It was little more than three miles from the Wall, into the Old Empire of Warhorse, but that was enough. Noon day sunshine could be seen from coming over the Wall, from Equestria, as its light spilled into the murky, rain-washed lands of the Empire. In the Empire itself however, there was a clouded sunset and the light drizzle that had started some hour before, was building to a steady downpour. A group of travellers was attempting to set up camp quickly in a forest clearing, close enough to see the light from Equestria, but far away enough that they could not be spared the rain water upon their skin, as the rain came down faster than the tents could be raised.
One one side of the clearing, the midwife shrugged up cloak higher up, attempting to shield her neck from the icy chill a well placed droplet of water could bring. As she did so, she bent over the woman once more, closer to the pale face beneath her, a small drop of water sliding from the end of the midwife's muzzle, striking the other woman perfectly between the eyes, yet she did not stir. The midwife's warm breath spilled out in front of her in a white cloud of mist, but there was no answering breath of fog from she who had become her patient.
The midwife sighed and slowly straightened up. This single motion told the watchers everything that they needed to know. The young woman that had staggered into their forest camp-site a scant few minutes after they had began to raise their tents, was dead. This was not surprising, considering the injuries she had sustained; deep open wounds that almost gushed with blood over the woman's back. She had not been long for life even as she had beseeched the travellers for help, only clinging on to pass what little life she had, onto the baby that lay by her side. But even as the midwife knelt down to pick up the pathetically small bundle beside the dead pony, the tiny child shuddered within its wrappings, and was still, the final breath of life fading into the cold air.
“The child too?” asked one of the watcher's, a man who bore the mark of the Charter upon his forehead, freshly drawn in wood-ash, collected from the fire at the heart of their camp. “Then there shall be no need for a baptism.”
His face was mixed with casual mourning, mixed with a sense of fear as he said this. He hand no idea who the woman had been, only that she too had been some form of charter mage, given the mark upon her brow, but he knew that no mortal creature or weapon could deliver the wounds that had ultimately led to the woman's death. Only the dead or some free magic construct could rend flesh like that, or perhaps a combination of both.
His hand nervously went up to his forehead, to brush the mark and ash from his brow. He let out a small yelp as he was stopped by a pale, white hand, that came from the shadows of the trees. The hand gripped his and forced it back down to his side in a single swift motion; testimony to the strength its owner must have.
“Peace,” came a calm, scratchy voice. “I mean you no harm.”
The white hand released its grip, and its previous captive took a hurried step back, turning around as the speaker stepped into the ring of firelight. The travellers watched him as he appeared without greeting and the hands that formed half-sketched Charter marks, or had gone to bowstrings of sword hilts, did not relax.
The man was dressed in a dark travelling cloak, much heavier than the ones worn by the campers around the fire, its hood casting the face of its owner into deeper shadow. Even the dancing light of the fire failed to penetrate the shadows that were there. He carefully picked his way through the camp and knelt by the body of the mother, the midwife standing over her deceased patient's with mild curiosity, rather than fear or hostility. The man bowed his head in what could only be described as mourning, before he stood to his feet and turned to the traveller's pushing back his hood to reveal the face of someone who had taken many a path that strayed from the light of day for his face was deathly white. His hair was a strange electric blue, and came down past his shoulders.
“I am called Abhorsen,” he announced, and his words sent ripples about the travellers. It was as if someone had cast a large stone into a pool of stagnant water. He looked at the baby in the midwife's arms. “And there shall be a baptism tonight.”
The Charter Mage looked at the bundle in the midwife's arms too and spoke: “The child is dead Abhorsen. We are travellers, our life lived under sun and moon, and it is often harsh. We know death lord.”
“Not as I know it,” Abhorsen replied, “And I say the child is not yet dead.” Abhorsen smiled, the corners of his paper white skin crinkling away from his equally white teeth, his words ringing of truth and of power, sending another ripple around the camp-site.
The Charter Mage tried to meet Abhorsen's gaze, but he found himself lost in those pools of bright blue eyes that seemed to radiate power. He shivered, and he dropped the gaze of the other mage, instead turning to look to his fellows. None of them said anything. None moved, or made any side, 'til a woman said: “So... It is easily done. Sign the child Arrenil. We will set out to make a new camp at Leovi's ford. Join us when you have finished here.”
The Charter Mage inclined his head in assent and the other travellers drifted away once more. They were slow with the reluctance of having to move once more. Leovi's ford was just about another two miles walk from their current location, and the rain would no doubt only grow stronger in that time. However they were speeded forward by the greater reluctance of having to remain near to Abhorsen, for his name was one of secrets and unspoken fears.
When the midwife moved to lay the still child down and leave with the rest of her band however, Abhorsen raised his hand in protest and spoke: "Wait. You shall be needed, I feel."
The midwife looked down at the babe in her arms and saw that it was a girl child and, save for its stillness, it could have been mistaken for being merely asleep. The midwife had heard of Abhorsen, heard far much more than the other members of her little band of travellers, and if Abhorsen was right... 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-" he began, but Abhorsen raised a pallid hand in interruption.
"Let us see what the Charter wills."
The man looked to the child again and sighed. Then he reached into the pouch at his side and pulled a small bottle from within. He held it aloft, crying out a chant that was the beginning of a Charter; one that told of all things. Of that which had grown or lived, withered or died and of things that had once lived and things that, perhaps, might live again. And the chant spoke too of the many bonds that held these many things together, in the great expanse that was the Charter. As he spoke, a strange light came to the bottle, the liquids inside sloshing more nosily at the insides, and the light pulsed in rhythm with the chant. Then the chanter fell silent. He knelt down to touch the bottle to the ground, straightened up, touched the bottle to the Charter Mark on his forehead, and upended it over the baby.
A great flash followed, a burst of light that illuminated the surrounding woods like a bolt of golden lightning. The liquid from the bottle glowed brightly, Charter Marks flowing through it, pulsing with power. The glowing liquid splashed over the child's head and the priest cried: "In the name of the Charter that binds us all, we name thee-!"
At this point in the baptism the parents would usually speak the name of the child. Here, only Abhorsen spoke. And Abhorsen said: "Twilight."
As he said the word, the wood ash disappeared from the priest's forehead. Gradudally, the mark of the Charter began to return, but it was upon the brow of the dead child it did form. The Charter, had accepted the baptism.
"But, but she is dead!" the priest protested, spluttering, reaching a hand up to his forehead to make sure the mark was truly gone.
He received no answer from the midwife, nor did he receive one from Abhorsen, for the midwife was staring across the fire at he, and Abhorsen was staring at... nothing. His eyes reflected the dancing flames, but they did not see them. The flames made his gaze look even more terrible than before.
Slowly, a chill mist began to rise and coil from Abhorsen's still form. It spread out, wafting over to the priest and midwife, who scuttled over to the other side of the fire, wanting to get away, but now too afraid to run, as Ice began to form around Abhorsen's feet.
He could hear the child crying, which was good, for it meant she had not crossed to the other side first gateway. If she had gone beyond, he would not have been able to bring her back without more stringent preparations, and a subsequent dilution of her spirit.
As he took his first step, the river of Death sloshed around him, as he waded through its cool depths. It was unusually cold this time and the current was also strangely stronger than he was familiar with, but he did not let it bother him. The river was an unpredictable and unusual place and he knew this particular branch of the river well, as he waded past the shallow pools and tiny eddies that threatened to pull him under. Already he could feel the waters leeching his spirit, but his will was strong and so the river took the colour and not the substance.
He paused to listen and he heard the crying diminish. He hastened forwards, worry etched into his face. Perhaps she was already at the gateway and about to cross over to the Second Precinct.
The First Gate took the form of a veil of mist that clung to the river's surface with a single dark opening, where the water poured into the silence beyond. Abhorsen rushed towards it, the water sloshing around him as his waist as he neared. Suddenly he came to a halt, his eyes narrowing. The baby had not yet passed through the portal, but only because something had scooped her from the water and was holding her. Standing there, a shape that loomed from the water, darker than the shadows of the gateway.
It was taller than Abhorsen by several feet, and was slender. Pale marsh-lights burned where one would expect to see eyes, and the rotted stench of carrion rolled of it - a warm stench that relieved the chill of the water. Its shadowy body was made of a strange, rotted and horrific substance. One long arm trailed in the water behind it, but the other was holding the child.
Abhorsen advanced on the thing slowly, his eyes fixed on the baby that creature held loosely in the crook of its shadowed arm. The baby was asleep, but restless, and it squirmed in the grasp of the creature, trying to wriggle closer to the thing, seeking the comfort of a mother's breast. There was an air of amusement about the creature as it held the baby away from itself, as if the child were hot or caustic.
Slowly, Abhorsen shrugged off his cloak, allowing it to fall into the water and downstream. Across his, there could now be seen a leather bandoleer about the breadth of Abhorsen's hand. Seven leather pouches of increasing sizes were on the bandoleer; the smallest about the size of a pillbox, the largest the size of a jar. From each of the bottom of the pouches came mahogany handles, Charter Marks carved into the wood. Abhorsen slowly drew one of these handles from its pouch, revealing a small silver hand bell. He cocked his wrist to ring it, but the shadow-thing held the baby aloft and spoke in a dry, slithery voice, like snake-skin on gravel.
"Spirit of your spirit Abhorsen. You cannot spell me while I hold her, and perhaps I shall take her beyond the First Gate, as her mother has already gone?"
Abhorsen frowned in recognition, and slowly replaced the bell, careful to ensure it would not sound out of time. "You have a new shape Kerigora. And you are not this side of the First Gate. Who was foolish enough to free you, and assist you so far towards Life?"
Kerigora smiled wildly, her mouth splitting obscenely, stretching from one side of her face to the other. Abhorsen saw the bronze fires that glowed at the back of her throat, the tongue made of charcoal and bog-clay and the pointed fangs that glinted in the light.
"One of the usual calling," she croaked. "But unskilled. Unfortunately for him, he did not realise it would be in the nature of an exchange." Kerigora gave a harsh laugh here at the misfortune of the one who had aided her. "Alas, his life was not sufficient for me to pass through the final portal. But now, you have come to take me through the rest of the way."
"Me, help you? Me, who chained you beyond the Seventh Gate?"
"Yes," Kerigora whispered. "The irony I feel, does not escape you. But, if you want the child..."
He made as if to throw the baby into the stream and, with that sudden jerk, woke her. Immediately she began to cry and her tiny fists reached out to grab and gather up the shadow-stuff of Kerigora, like the folds of a robe. She cried out and tried to detach her, but the tiny hands held tightly and she was forced to overuse her strength, throwing the baby from her. She landed in the water at the feet of Abhorsen squalling, and was caught up in the flow but Abhorsen lunged forwards, catching the child from the river and Kerigora's grasp. Kerigora cried out and lashed one long arm out to catch Ahorsen by the throat.
Abhorsen however stepped quickly backwards, holding the child to his chest and drawing the hand bell once again and ringing it once in a single, practised motion so that it rang out twice. The sound was curiously muffled but rung true and the clear chime hung in the air, sharp and cutting. Kerigora flinched at the sound as if she had been struck and fell backwards towards the gate. She moved stiffly, her legs jerking as the bell's chime forced her feet to shuffle towards the darkness of the portal.
"Some fool, will bring me back!" she shrieked, the river taking her under it's surface, one long arm reaching out as if to strangle Abhorsen. "And when I reach Life Abhorsen, I shall..." She didn't finish as her head was submerged under the water, the chilled water steaming as it seeped into her hollow eyes. The waters surged and gurgled, before the resumed their usual flow.
Abhorsen stared at the gate for a while, waiting patiently but tense, the bell held ready should Kerigora return. When she did not he sighed and replaced the bell, careful to make sure it did not ring again. He looked at the baby in his arms. The baby stared back at him, her dark eyes matching his own. Already the colour had been drained from her skin. Nervously Abhorsen laid a hand on the brand on her forehead and felt the glow of her spirit from within. The Charter Mark had kept her life contained where the river should have drained it. It was her life spirit that had so burned Kerigora.
The baby girl smiled at him and gurgled slightly and Abhorsen felt a smile tilting the corners of his own mouth upwards in a small grin. Still smiling, he turned around and began wading back upstream, taking the long journey to the gate that would take them both back to their living flesh.
The baby wailed a scant second before Abhorsen opened his eyes, so that the midwife was already hakfway around the dying fire, ready to pick her up. Frost crackled on the ground and small icicles hung from Abhorsen's nose. He wiped them off with his sleeve and hung over the child, like any anxious father does after a birth.
"How is the babe?" he asked and the midwife stared at him wonderingly. The dead child before them was now loudly alive and as deathly white as he.
"As you hear lord," she answered. "She is very well. It is perhaps a little cold for her-"
He gestured at the fire and spoke a few words. The dying flames leapt up once again as the roared into life. The frost that had formed where Abhorsen had been standing melted almost instantly and the rain sizzled as it evaporated upon contact.
"That will do until morning I think," said Abhorsen. "Then I shall take her to my house. I shall have need of a nurse. Will you join me?"
The midwife hesitated and looked to the Charter Mage, who still lingered on the far side of the fire, looking with a mix of fear and curiosity at Abhorsen. She looked down at once more at the little girl bawling in her arms. Then she looked back at Abhorsen. At some point in his trance his cloak had turned to shards of ice and fallen to the ground, revealing the bandoleer of bells across his chest.
"You are... you are..." she whispered.
"A necromancer?" said Abhorsen. "Only of a sort. I loved the woman who lies here. She would have lived if she had loved another, but she did not. Twilight is our child. Can you not see the kinship?"
He reached forwards and took Twilight from her. He cradled the baby against his chest and made soothing noises, rocking her gently. In a few moments the crying child was silent, and was still as she fell asleep.
"Yes," the midwife said, in response to both of Abhorsen's questions. "I shall come with you and shall look after Twilight. But you shall need a wet nurse..."
"And I dare-say much else besides," mused Abhorsen. "But my house is not a place for-"
The Charter Mage cleared his throat and moved around the fire towards Abhorsen.
"If you seek a man who knows a little of the Charter," he said hesitantly, "I should wish to serve, for I have seen its work in you lord, though I am loathe to leave my fellow travellers."
"Perhaps you shall not have to," replied Abhorsen, smiling as a sudden thought came to him. "I wonder if your leader will object to two new members joining your bad? For my work requires me to travel, and there is no part of the Empire that has not felt the imprint of my feet."
"Your work?" the Charter Mage gasped, shivering a little though it was no longer cold.
"Yes," Abhorsen confirmed. "I am a necromancer, but not of the common kind. Where others of the art raise the dead, I put them to rest. And those who will not rest, I bind. Or at least try to." He face was filled with a dark scowl as he remembered the creature he had just encountered in death. "I am Abhorsen..." He looked down at the child in his arm and added, almost in surprise, "Father, of Sabriel."
Author's Note
A side project. I will update when I update.
As it was said in the description, this is based off of the works of Garth Nix, quite simply because the man is a master of words craft.
The rabbit had been run over mere moments before. Its pink eyes were glaze over and blood stained its clean white fur. Unnaturally clean fur, for it had clearly just escaped from a fresh bath. It still smelt faintly of lavender water.
A tall, curiously pale young woman stood over the rabbit. Her indigo hair had an electric pink stripe just to the left side of her hairline, and it fell in straight curtains past her face, framing the pale skin and matching her violet eyes. She wore no make up or jewellery, save for the enamelled school badge, pinned to the lapel of her regulation navy blue blazer. That coupled with her long skirt, stockings and sensible shoes, identified her as a schoolgirl, though she appeared to be of about legal leaving age. A small nameplate under the badge read 'Twilight', and the Roman numeral 'VI' and gilt crown beside it proclaimed her to both a member of the sixth firm and a prefect.
The rabbit before her was unquestionably dead, which brought a small frown of sorrow to Twilight's mouth. Twilight looked up from the body of the tiny creature and back along the bricked drive that left the road and curved up to a pair of imposing, black wrought iron gates. A sign above the gate, in gilt letters of mock Gothic, announced that they were the gates to 'Celestia's Academy for Gifted Youth'. Smaller letters added that the school was: 'Established in 1652 for Young Ladies of Quality.'
A small figure was busy climbing over the gate, nimbly avoiding the spikes that were supposed to stop such activities. She dropped the last few feet, falling to her knees before, her green glasses nearly falling off of the tip her nose, curly red hair bouncing as she pushed them back up to her eyes. Once her glasses were secure she began to run at Twilight and the rabbit, hair flying, shoes clacking on the bricks. As she achieved cruising speed, she looked up, saw Twilight and the rabbit and gave a scream.
"Bunny!"
Twilight flinched as the girl scream, and hesitated for only a moment before she bent down by the rabbit's side and reached with one pale hand, two slender fingers uncurling to touch it between its long ears. Her eyes slid closed and her face set. It was almost as if Twilight had been turned to stone. A faint whistling sound passed between her parted lips, like some kind of wind that could be heard from a far away storm. Frost formed on her fingertips, creeping along the skin like a growing vine and ice rimmed the asphalt around her feet and knees.
The other girl saw Twilight begin to teeter forwards, before tipping suddenly, falling over the rabbit and towards the road, but at the last minute her other hand shot out and she caught herself. A second later, once she had regained her balance, she was using both hands to restrain the rabbit - a rabbit that was now inexplicably lively again, its eyes bright and shiny, as eager to be off as when it had escaped from its bath. The girl saw the rabbit wrestling in twilight's grasp and her terrified expression was replaced by one of relief.
"Bunny!" the younger shrieked once more. Twilight smiled and stood up, holding the rabbit by the scruff of the neck as the young girl neared. "Oh thank you Twilight! When I heard the car skidding, I thought... I thought..." She gave a meek gulp of fear as she left her sentence to hang in the air. It may have had something to do with the fact that when Twilight handed the rabbit over to her, blood stained her expectant hands.
"He'll be fine Twist," Twilight replied wearily. "A scratch really. Its already closed up. Nothing to worry about."
Twist didn't seem to hear Twilight, or perhaps didn't quite believe her, as she started to examine the rabbit thoroughly. After a few moments, she looked up slowly at Twilight, the beginnings of a wriggling fear at work at the back of her eyes.
"There... there isn't anything under the blood," Twist stammered. "What did you...?"
"I didn't," snapped Twilight, cutting her off. "But perhaps you can explain to me what you're doing being out of bounds?"
"Chasing Bunny!" Twist protested, expression clearing as life returned to a more normal situations; the fear in her eyes of what Twilight may have done to her rabbit being replaced with what punishment she might deliver for rule-breaking. "You see..."
"No excuses," Twilight recited, cutting Twist off for the second time in as many minutes. "You heard what Mrs. Cherilee said during assembly on Monday didn't you?"
"It isn't an excuse!" Twist cried, "It's a reason!"
"Well if that's the case then I suppose you won't mind explaining this to Mrs Cherilee then?"
"Oh Twilight you wouldn't would you? You know I was only chasing Bunny! You know I'd never have come out it-"
Twilight held up her hands in mock defeat and gestured back to the gates.
"If you're back inside within three minutes, I won't have seen you," Twilight said, winking slyly at Twist.
"Thank you Twilight!" Twist cried, beaming with relief, before whirling around and running back up the drive, Bunny clutched tightly to her neck.
"And open the gate this time!" Twilight called after her. "They won't be locked until I go back inside."
"Yes Twilight!"
Twilight watched until she was well and truly through the gate before she let the tremors take her. After a few moments she collapsed to her knees, one hand on her chest, breathing heavily, cold racing up and down her body as she shook uncontrollably. After a few moments, Twilight pushed herself to her feet. The shaking had stopped and Twilight felt she was presentable enough to return to school.
As she did so she cursed herself for being so stupid. It had been a moment of weakness, nothing more, but in that moment she had broken the promise she had made to both herself and to her father. She tired to rationalize her actions, trying to justify them to herself. It was only a rabbit, she told herself and besides Twist loved it so much... but if then what would thinking like that lead to? It was no great step from bringing back a rabbit, to bringing back a person.
Worse still was that Twilight had found it so easy. She had caught the rabbit right at the wellspring of the river and had returned it to life with the smallest gesture, he barest hint of power and patched the body with a few simple Charter Marks as they had stepped back from Death to life. Twilight shuddered as she realised she hadn't even needed bells, or any other of the usual tools that a necromancer used. Only a slight whistle and the faint exertion of her will.
Death, and what came after were no great mysterious to Twilight. She just wished that they were.
It was Twilight's last term at the Academy - the last three weeks in fact. She had already graduated, having placed first in her year in sciences and English, joint first in mathematics, seventh in music, fourth in etiquette and second in fighting arts. She had also been a runaway first in magic, but that was never printed on her graduation certificate. Magic only worked in those regions of Equestria near to the Wall which marked the border with the Old Empire. Farther away from the the Wall, Magic was considered quite beyond the pale, if it existed at all, and persons of repute tried at all times not to mention the strange land beyond the Wall. Celestia's academy was only forty miles from the wall, had a good-all round reputation and taught Magic to those students who could obtain special permission from their parents, and who had parents who could afford the lofty price for this extra education.
Twilight's father had chosen the Academy for that reason when he had emerged from the Old Empire thirteen years ago with a five-year-old girl in tow to seek a boarding school. He had paid in advance for that first year, with Old Empire golden Drachma that stood up to surreptitious touches with cold iron. Thereafter, he had come to visit his daughter twice a year, at Midsummer and Midwinter, staying for several days and nights on each occasion and always brining more gold each time.
Understandably, the Headmistress was very fond of Twilight. Particularly since she never seemed troubled by her father's rare visitations, as most other girls might well have been by their father's constant absences. Once upon a time, Mrs Cherilee had asked Twilight if she minded this apparent absence of a constant father figure and she had been trouble by Twilight's response; that Twilight apparently saw her father far more often than when he actually came to visit the Academy. Mrs Cherilee didn't teach the girls of her school magic, and didn't particularly want to know anything about it, other than the simple fact that there were some more, eccentric parents would pay considerable sums of money to her their daughters schooled in the basics of sorcery and enchantment.
Mrs Cherilee most certainly did not want to know how Twilight saw her father. The man called Abhorsen frightened her. Twilight however, lover her father, and always looked forwards to his unofficial visits and watched the moon each night, tracing the movements of the celestial silver body in the night's sky from the leather-bound almanac which listed the phases of the moon in both Equestria and the Old Empire and gave some very valuable insights into the seasons, the tides and other ephemera that were never the same at any one time on both sides of the Wall, except in the very exceptional of circumstances. Abhorsen's sending of himself always appeared on the dark of the Equestrian moon.
On those nights, Twilight would lock herself into her own study (a privilege of the Sixth Form - previously she had had to sneak into the library), put the kettle on the fire, drink a cup of her favourite tea and read any one of her numerous books. She would read and drink her tea until a characteristic wind would rise up, rattling the shutters as it passed into the room, put out the electric lighting and extinguish the flames. All of this was necessary, or so it seemed necessary to Twilight, in preparation for the arrival of the phosphorescent sending that would appear in the spare armchair, in the shape of her father, Abhorsen.
Twilight was particularly looking forward to her father's visit that November. It was to be his last, because Twilight' school days were about to end, and Abhorsen's visit tonight would be the perfect and last chance for the two of them to discuss Twilight's future. Mrs Cherilee wanted her to go on with her education and pursue a degree at university. But for Twilight to pursue that path, she would have to move further south, away from the Wall and the Old Empire. This in turn would cause her magic to wane, almost to the point of non-existence and her parental visitations would have to be limited to actual physical appearances, and even those rare occasions might also become less frequent.
On the other hand, going on to university would mean she would get to stay in contact with some of her closest friends, girls she had known virtually all her life; since she had been no more than five! There would also be a much greater world of social interaction, particularly with young men, a commodity of which there was a distinct shortage of around the Academy, and around Ponyville in general.
Of course the disadvantages loosing her magic, could possibly be offset by the lessening of her affinity for Death and the Dead...
Twilight thought about all these things as she waited for her father to appeared, book in one hand, tea in the other as she brought it to her lips as she took another sip of tea, before balancing it precariously on its saucer on the arm of her chair. Twilight wormed her lips in worry; it was almost midnight and Abhorsen had still not appeared. Twilight had already checked the almanac twice and had even opened the shutters to peer out of the glass of her study window to look at the sky. It was definitely the dark of the moon, but there was no sign of her father. This was the first time in her life that he hadn't appeared and she suddenly felt uneasy.
Twilight rarely thought about what life was really like in the Old Empire, but now old storied came into her mind and dim, half forgotten memories of her time in the Old Empire amongst the travellers and her father. Abhorsen she knew to be a powerful sorcerer, but even so...
"Twilight! Twilight!"
A high-pitched voice interrupted her thoughts, quickly followed by a hasty knock and a rattle of the doorknob. Twilight sighed pushed herself out of her chair, caught the teacup one-handed and unlocked the door, pulling it to reveal the terrified girl beyond. She stood there, rocking backwards and forwards on the balls of her feet, twisting her nightcap from side to side in trembling hands, her face whiter than chalk with pure terror.
"Scootaloo?" Twilight exclaimed. The usually vibrant you girl looked like she'd just seen a ghost, which, given their proximity to the wall, was not entirely impossible. ""What is it? Is Sweetie Belle sick again?"
"N-no," Scootaloo whimpered, silent tears of fear sliding down her cheeks. "I... I heard noised behind the tower door. I thought Sweetie Belle and Applebloom were having a midnight feast without me, so I... I looked..."
"What?" Twilight cried out, alarmed. No one opened outside doors after dark, especially not in the middle of the night on the dark of the moon and certainly not this close to the Old Empire.
"I'm sorry!" Sctootaloo squealed. "I didn't mean to, I know I shouldn't, I don't know why I did. It wasn't Sweetie Belle and Applebloom - it was... a black shape and it... it tried to get in. I slammed the door..."
Twilight was no longer listening. She threw the teacup in the air over her shoulder and barrelled past Scootaloo. She was already halfway down the corridor before she heard the porcelain smash behind her and Scootaloo's horrified gasp at such cavalier treatment of good china. She ignored both and broke into a fully fledged sprint, slapping on the light switches as she did, noting as she drew closer to the door of the west dormitory, that the lights flickered, some not even coming on at all. As she reached the door, a cacophony of screams broke out from inside, quickly escalating to a crescendo of a hysterical chorus, There were forty girls in this dormitory - most of them of the first form, all under the age of eleven. Twilight took adeep breath and stepped into the doorway, fingers crooked in a spell-casting stance, her mind reaching out into the Charter. Even before she looked she felt the presence of Death.
The dormitory was very long and narrow, with a low roof and small windows. Beds and dressers lined each side. At the far end, a door led to the West Tower steps. It was supposed to be locked inside and out after the sun went down, but locks and doors rarely prevailed against the powers of the Old Empire.
The door was opened. An intensely dark shape stood there, as if someone had cut a man-shaped figure out of the night, carefully choosing a piece devoid of stars and moon. It had no features, at least none Twilight could make out, save for the questing head that turned from side to side, as if whatever senses it did possess worked in a narrow and confused range. Curiously, it carried a mundane sack in one four-fingered hand, the rough-woven cloth in stark contrast to its own surreal flesh. The sack itself was also curiously coated in a thin, almost invisible layer of frost.
Twilight resisted the urge to plug her ears against the screams from the girls all around her. Instead she drew on the Magic of the Charter, moving her hands in a complicated gesture, drawing symbols of Charter Magic that intimated sleep, quiet and rest. With a flourish, she indicated both sides of the dormitory and drew a master symbol, drawing all together. Instantly, every girl in the room stopped screaming and subsided back into bed, falling asleep the instant their heads touched the soft cotton of their pillows.
The creature's head stopped moving and Twilight knew its attention was now centred entirely upon her. Slowly it moved, lifting one clumsy leg and swinging it forward, resting for a moment, then pivoting on its forward for and swinging the other leg a little past the first. A lumbering, rolling motion that made an eerie shuffling noise on the thin carpet. As it passed each bed the electric lights above them flared once and went out.
Twilight let her hands fall to her side and focussed her eyes on the centre of the creature's torso, feeling the stuff of which it was made. She had come without any of her instruments or tools, a mistake her father would never have made, but it led to only a moment's hesitation before she reached for the border of Death. She blinked once and in that moment she slipped past the border and entered into Death, her gaze still somehow locked on the intruder.
The cold shock of the river flowing past and around her legs greeted her with its chilling embrace. The light, grey and without warmth, still stretched to an entirely flat horizon. In the distance she could hear the roar of the First Gate. She could see the creature's true shape now. It was no longer cloaked in the shroud of death it had brought with it to the living world. It was an Old Empire denizen, vaguely humanoid, but more ape-like than a man, and obviously only of lesser intelligence. But there was more to this creature than that. Such a stupid and weak creature could not have come across the Wall into Equestria without some kind of help. Indeed, when Twilight looked closer, she felt a clutch of fear on her heart as she saw that a black thread ran from somewhere in the creature's back and into the river, flowing deeper into Death with the current. Somewhere, beyond the First Gate, or even further, that umbilical rested in the hands of a Free-Magic Adept. As long as this threat existed, the creature would be under the total command of whomever wielded if, who could and most likely would use the creature's sense and spirit as it saw fit.
Something tugged at her physical body in Life and she reluctantly pulled her sense back into the living world, a slight feeling of nausea rising in her as a wave of warmth rushed over her death-chilled body.
"What is it?" asked a calm voice, close to Twilight's ear. An old voice, tinged with the power of Charter Magic. Miss Applesmith, the Magistrix of the school.
"It is a Dead servant - a spirit form," replied Sabriel, her attention back on the creature as it took another lumbering step. It was halfway down the dorm now, still single-mindedly rolling one leg after the other. "It is without free will. Something has sent it back into the living world, and controls it even now from beyond the First Gate."
"Why is it here?" asked the Magistrix, and her voice, though it sounded calm, with laced with power. Twilight felt the Charter Marks gather on the older woman's tongue - Marks that would unleash lightning and flame, the destructive powers of the earth.
"It is not obviously malign, nor has it attempted any actual harm..." replied Twilight slowly, her mind working out the possibilities. She was by now used to explaining the purely Necromantic aspects of Magic to Miss Applesmith. The Magistrix may have taught her Charter Magic, but Necromancy was certainly not on the syllabus. Twilight had learned far more than she had wanted to know about Necromancy from her father... and sometimes the Dead themselves. "Don't do anything for a moment. If it does try to do something of vile intent delay it, do not destroy it. I will attempt to speak with it in Death."
The Magistrix nodded, but Twilight had already gone into the trance-like state that signalled she had cross the border between Life and Death, ice forming on her now chilled face.
The cold water rushed around her legs once more, biting into her, as the river gushed about her person, seeking to eagerly pull her under its surface and carry her away, all the way to beyond the Ninth Gate of Death and to true Death. Twilight exerted her will over the waters however, and its malign powers were swept away with the current, the cold becoming simply a sensation without any real danger, the water's rushing current a pleasing vibration about her feet.
The creature was close now, as it had been in the living world. Twilight held out both hands and clapped, the sharp sound echoing for far longer than it would anywhere in Life. Before the echo died however, Twilight whistled several notes and they echoed about this dark realm too, sweat sounds mixing with the harshness of the hand clap, creating a marching little tune that made even Twilight want to take a step closer to the First Gate.
The creature was not unaffected either, as it flinched, pressing its hands to either side of its head as it tried to blot out the sound, half turned and taking a step deeper into death. As it clapped its hands over its ears, it dropped the sack into the river, which caused Twilight to jump in surprise, nearly falling victim again to her own spell. She hadn't noticed the sack before, quite possibly because she hadn't expected it to be there. Very few inanimate things existed in both realms of Life and Death, unless specifically brought through by the holder.
She was even more surprised when she watched the creature lunge forward, plunging into the water with both hands, searching for the sack. It found it almost at once, but not without cost, as both the power of the river and the magic of Twilight's spell caused the creature to loose its footing. As the sack broke the surface, the current forced the creature under and began to drag him downstream. Twilight breathed a sigh of relief as she watched slide away. Then she gasped as the head of the creature broke the surface once more and cried out: "Twilight! My messenger! Take the sack my child!" The voice was Abhorsen's.
Twilight sloshed forwards and a dark arm pushed out towards her, the neck of the sack clutched tightly in its fingers. She reached out, missed and tried again. The sack was secure in her grasp as the current took the creature completely under and sped it towards that dark opening of the First Gate. Twilight looked after it, hearing the roar of the First Gate suddenly increase as it always did when someone passed its falls. She turned and started to slog her way back into Life. The sack in her hand was heavy, yet there was a heavy, leaden feeling in her stomach. If the messenger truly had been of Abhorsen's sending, then he himself was unable to return to the realm of the living.
And that meant he was either dead, or trapped by something that should have passed beyond the Ninth, and Final Gate.
Once again a wave of nausea overcame her, and Twilight collapsed to her knees, shaking with the feeling of warmth that rushed inside her once again. She could feel the Magistrix' hand on her shoulder, but her attention was fastened on the sack she held so tightly in her grip. She didn't need to look to know the creature was gone. Its manifestation in the living world would have ceased as its Spirit had gone beyond the First Gate. Only a pile of grave mould would remain, to be swept aside in the morning.
"What did you do?" asked the Magistrix, as Twilight brushed her hand through her hair, crystals of ice falling from it as her hands broke them from the strands of hair the clung too. They showered over her shoulders and onto the sack in front of her knees.
"It had a message for me," replied Twilight, "So I took it."
She opened the sack and reached inside. A sword hilt was the first thing to meet her grasp, so she took it out, still in its scabbard, and put it to one side. She didn't need to draw it to see the Charter Marks etched into and along its blade - the dull emerald in the pommel and the worn bronze-plated cross-guard were as familiar to her as her own arm. It was Abhorsen's sword.
The leather bandoleer she drew out next was an old brown belt, a hands-breadth wide, which always smelled faintly of beeswax. Seven tubular leather pouches hung from it, starting off small and steadily growing largest, smallest being the size of a pill bottle, largest the size of a jar. The bandoleer was designed to be worn across the chest with the pouches hanging down. Twilight opened the smallest pouch and pulled out a tiny silver, with a dark, deeply polished mahogany handle. She held it gently, but the clapper still swung slightly and the bell made a high, sweet note that somehow lingered in the mind, even after the sound itself was gone.
"Father's instruments, Twilight whispered, more to herself than anyone else. "The tools of a Necromancer."
"But there are Charter Marks engraved on the bell and on the handle!" interjected the Magistrix, who looked down at the bell with reverent fascination. "Necromancer is Free Magic, not governed by the Charter."
"Father's were always different," replied Twilight, distantly, mechanically, still staring at the bell in her hand, think of her father's pale, lined hands holding the bells. "Binding... not raising. He was... is a faithful servant to the Charter."
"You're going to be leaving us aren't you?" the Magistrix said suddenly as Twilight stood up and replaced the bell into its pouch, before stooping to pick up her sword. Blade in one and, bandoleer in the other. "I saw it... just then, in the reflection of the bell. You were crossing the Wall..."
"Yes. Into the Old Kingdom," Twilight aid quietly, with a sudden realisation. "Something has happened to my father. So I will find him. So swear the Charter I swear I will find my father."
She touched the mark on her forehead, which glowed briefly with brilliant light before it faded so that it might never have been. The Magistrix stood too, nodding and touched a hand to her own forehead, where her own glowing Charter Mark shone true, obscuring all the patterns and traces of time on the aged face, making her appear young again for a moment. As the lights faded, rustling noises and faint whimpers began to sound along both sides of the dormitory.
"I'll shut the door and explain tot he girls," Applesmith said firmly. "You had best go and... prepare for tomorrow."
Twilight nodded and left, trying to fix her mind on the practicalities of the journey she now faced, rather than what may have happened to her father. She would take a cab as early as possible into Ponyville, the nearest town, and then a bus to the Equestria Perimeter that faced the wall. With luck she would be there by early afternoon...
Behind these plans, her thoughts kept jumping back to Abhorsen, her father. What could have happened to trap him in Death? What sort of power could even do such a thing? And what could she really hope to do about it, even if she did get into the Old Empire?
