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.
“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 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 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.”