bubbled away to nothing. Both Sam and Lirael felt his spirit slip away, and they knew that Nicholas Sayre was dead.
Sam opened his hand and stood up. He felt old and tired, his joints stiff. He was bewildered, too, unable to accept that the body at his feet was Nick's. He had set out to save him, and he had failed. Everything else seemed doomed to failure too.
Lirael grabbed him as he swayed in front of her, his eyes unfocused. The shock broke through the distance he felt around him, and he reluctantly met her gaze. She swung him around and pointed to Sabriel, Touchstone, Ellimere, and the two Clayr, who were moving rapidly up the spur.
"You need to get a drop of blood from me, your parents, Ellimere, and Sanar and Ryelle, and bind it with yours into Nehima with the metal from the panpipes. Can you do that? Now!"
"I haven't got a forge," Sam replied dumbly, but he accepted Nehima from Lirael's hand. He was still looking down at Nick.
"Use magic!" shrieked Lirael, and she shook him, hard. "You're a Wallmaker, Sam! Hurry!"
The shaking brought Sam all the way back to the present. He suddenly felt the heat of the fiery column, and the full dread of the Destroyer filled his bones. Turning away from Nick, he used the sword to cut his palm, wiping the blood along the blade.
Lirael cut herself next, letting the blood flow down the blade.
"I'll remember," she whispered, touching the sword. Then in the next breath, conscious of how little time they had, she shouted at the soldiers.
"Major Greene! Get all your people back to the Southerlings! Warn them! You must all stay on the other side of the stream and lie down as low as you can. Do not look towards the fire, and when it suddenly brightens, close your eyes! Go! Go!"
Before anyone could respond, Lirael was shouting again, this time at the group led by Sabriel, which was almost upon them.
"Hurry! Please hurry! We have to make at least three diamonds of protection here within the next ten minutes! Hurry!"
Sam rushed down to meet his parents, his sister, and the two Clayr, holding the bloody sword flat, ready to take more contributions. As he walked, he built a spell of forging and binding in his mind, knitting the marks together into one long and complex net. When the blade was fully blooded, he would lay the pipes upon it and the spell over it all entire. If it worked, blood and metal would join in the making of a new and unique sword. If it worked ...
Behind him, the Dog slunk over to the sprawled, silent body of Nicholas. She looked around to make sure no one was paying any attention, then barked softly in his ear.
Nothing happened. The Dog looked puzzled, as if she expected an immediate effect, and licked his forehead. Her tongue left a glowing mark. Still nothing happened. After a moment, the Dog left the corpse and bounded across to join Lirael, who was casting the Eastmark of a very large diamond of protection. It was to be the outermost of three, if there was time to cast them. If there was not, they would not survive.
Beyond the ridge, the huge column of fire burned with increasing heat, though it stayed a terrible, disturbing red. The red of bright blood, fresh from a wound.
Chapter Twenty-eight.
The Seven "SAMETH, WHAT HAVE you done now!" were the first words out of Ellimere's mouth. But she belied her speech with an attempt to hug him, which Sam had to shrug away. you done now!" were the first words out of Ellimere's mouth. But she belied her speech with an attempt to hug him, which Sam had to shrug away.
"No time to explain!" he exclaimed as he held out the bloodied Nehima. "I need some of your blood on the blade; then you have to go and help Aunt Lirael."
Ellimere immediately complied. In earlier times, Sam would have been surprised by his sister's instant cooperation. But Ellimere was no fool, and the towering column of fire beyond the ridge was clearly only the beginning of something terrible and strange.
"Mother! Father! I'm ... I'm so glad you're not dead!" Sam cried as Ellimere ran past, her cut palm still dripping blood, and Sabriel and Touchstone clambered up.
"Likewise," said Touchstone, but he wasted no time either, holding out his hand so Sam could make the cut. Sabriel put hers out at the same time, but she ruffled Sam's head with her other hand.
"I have a sister, or so the Clayr tell me, and a new Abhorsen-in-Waiting," said Sabriel as they wiped their palms on the steel, the marks glowing as they felt the kinship of Blood to Charter. "And you have found a different path but one no less important. I trust you have been helpful to your aunt?"
"Yes, I suppose," replied Sam. He was trying to keep all the spell for the forging in his head, and he didn't have time to talk. "She needs help now. Three diamonds of protection!"
Sabriel and Touchstone were gone before Sam finished speaking. The two Clayr stood in front of him, holding out their hands. Wordlessly, Sam cut gently into their palms, and they also marked the blade with blood. Sam hardly saw them do it, so many Charter marks were whirling around in his head. He didn't feel them take his elbows, either, and lead him back up the hill. He couldn't think of such mundanities as walking. He was lost in the Charter, dredging up marks he hardly knew. Thousands and thousands of Charter marks that filled his head with light, spreading inwards and outwards, ordering themselves into a spell that would join with Nehima and the seven pipes to replicate a weapon that was as deadly to its wielder as to its target.
There was no time for greetings farther up the ridge, either. Lirael simply snapped out orders as Ellimere, Sabriel, and Touchstone arrived. She sent them to help make the first three marks of each diamond of protection, saving the last mark till everyone was inside and the diamonds could be completed. For a moment, Lirael had stumbled over her instructions, fearing that they might protest, for who was she to give orders to the King and the Abhorsen? But they didn't, quickly going to their tasks, building the diamonds jointly to save time, each taking a cardinal mark.
Major Greene hadn't questioned her orders either, Lirael noticed with relief. What was left of his company was running pell-mell across the valley, the able-bodied carrying the wounded, with the Major's shouts speeding them on the way. They were shouting at the Southerlings, too, telling them to lie down and look away. Lirael hoped the Southerlings would listen, though the sight of the whirling column of fire had the power to entrance as well as terrify.
Sam staggered up between Sanar and Ryelle, who smiled at Lirael as they brought him to the center of the incipient diamond. Lirael smiled back, a brief smile that took her back for a moment to the twins' words the day she had left the Glacier. "You must remember that, Sighted or not, you are are a Daughter of the Clayr." a Daughter of the Clayr."
Lirael closed the outer diamond with a cardinal mark and stepped inside the next incomplete diamond. As she passed him, Touchstone let the Northmark flow down his sword to close the second diamond behind her. He smiled at Lirael as they stepped back inside the third and final diamond, and she saw the strong resemblance between him and his son.
Sabriel herself closed the inner diamond. In only a few minutes they had raised magical defenses of triple strength. Lirael hoped it would be enough and they would survive to do what must be done. She had a momentary panic then, and had to quickly count on her fingers to make sure they had the necessary seven. Herself, Sameth, Ellimere, Sabriel, Touchstone, Sanar, Ryelle. That was seven, though she was not sure it was really the right seven.
The lines of the diamond shone golden but were pallid in comparison with the fierce light of the column of fire. Vast as that roaring column was, Lirael knew it was only the first and least of the nine manifestations of the Destroyer's power. Worse was to come, and soon.
Sam knelt over sword and panpipes, weaving his spell. Lirael checked that the Dog and Mogget were safely inside the diamond, and noticed that Nick's body was inside too, which somehow seemed right. There was also a large thistle bush, which was annoying and showed her haste. She hadn't had time to think about where the diamonds should be.
Everyone within the diamonds, save Sam, was stiff and awkward for a moment, in that strange calm before impending disaster. Then Sabriel took Lirael into a loose embrace and kissed her lightly on the cheek.
"So you are the sister I never knew I had," said Sabriel. "I would wish that we had met earlier, and on a more auspicious occasion. We have had many revelations thrust upon us, more than my tired mind can take in, I fear. We have gone by boat and van and aeroplane and Paperwing to come here, almost without rest, and the Clayr have Seen a great deal very suddenly. They tell me that we face a great spirit of the Beginning, and that you are not only heir to my office but a Remembrancer, too, and you have Seen the past as other Clayr See the future. So please tell us-what must we do?"
"I'm so glad you're all here now," replied Lirael. It was terribly tempting to just fall apart during this brief lull, but she could not. Everything depended upon her. Everything.
She took a deep breath and continued, "The Destroyer is building up to Its second manifestation, which I hope ... I hope the diamonds will save us from. Afterwards, It will diminish for a little time, and it is then we must go down to It, warding ourselves against the fires that the second manifestation will leave behind. The binding spell we will use ourselves is simple, and I will teach it to you now. But first, everyone must take a bell from me ... or from the Abhorsen."
"Call me Sabriel," said Sabriel firmly. "Does it matter which bell?"
"There will be one that feels right, one that will speak to your blood. Each of us will be standing for one of the original Seven, as they live on in our bloodline and in the bells," stammered Lirael, nervous about instructing her elders. Sabriel was quite frightening up close, and it was hard to remember that she was her own sister, not just the near-legendary binder of the Dead. But Lirael did know what she was doing. She had seen in the Dark Mirror how the binding had been done and how it must be done again, and she could feel the affinities between the bells and the people.
Though there was something strange about Sanar and Ryelle. Lirael looked at them, and her heart almost stopped as she realized that as twins, their spirits were intertwined. They could wield only one bell between them. There would only be six of the needed seven.
She stood frozen and horrified as the others stepped forward and took their bells from Sabriel.
"Saraneth for me, I think," said Sabriel, but she left the bell in the bandolier. "Touchstone?"
"Ranna for me," replied Touchstone. "The Sleeper seems very appropriate, given my past."
"I will take a bell from my aunt, if I may," said Ellimere. "Dyrim, I think."
Lirael mechanically handed the bell to her niece. Ellimere looked very like Sabriel, with the same sort of contained force inside her. But she had her father's smile, Lirael saw, even through her panic.
"We will hold Mosrael together," said Sanar and Ryelle in unison.
Lirael shut her eyes. Maybe she hadn't counted right, she thought. But she could feel who should have which bell. She opened her eyes again and with shaking hands started to undo a strap on her bandolier.
"Sam will have Belgaer, and ... and I will wield both Astarael and ... and Kibeth, to make the seven."
She spoke as confidently as she could, but there was a quaver in her voice. She could not wield two bells. Not for this binding. There had to be seven wielders, not just seven bells.
"Hmmph," woofed the Dog, standing up and wriggling her hindquarters in a somewhat embarrassed fashion. "Not Kibeth. I shall stand for myself."
Lirael's hand fumbled on the strap that held Astarael silent, and she only just managed to prevent the bell's mournful call, which would send all who heard it into Death.
"But you said you weren't one of the Seven!" Lirael protested, though she had long suspected the truth about the Dog. She just hadn't wanted to admit it, even to herself, for the Dog was her best and oldest friend, long her only friend. Lirael could not imagine Kibeth Kibeth as her friend. as her friend.
"I lied," said the Dog cheerily. "That's one of the reasons I'm the Disreputable Dog. Besides, I'm only what's left of Kibeth, in a roundabout, hand-me-down sort of way. Not quite the same. But I'll stand against the Destroyer. Against Orannis, as one of your Seven."
As the Dog spoke the Destroyer's name, the column of fire roared higher still and punched through the remnants of the storm clouds. It was more than a mile high now, and dominated all the western sky, its red light defeating the yellow of the sun.
Lirael wanted to say something, but the words were choked by incipient tears. She did not know whether they were of relief or sadness. Whatever was to come, she knew nothing would ever be the same with her and the Disreputable Dog.
Instead of speaking, she scratched the Dog's head. Just twice, running her fingers through the soft dog hair. Then she quickly recited the binding spell, showing everyone the marks and words they would have to use.
"Sam is making the sword that I will use to break the Destroyer once It is bound," Lirael finished. At least she hoped he was. As if to reinforce her hope, she added, "He is a true inheritor of the Wallmaker's powers."
She gestured to where Sam was bent over Nehima, his hands moving in complex gestures, the names of Charter marks tumbling from his mouth as his hands wove the glowing symbols into a complex thread that tumbled out of the air and spilled down upon the naked blade.
"How long will it take?" asked Ellimere.
"I don't know," whispered Lirael. Then she repeated herself more loudly. "I don't know."
They stood and waited, anxious seconds stretching out awfully into minutes as Sam called forth his Charter marks and Orannis rumbled beyond the ridge, both of them building very different spells. Lirael found herself looking down into the valley every few seconds, where it looked like Major Greene might be having some success at making the Southerlings lie down; then she would look at Sam; then at the Destroyer's fire; and then start all over again, full of different anxieties and fears everywhere she looked.