Garth Nix - Abhorsen 1 - Sabriel

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Prologue

V1- ripped from official ebook - kud

Prologue

It was little more than three miles

from the Wall into the Old Kingdom, but that

was enough. Noonday sunshine could be seen on

the other side of the Wall in Ancelstierre, and not

a cloud in sight. Here, there was a clouded sunset,

and a steady rain had just begun to fall, coming

faster than the tents could be raised.

The midwife shrugged her cloak higher up

against her neck and bent over the woman again,

raindrops spilling from her nose onto the

upturned face below. The midwife’s breath blew

out in a cloud of white, but there was no answering

billow of air from her patient.

The midwife sighed and slowly straightened

up, that single movement telling the watchers

everything they needed to know. The woman

who had staggered into their forest camp was

dead, only holding on to life long enough to pass

it on to the baby at her side. But even as the midwife

picked up the pathetically small form beside

the dead woman, it shuddered within its wrappings,

and was still.

“The child, too?” asked one of the watchers, a

man who wore the mark of the Charter freshdrawn

in wood ash upon his brow. “Then there

shall be no need for baptism.”

His hand went up to brush the mark from his

forehead, then suddenly stopped, as a pale white

hand gripped his and forced it down in a single,

swift motion.

“Peace!” said a calm voice. “I wish you no

harm.”

The white hand released its grip and the

speaker stepped into the ring of firelight. The

others watched him without welcome, and

the hands that had half sketched Charter marks,

or gone to bowstrings and hilts, did not relax.

The man strode towards the bodies and looked

upon them. Then he turned to face the watchers,

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Prologue

pushing his hood back to reveal the face of someone

who had taken paths far from sunlight, for

his skin was a deathly white.

“I am called Abhorsen,” he said, and his words

sent ripples through the people about him, as if

he had cast a large and weighty stone into a pool

of stagnant water. “And there will be a baptism

tonight.”

The Charter Mage looked down on the bundle

in the midwife’s hands, and said: “The child is

dead, Abhorsen. We are travelers, our life lived

under the sky, and it is often harsh. We know

death, lord.”

“Not as I do,” replied Abhorsen, smiling so his

paper-white face crinkled at the corners and

drew back from his equally white teeth. “And I

say the child is not yet dead.”

The man tried to meet Abhorsen’s gaze, but faltered

and looked away at his fellows. None

moved, or made any sign, till a woman said, “So.

It is easily done. Sign the child, Arrenil. We will

make a new camp at Leovi’s Ford. Join us when

you are finished here.”

The Charter Mage inclined his head in assent,

and the others drifted away to pack up their halfmade

camp, slow with the reluctance of having

to move, but filled with a greater reluctance to

remain near Abhorsen, for his name was one of

secrets, and unspoken fears.

When the midwife went to lay the child down

and leave, Abhorsen spoke: “Wait. You will be

needed.”

The midwife looked down on the baby, and

saw that it was a girl child and, save for its stillness,

could be merely sleeping. She had heard of

Abhorsen, and if the girl could live . . . warily she

picked up the child again and held her out to the

Charter Mage.

“If the Charter does not—” began the man,

but Abhorsen held up a pallid hand and interrupted.

“Let us see what the Charter wills.”

The man looked at the child again and sighed.

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Prologue

Then he took a small bottle from his pouch and

held it aloft, crying out a chant that was the

beginning of a Charter; one that listed all things

that lived or grew, or once lived, or would live

again, and the bonds that held them all together.

As he spoke, a light came to the bottle, pulsing

with the rhythm of the chant. Then the chanter

was silent. He touched the bottle to the earth,

then to the sign of wood ash on his forehead, and

then upended it over the child.

A great flash lit the surrounding woods as the

glowing liquid splashed over the child’s head,

and the priest cried: “By the Charter that binds

all things, we name thee—”

Normally, the parents of the child would then

speak the name. Here, only Abhorsen spoke, and

he said:

“Sabriel.”

As he uttered the word, the wood ash disappeared

from the priest’s forehead, and slowly

formed on the child’s. The Charter had accepted

the baptism.

“But . . . but she is dead!” exclaimed the

Charter Mage, gingerly touching his forehead to

make sure the ash was truly gone.

He got no answer, for the midwife was staring

across the fire at Abhorsen, and Abhorsen was

staring at—nothing. His eyes reflected the dancing

flames, but did not see them.

Slowly, a chill mist began to rise from his body,

spreading towards the man and midwife, who

scuttled to the other side of the fire—wanting to

get away, but now too afraid to run.

He could hear the child crying, which was good.

If she had gone beyond the first gateway he

could not bring her back without more stringent

preparations, and a subsequent dilution of her

spirit.

The current was strong, but he knew this

branch of the river and waded past pools and

eddies that hoped to drag him under. Already, he

could feel the waters leaching his spirit, but his

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Prologue

will was strong, so they took only the color, not the

substance.

He paused to listen, and hearing the crying

diminish, hastened forward. Perhaps she was

already at the gateway, and about to pass.

The First Gate was a veil of mist, with a single

dark opening, where the river poured into the

silence beyond. Abhorsen hurried towards it, and

then stopped. The baby had not yet passed

through, but only because something had caught

her and picked her up. Standing there, looming

up out of the black waters, was a shadow darker

than the gate.

It was several feet higher than Abhorsen, and

there were pale marsh-lights burning where you

would expect to see eyes, and the fetid stench of

carrion rolled off it—a warm stench that relieved

the chill of the river.

Abhorsen advanced on the thing slowly,watching

the child it held loosely in the crook of a

shadowed arm. The baby was asleep, but restless,

and it squirmed towards the creature, seeking a

mother’s breast, but it only held her away from

itself, as if the child were hot, or caustic.

Slowly, Abhorsen drew a small, silver handbell

from the bandolier of bells across his chest, and

cocked his wrist to ring it. But the shadow-thing

held the baby up and spoke in a dry, slithery

voice, like a snake on gravel.

“Spirit of your spirit, Abhorsen. You can’t spell

me while I hold her. And perhaps I shall take her

beyond the gate, as her mother has already

gone.”

Abhorsen frowned, in recognition, and replaced

the bell. “You have a new shape, Kerrigor. And

you are now this side of the First Gate. Who was

foolish enough to assist you so far?”

Kerrigor smiled widely, and Abhorsen caught a

glimpse of fires burning deep inside his mouth.

“One of the usual calling,” he croaked. “But

unskilled. He didn’t realize it would be in the

nature of an exchange. Alas, his life was not sufficient

for me to pass the last portal. But now,

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Prologue

you have come to help me.”

“I, who chained you beyond the Seventh

Gate?”

“Yes,” whispered Kerrigor. “The irony does

not, I think, escape you. But if you want the

child . . .”

He made as if to throw the baby into the

stream and, with that jerk, woke her. Immediately,

she began to cry and her little fists reached

out to gather up the shadow-stuff of Kerrigor

like the folds of a robe. He cried out, tried to

detach her, but the tiny hands held tightly and he

was forced to overuse his strength, and threw

her from him. She landed, squalling, and was

instantly caught up in the flow of the river, but

Abhorsen lunged forward, snatching her from

both the river and Kerrigor’s grasping hands.

Stepping back, he drew the silver bell onehanded,

and swung it so it sounded twice. The

sound was curiously muffled, but true, and the

clear chime hung in the air, fresh and cutting,

alive. Kerrigor flinched at the sound, and fell

backwards to the darkness that was the gate.

“Some fool will soon bring me back, and

then . . .” he cried out, as the river took him

under. The waters swirled and gurgled and then

resumed their steady flow.

Abhorsen stared at the gate for a time, then

sighed and, placing the bell back in his belt,

looked at the baby held in his arm. She stared

back at him, dark eyes matching his own.

Already, the color had been drained from her

skin. Nervously, Abhorsen laid a hand across

the brand on her forehead and felt the glow of

her spirit within. The Charter mark had kept

her life contained when the river should have

drained it. It was her life-spirit that had so

burned Kerrigor.

She smiled up at him and gurgled a little, and

Abhorsen felt a smile tilting the corner of his

own mouth. Still smiling, he turned, and began

the long wade back up the river, to the gate that

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PrologueV1-rippedfromofficialebook-kudPrologueItwaslittlemorethanthreemilesfromtheWallintotheOldKingdom,butthatwasenough.NoondaysunshinecouldbeseenontheothersideoftheWallinAncelstierre,andnotacloudinsight.Here,therewasacloudedsunset,andasteadyrainhadjustbeguntofall,comingfasterthanthetentscouldberai...

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Garth Nix - Abhorsen 1 - Sabriel

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