Goldenhand (25 page)

Ferin was astonished to be able to see so much, and to move so quickly. If her people had such flying craft, they would be able to swoop down on their enemies. Ferin was tempted to try her bow, which she believed she could shoot from the paperwing, unlike Young Laska's unwieldy great weapon. But she did not dare try since she was not sure if an arrow would be caught by the onrush of their passage to fling back in her face or into the paperwing. Besides, it might anger Sabriel, and Ferin did not want to do that.

When the sun was right above them, close to noon, the paperwing climbed very high, and it became cold despite the warm air that was magically kept around them. Ferin was glad for her fur coat, and she stopped sticking her head out to look down, because she was familiar with the beginnings of frostbite. Though the sky was very
clear and there was almost no cloud, the ground was too far away now to see much, beyond interesting patterns of color indicating forests and fields. There was one large and very long river that was not the Greenwash because it went from north to south and was not wide enough, and snow-capped mountains where the river began.

Not too much later, they began to descend in a series of spirals, heading down toward two tall mountains that cradled a glacier between them. The mountains were respectable, almost as high as the Athask ranges, but it was the glacier that attracted Ferin's attention. It had to be her destination, though she wondered how the Clayr actually managed to live inside a glacier. She did not wonder for very long, as she would find out soon. As always, she did not spare a thought for unnecessary questions that would be answered in their own due time.

The King landed his paperwing first, on a terrace halfway up the western mountain, which Ferin thought should have been covered in snow and ice but had only a finger-thick dusting of snow. Sabriel brought her paperwing close behind, and it slid to a stop just behind the King's.

Sabriel helped Ferin stand up out of the paperwing, but stood aside as soon as the young woman got her crutches positioned, an indication she already knew how proud and capable Ferin was.

“Be careful of the stump, and sit whenever you can,” said Sabriel. “I know you can't really feel it, but that is only because of the healing spells, and the spells are easily disrupted.”

“Yes, I did that on the shale hill,” said Ferin. But she did not speak with regret. She had done what she thought was necessary, at the price of a foot. It was worthwhile, because now she was here, and could fulfill the task she had been given and then make plans to return to her people.

“Stay close to me,” said Sabriel. There were a lot of people coming out of the huge gate ahead, all women, some obviously warriors
in armor, but many in simple white robes that were inadequate for the cold, though Ferin could see from the shimmer in the air and the wisps of steam about the edges of the gate that the huge room beyond was warm. It was a place to store paperwings; she could see three more.

Ferin thought the King must be a bit cold too, at least on the legs, because he was wearing a strange skirtlike garment of leather she'd never seen before, though a sensible fur coat above that. Touchstone had two swords, something else she'd never seen, and she wondered how he fought with them. It would be good to see how it was done. From the look of him, the way he moved and the muscles in his hands and legs, he would be a very dangerous warrior.

Quite a number of the people who were coming out to meet them were sneezing and had red noses. Ferin wrinkled her own nose, remembering the fever she had studiously ignored several moons ago, in winter. At least until Kragorr the healer had told her she must lie down and pretend to be dead for three days, for the good of the clan. That had not been easy to do, suppressing the coughing and trying not to move around at all.

The women were bowing to the King, but he was looking back at Sabriel, smiling and holding out his hand. When he noticed the bowing, he said, “Oh stand up, do! Sanar, Ryelle, it is good to see you. Though I see the winter influenza is still causing mischief. We had it too, in Belisaere. Let's get inside, out of the cold. Someone will take care of the paperwings? Good. Come on, Sabriel! My knees are freezing. And you must be Ferin, messenger of the Athask?”

Ferin bowed gracefully, which was quite hard on crutches. The King had pronounced
Athask
properly, which no other southerner had quite managed. She looked from him to Sabriel and back again, very quickly, thinking that these two were well-matched in power and honor, and in cleverness, owed respect by all who knew them.
They were old, of course, perhaps even forty. But they had done so much, and were not yet in decline.

She hoped one day she might be like them. It did not occur to Ferin that this was the first time she had ever thought of a real future for herself. One that extended beyond the present day, or perhaps the next.

The Clayr's Glacier, Old Kingdom

L
irael awoke slowly, thoughts of Nick uppermost in her mind, and then second thoughts about how she shouldn't be thinking these first thoughts. There was Abhorsen business to tackle, something serious if Sabriel and the King were flying to the Glacier. And then there was this supposed message from her mother. Lirael couldn't really remember her, or be sure the fragments of memory she had were real or just something imagined or picked up from watching other mothers with their daughters.

These half-asleep thoughts were interrupted by a glance at the Charter marks in the ceiling, which suddenly had her flinging back the covers and twisting around to put her feet on the floor. Like everywhere else in the Glacier, among the many general marks for light there were a few that mimicked the sun or moon. Any Clayr could tell from them almost instantly the rough time of day outside, and Lirael had just seen it was nearly noon. The Waking Bell that resounded through the Hall of Youth and most of the other dormitory levels clearly did not reach the more exclusive rooms on the Southscape. She had overslept by hours!

Sendings emerged from the wall and the door as Lirael leaped out of bed. One gestured to a basin and ewer of water on the dressing table, while the other presented new underclothes. Lirael raced to the basin, splashed water on her face and ran her fingers through her hair, stripped naked, grabbed the new undergarments, and had them on in moments, hopping on one foot to get the drawers on.
It was only then she remembered the Charter skin on the floor and groaned, thinking she must have torn it to shreds with her feet.

But the Charter skin wasn't there, and it wasn't the only thing missing. Lirael stood for a few moments, properly waking up, then looked at her hands. The little dog statuette wasn't in her grasp, though she clearly remembered taking it to bed. She went back there and looked under the pillows, and under the covers, throwing them all the way back. But there was no sign of the soapstone carving.

But while doing this, she noticed the Charter skin was on the side table next to the thronelike chair. It was folded, ready to be packed, which was extremely puzzling. Lirael went over and carefully picked it up. It had been folded at least as well as she could manage, but the making and folding of Charter skins was a very obscure branch of the Charter Magic art, and she did not know anyone else who knew how to do it among the Clayr. Or anywhere else, for that matter.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. Lirael put the Charter skin down and was about to indicate to the Sending to open the door when she thought it might be Nick. Did she want him to see her in her underwear? Utilitarian Clayr underwear of dull linen, with waist-high drawers that bagged out at the thighs? No, and on further reflection she didn't want anyone else to see, either, even if it was a Clayr she had grown up with. She was the Abhorsen-in-Waiting now, and receiving people in her underwear would not enhance her prestige.

“What is it?”

“Message,” said a young Clayr voice. “King and Abhorsen landed above. Council to meet in the Map Room in one hour.”

“Thank you!” called Lirael. One hour. The Map Room was part of the Library, and had in fact been the Reading Room until the new, even larger one was built some eight hundred years ago. It would take her twenty minutes at least to get there: it was about a thousand paces below the Southscape; she would have to take the Second Back
Stairs most of the way, and then . . . but first, get dressed.

A council meeting with the King and Sabriel meant official business. Lirael turned back from the door to see the Sendings had already thought this through. One was holding up her armored coat, the other the surcoat that would go over it.

“Not the surcoat,” said Lirael thoughtfully. “Not today, thank you. My new librarian's waistcoat over the armor.”

The librarians would like to see her wearing it, she thought. It was quite snug over the hauberk, but all the waistcoats were made to be worn over other clothes, and be loose enough to allow for the general librarian habit of shoving all sorts of things into pockets. Lirael checked them at this thought, feeling weight on both sides. The clockwork mouse was in the large left-hand pocket, but she was surprised to find a book in the right-hand side and then not surprised, when she took it out and it grew in her hand, a book bound in deep blue leather with silver clasps. The title of the book was embossed in silver on the spine.

The Book of Remembrance and Forgetting
.

Like its close cousin,
The Book of the Dead
, the binding of this tome swarmed with Charter marks, marks of binding and closing, burning and destruction, to ensure only certain readers could even open the book, let alone read it. There was Free Magic inside, constrained and locked by boards, leather binding, glue, and stitches that were themselves as much creations of Charter Magic as any mundane process.

Lirael had left this book in her rooms in the palace at Belisaere, but it tended to show up wherever and whenever it would be needed. She had read it several times, but again like
The Book of the Dead
, the contents changed with each reading according to need, or the phase of the moon, or perhaps even the weather. In the Library there was a whole section devoted to attempted indices and concordances for such books, but they were never complete, and Lirael had never
found even an attempted one for this particular book.

She slipped it back into the pocket. Though it was twice as wide it went in easily, shrinking on the way. Lirael felt something else there as she slipped it in place, but she knew what it would be now that the book had appeared, though like it she had left this item back in Belisaere. A small metal case that someone from Ancelstierre would presume held cigarettes, or perhaps a powder compact. But it too was a Charter Magic container or binding for the Free Magic artifact that lay inside, a double-sided mirror, one side bright reflective silver, the other . . . a rectangle of nothing, of absolute darkness.

With the Dark Mirror, combined with the knowledge contained in
The Book of Remembrance and Forgetting
, she could go into Death and look into the past.

The appearance of the book and the mirror meant she was probably going to have to do just that, but Lirael put it out of her mind for the moment. It was not something she wanted to do, but neither was it something she totally dreaded or feared. She just didn't want to dwell on it, not least because the farther a Remembrancer needed to look back in time, the deeper they had to go in Death. The last time Lirael had used the Dark Mirror she had been very deep in Death indeed, on the edge of the Ninth Gate itself. She hoped she would never need to look so far back again, and doubted she ever would, for then she had needed to see something from the very Beginning, all the way back to the first breaking and binding of the Destroyer.

A Sending handed her the new sword, Raminah, in her black-and-silver sheath, already fastened to a baldric of the same dark leather with silver buckles. She slipped it over her shoulder and settled the sword at her side. It felt very companionable there. For a moment Lirael considered donning the bells as well, but there would be no need for them within the Glacier. She left them on the shelf, and went out.

She heard Nick before she saw him. All the doors along the
hallway were open; his voice was coming from the reception room with the long window that looked out beyond the glacier, to the valley below. Lirael hesitated for a moment several steps short of the door, unsure of how to behave, or what to do. The intimate feeling she had of sharing a secret world with Nick from the past evening was gone now, and she had a terrible fear he would repudiate whatever had happened.

Lirael shut her eyes for a moment, gathering her strength, at the same time wondering why she needed to do so. If it was a Free Magic creature in there, or some terrible Dead revenant, she would not hesitate so, but would be straight in to deal with it.

Nick was talking to someone. Vancelle, answering now. Something about the Charter, but then Lirael heard her own name, so before anything else was said, either complimentary or detrimental, she forced herself to stride into the room with a cheery “Good morning” that sounded false even to herself.

“Almost good afternoon,” said Vancelle. “But I do not criticize. You were very weary. And Sanar told me she visited you in the early hours to dissuade a sudden departure to Yellowsands.”

“Yes,” said Lirael, but she was looking at Nick. Fortunately, he was looking at her, and there was something in his eyes and face, a special light that told her he was not going to repudiate anything that happened the night before, but indeed wished to repeat the experience, and more. Lirael had caught glimpses of such looks before, between other people, and felt both their power and her uneasiness at being an onlooker to such a private, unspoken communication. She had never shared in such a look before.

“Good morning,” said Nick. He smiled and Lirael smiled back. Their secret, shared world had once again been conjured between them, coexisting with the far more mundane reality around them.

“Nicholas is proving to be a very interesting, if temporary, addition to the Library,” said Vancelle, as always calm and somewhat
remote. Though she could not have failed to see how Lirael and Nick looked at each other, she did not remark on it in any way, or show she noticed. “I have found some reading which may prove useful. I think you should also speak to both Sabriel and Sameth, because there are parallels with the Abhorsen's bells, in that they are Free Magic powers constrained or guided by Charter Magic. Deputy Harquell would also be helpful, I think, given her long study of books that have two such natures.”

“I helped Vancelle cast two spells, and stopped . . . I mean quenched . . . another,” said Nick excitedly. He came forward and took Lirael's hands. Neither of them noticed that Lirael's golden hand immediately glowed brighter, and small Charter marks began to fall from her fingers, like a mist of tiny gold and silver rain. “So even if I can't cast Charter spells myself, I can help others. I could help
you
.”

“To be fair, you must also remember your several failures,” said Vancelle. “With little, safe spells, so no harm done. There would be considerable danger to yourself and to others if you test yourself against anything more significant before you have had a great deal more practice. For example, right now you had best let go of Lirael's hand.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Nick. He hesitated for a moment, then released only Lirael's golden hand, keeping her left hand tight in his right and moving to stand next to her. It was a very public statement of how he felt. Lirael edged slightly closer to him, accentuating this from her point of view as well.

Vancelle smiled, something Lirael had never seen before. She was not sure she liked it, and was quite relieved when the Librarian's face settled back into its normal serene detachment.

“Now, I believe all of us have to join the King's council very soon,” said Vancelle. “It may go on for some time, Lirael, so I would suggest breakfast before you come down to the Map Room. Good morning to both of you.”

As soon as she left, Lirael and Nick were kissing again, twined together near the window. Only a flash of light from the high noon sun recalled Lirael to the time. She reluctantly pulled herself away and they just held each other, Lirael careful not to touch Nick with her golden hand.

“I'll have to work out how to get on with those spells,” said Nick, tilting his head toward her right hand.

“I'm sure you will,” said Lirael. “But we do have the King's council to get to, and I need to eat something before we go. I don't want to pass out in front of Touchstone and Sabriel.”

“Sabriel?” asked Nick anxiously. “She always scared me when she visited Sam at school. I mean, his father does a bit as well. Only not so much. If you know what I mean. Do you think they'll be okay with me coming to the Old Kingdom . . . and . . . to be with you?”

“What does okay mean?” asked Lirael.

“Um, it means ‘all right,'” said Nick. “Will they be all right with me being here, and with you? They won't send me back?”

“No,” said Lirael decisively. “No. I'm sure they wouldn't, but even if they did, I wouldn't let them.”

Nick kissed her again, quickly.

“You are a fierce librarian, aren't you?” he said admiringly. “I like the waistcoat.”

“And you admit everything you knew and said about librarians before was completely and utterly stupid?” asked Lirael, kissing him back.

“Yes and yes,” said Nick, when they had to break free to breathe a little. “Um, am I really supposed to come to this council?”

Lirael nodded, and reluctantly pushed him away.

“Yes,” she said. “They will want to know about the Hrule and everything, your powers . . . hmm . . . come to think about it, there is a Charter Stone in the Map Room. I hope that's going to be . . . what did you call it . . . okay?”