Goldenhand (30 page)

The Great Rift/Greenwash Bridge, Old Kingdom

L
irael and Nick reached the edge of the Great Rift several hours before dawn on the fourth day of their flight from the Glacier, with nothing more anxious over that time than the distant sight of a band of nomads heading southeast. The steppe was deserted, a consequence of Chlorr calling all the clanspeople to her service.

The moon was waxing gibbous, more than three-quarters full, so from the air they saw the Great Rift many hours before they arrived. A vast slash in the earth, it was at least two or three leagues wide, and its depths were too deep to be seen. It ran from east to west ahead of them but slowly angled south, and far off toward the horizon this turn could be seen to increase, marking the western extension of the mighty canyon.

Despite the moon, it was very hard to make out the northern side of the Rift. Even with her owl eyes, Lirael couldn't seem to focus beyond the great canyon. Everything was clear enough immediately ahead. It was all red rocks and little streams cutting through to become narrow waterfalls, but halfway across, something happened. It was as if the air was full of dust, or there was a heat haze. But Lirael knew it was a border of sorts, like the Wall to the south.

Up until now, she had not needed to try and access the Charter via Nick. Lirael had been too tired to make the attempt, particularly in owl form. She could still feel the Charter, and find it, and draw marks from it, though it was much more difficult than it was across
the Greenwash, back in the Old Kingdom. However, the Charter was still there, a constant, comforting presence, even one grown remote and more difficult to access.

Somewhere below, crossing the Rift, that presence would vanish. Then Lirael would need to draw upon Nick, and neither he nor anyone else knew how long the Free Magic he had inside him would sustain the Charter Magic that somehow drew upon that power.

By this stage of their journey, Lirael had mastered landing. She set Nick down very gently, releasing the net at the same time, then flew up and around to come back and land next to him, without falling over and flailing about with her wings.

The edge of the Great Rift was two or three hundred paces away, and most important, so was one of the tattered flags that marked the beginning of the path the sorcerers took to descend, and cross, and go up to the Empty Lands to seek their spirit-glass.

Nick packed away the net, and prowled about the bare, rocky patch of ground where they had landed, his hand on his sword hilt. There was no cover, but Lirael did not intend staying there. Slowly, she began the process of shedding the Charter skin.

Faint lines of golden light began to trace out the lines of her feathers, limning every bar and curve. They grew brighter and began to run together, and then the whole giant owl was golden and bright for a moment and then it was dark again, and there was no owl. Just Lirael lying on her side on the ground, with her pack on her back, her bell bandolier in front, and Raminah at her side.

“Ouch,” said Lirael. “As always, I hurt. And I feel disgusting. And I probably smell.”

Nick came over and helped her up. His nose wrinkled as he gently embraced her, Lirael moving stiffly to return the hug.

“We both smell,” he said. “Fortunately.”

Lirael raised both eyebrows, because she couldn't raise one by itself.

“Well, it would be bad if just one of us smelled,” said Nick. “Do we rest here?”

“No,” said Lirael. She sighed and pointed toward the flag. “We have to start down. Apparently there are caves where the sorcerers usually rest.”

“What do we do if we meet any?” asked Nick.

“Fight,” said Lirael succinctly. “But Chlorr should have called them all away. Ferin certainly thought so.”

They walked on in silence for a while, occasionally touching hands, but not holding on. Lirael in particular had to be ready to wield both bell and sword.

“Do you feel different here?” asked Lirael quietly as they reached the head of the path and looked down. It was quite a well-made track, easily ten feet wide, carved into the stone of the canyon wall. If you kept to the side, you might not even notice the massive, apparently bottomless drop on the edge, Lirael thought. She started down, Nick withdrawing to follow a few paces behind her.

“A little,” said Nick thoughtfully. “When I touch the mark on my forehead, it feels . . . slower. . . . The Charter is there, but it takes longer to well up. Or something.”

“And the Free Magic inside?” Lirael asked. “You said you could feel it, like heat, deep within.”

“Yes,” said Nick. “Still there. Not spreading. Not breaking out. Not turning into a monster.”

“Good,” said Lirael. She turned and smiled at him. “Keep it that way, please!”

They walked on in silence for some time, but as the first red light of dawn shone overhead, still hours off from shedding any serious light into the Rift, Nick spoke again.

“Lirael,” he said. “If I do . . . if I do become a monster, a Free Magic creature . . . you will kill me, won't you?”

Lirael didn't answer.

“I mean it,” Nick said. “Don't give me the chance to hurt you. Strike first.”

Lirael stopped and turned to face him.

“Just don't do it,” she said. “That's all. Come on. I think there's a cave ahead.”

Dawn at the bridge was neither as quiet nor as lonely as at the Great Rift, so many leagues to the north. Here, there were soldiers everywhere hard at work; most had been roused an hour before. On the northern side, the moat around the castle was being cleaned of debris, the sluice gates that allowed it to be filled from the river temporarily shut, the water pumped back to the river the day before.

“That's him!” said Ferin, pointing down at the muddy ditch where a mixed group from the Bridge Company, the Navis Trained Band, and the Royal Guard were raking together broken logs and flotsam and tying them into bundles to be lifted clear. “That's the one who shot me!”

Aron, crossbowman of the Bridge Company, didn't notice. He was exhausted from all the extra work of preparing the castle for siege, and intent on getting the current awful, muddy job done. Haral, who was working next to him, did look up. She saw the mountain girl in the white fur, hopping up and down and waving one crutch in the air. Next to her was a young, important-looking man; he wore a gethre plate hauberk so he had to be. Haral groaned as she heard what the nomad was saying, and recognized the golden tower symbol on the man's red surcoat.

“That's the girl you shot,” hissed Haral. “And she's with Prince Sameth!”

Aron stopped trying to drag a particularly recalcitrant piece of dead tree out of the mud and looked up, wiping his brow.

“Ho!” called out Ferin. “Lucky you didn't kill me. Tell the woman next to you thanks for spoiling the shot!”

“I'm sorry!” bawled out Aron. He was sorry. He'd been thinking about the young mountain woman ever since their unfortunate meeting, reliving the moment when he'd panicked at the smell of Free Magic. Wishing it had never happened. “I'm glad you're alive!”

“Me too!” shouted Ferin. She waved her leg out over the edge of the moat. “They cut my foot off! But I am Athask! I still shoot straight. Straighter than you!”

“Crazy,” muttered Haral, but she was grinning.

“What's your name again?” called out Aron. He was grinning too.

“Ferin! We have come to make magic arrows for your castle. Me and Sameth. Maybe you'll get some, help you hit what you aim for!”

She waved, and swung away on her crutches. Sameth followed, vaguely disturbed by the way the young Bridge Company soldier down below had looked at Ferin.

“What do you mean
we've
come to make magic arrows?” he asked as they crossed the drawbridge over the moat.

“I do one Charter mark,” said Ferin proudly. “On every arrow.”

“For light,” said Sam. “They don't even need it.”

“It helps you see the fall of shot at night,” said Ferin. “But you are right. You need to teach me more marks. If we live.”

Beyond the Great Rift

I
have never slept with a man before,” said Lirael, as she swung on her pack and readied herself for the day's climb. It had taken them a day to descend the southern side, a day to cross the dry, rubble-strewn floor of the Great Rift, and now on the third day they were a good way up the northern side. Lirael could see touches of the red dawn light high above, tantalizing her with the potential to escape from the eternal twilight of the deep canyon.

“You still haven't, in the sense I think you're getting at,” said Nick with a very weary smile. “But one day, I hope we will both be clean and not so tired it is almost impossible to stay awake even when on watch—”

“I haven't fallen asleep on watch,” protested Lirael.

“Neither have I,” said Nick. “I said ‘almost impossible to stay awake.' How is your hand?”

Lirael held up her golden hand and flexed her fingers. They moved slowly, and the usual glow was absent from the metal.

“It works,” she said. “But slowly. I think we might reach the top of the northern side today.”

“Don't change the subject,” said Nick. “Hold it out. I'll see if I can help.”

He took her hand in both of his and concentrated. He could feel both the Charter, distant and far away, and the raging, hot energy of Free Magic deep inside himself. It had grown stronger as the Charter faded, but he had not told Lirael that yet, nor was he going
to, unless he felt he was losing control.

Nick drew on this energy, mentally connecting it with the Charter, drawing it closer. Marks began to drift into his mind, growing brighter and stronger. He didn't know what they were, but he welcomed them, and let them pass through him into Lirael's hand.

They stood together for several minutes with Nick clasping Lirael's golden hand. The glow soon returned to it, and she slowly flexed her fingers, but not enough to break his grip. Eventually, Nick let go.

“Done anything?” he asked.

Lirael moved her hand about. It was still somewhat sluggish, but considerably better than it had been.

“Yes,” she said, kissing him on the forehead. Her lips were slightly sunburned, and his forehead was dirty, but it was still nice. “Let's go. Remember, if you start feeling short of breath, say so immediately. I don't want to suddenly find we are too deep into the airless place for me to do anything about it.”

Three hours of hard climbing later, they came out on the northern side of the Great Rift. There were no waterfalls here, no shrubs, no birds, no flying insects, no ants, no beetles, nothing alive. As far as they could see, there was a flat plain, the ground blackened in streaks as if by fire. But there were also flags, shredded rags that hung from nomad spears thrust with inhuman force into the rocky ground.

“Sorcerers have marked the way for us,” said Lirael. “How much water do you have?”

“Two-thirds of a bottle,” replied Nick.

“A little over half,” said Lirael. “Well, it will have to be enough until we can get back to that spring in the last cave but one. I guess it's time for me to look into Death, and see where that black thread leads.”

“What do I do?” asked Nick.

“Guard my body,” said Lirael. “It will become covered with ice, by the way. Don't touch me unless we're being attacked, or some other danger threatens.”

“Why not?”

“It's dangerous for both of us,” said Lirael. “It will distract me in Death, perhaps at some critical moment. And there is a chance you will also be drawn into Death, and the river would almost certainly take you under and away.”

“The river . . . I almost remember that,” said Nick. “Where the Dog came to get me. It was very peaceful, I was floating—”

“No!” snapped Lirael. “If, Charter help us, you do somehow end up in Death while still living, do not relax; do not float. Fight against it. Fight the current. Force yourself back into Life.”

“I will,” said Nick softly. “You too, okay?”

“Yes,” said Lirael. “Me too.”

Lirael drew Raminah, noticing that the Charter marks on the blade were dull and did not move, save for a very few near the cross-guard. But the marks on Saraneth were as lively as ever. She looked at them, and thought perhaps it was because the bells were also a mixture of both magics. But she had no time to dwell on this. As Touchstone had drilled into her, they had a job to do, and the sooner it was done the better.

Lirael went into Death even more cautiously than she had the last time with Sabriel. She stopped almost at once, setting her feet against the current, and looked about, every sense taut, absorbing the slightest sensation. But there was nothing, just the soft rush of the current and the distant sound of the river crashing through the First Gate.

Lirael sheathed bell and sword, got out the box with the bone charm, and opened it. As before, two threads came up out of the water. One to the left, one to the right. Lirael followed the left-hand thread. It went barely six paces before going back out into Life, confirming the closeness of the sarcophagus.

The Abhorsen-in-Waiting looked around again, checking for any signs of lurking Dead. Then she put her head against the border, which was something to be sensed rather than a visible boundary, and closed her eyes. A moment later, she saw into Life. It wasn't quite the same as seeing with her eyes, more like imagining a picture in her head. But there was the path through the blackened wasteland, the flags on the spears marking the way, and there was the black thread. It followed the path for the first three flags, then veered sharply off to the left toward a slight rise . . . no . . . it was a very low mound. There, it went into the earth.

Lirael opened her eyes and immediately looked around. She had felt something, some twinge of her sense of Death. Was something creeping up on her? Or was she just tired and apprehensive? Quickly she put the box with the charm away, and drew her sword and a bell again, almost without thinking. As so often, the bell was Kibeth. Though she held it by the clapper, it seemed to sound faintly, with the echo of a distant, haunting bark.

The river swung around Lirael's knees, changing direction twice, and her left foot moved a fraction. Almost instantly she felt the ground under her heel disappearing, the river eating away where she had lifted herself up on her toes. Grimacing, Lirael plunged her foot down hard, and then slowly began to wade back to where she'd entered, to rejoin her body.

Nick let out a great sigh of relief as Lirael came back into Life. She had been gone so little time there wasn't much ice, only a few flakes falling from her face and left hand.

“Can we drink that?” asked Nick, pointing to where the ice melted on the ground. It was hotter here on this side of the Rift, much hotter. The sun seemed brighter, and was even a different color, the yellow tinged with blue.

“I wouldn't,” said Lirael. “Well, not unless we absolutely have to. I found where the sarcophagus is, or at least I think I have. Three
flags in, and to the left. A low mound. We'll have to dig it out. With our plates, I guess. Or mugs.”

They had tin plates in their packs, but not much to put on them anymore. Lirael had hardly eaten as an owl, just a few small animals snatched up here and there on the steppe, but they had also brought rations for only seven days. Just enough to get to the Rift and back again. Presuming Lirael could make another owl Charter skin.

“Onward,” said Lirael. “Remember, any shortness of breath, we step back.”

At the second flag, both of them stepped back, suddenly gasping, and with a glance, mutually agreed to retreat as swiftly as possible, staggering several paces in a near panic until their breath came more easily.

They had reached the point where the air disappeared.

There was no obvious sign of a change in the atmosphere, no mark on the ground, no difference in the light. Even the flag looked the same as the others, if a tattered rag could be said to have similarities to another tattered rag.

“I didn't like that,” whispered Nick. “The choking, just nothing coming in, no matter what . . .”

“I will make us a globe of air,” said Lirael. “It's much like making a Charter skin. A very well-known spell, for pearl-fishers and the like.”

She reached for the Charter, and nothing happened. Nick saw her eyes change, the panic rising there. Lirael gulped and looked at her hand. She tried to make a fist, but her fingers were frozen in place.

“It's gone,” whispered Lirael. “The Charter! It's completely gone!”