Garth Nix: The Abhorsen Chronicles
It was a 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 from the mare again, raindrops spilling from her nose onto the upturned face below. The midwife's breath belw 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 mare who had staggered into their forest camp was dead, only holding onto life long enough to pass it onto the foal at her side. But even as the midwife levitated the pathetically small form beside the dead mare, it shuddered within its wrappings and was still.
"The foal too?" asked one of the watchers, a stallion who wore the mark of the charter fresh-drawn in wood ash upon his brow. "Then there shall be no need for baptism."
His hoof went up to brush the mark from his forehead, then suddenly stopped, as a pale-white hoof forced it down in a single, swift motion. "Peace!" Said a calm voice. "I wish you no harm." The white hoof moved away, and the speaker stepped into the ring of firelight. The others watched him without welcome, and hooves which had half-sketched charter marks and horns levitating weapons did not relax.
The stallion strode toward the bodies and looked upon them. Then he turned to face the watchers, pushing back his hood back to reveal the face of somepony who had taken paths far from sunlight, for his coat and mane were 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 shall be a baptism tonight."
The Charter Mage looked down at the bundle in the Midwife's hooves, and said: "The foal is dead, Abhorsen. We are travellers, our life livedd under the sky, and it's often harsh. We know death, lord."
"Not as I do" Replied Abhorse, smiling so his paper-white face crinkled at the corners and drew backfrom his equally white teeth. "And I say the foal is not yet dead."
The stallion tried to meet Abhorsen's gaze, but faltered and looked away at his fellows. None had moved or made any sign, until a mare said, "So: It is easilly done. Sign the foal, Arrenil. We will make a new camp at Leovi's Ford. Join us when you are finished here."
The Charter Mage inclined his head om assent, and the others drifted away to pack up their half-made 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 foal down and leave, Abhorsen spoke: "Wait. You will be needed."
The midwife looked down on the foal, and saw it was a filly, save for its stillness, could be merely sleeping. She had heard of Abhorsen, and if the filly could live... Warily, she picked up the foal again, and held her out to the Charter Mage.
"If the Charter does not--" Began the stallion, but Abhorsen held up a pallid hoof and interrupted.
"Let us see what the Charter wills."
The stallion looked at5 the foal again and sighed. 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 of grew together. A 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 foal.
A great flash lit the surrounding woods as the glowing liquid splashed over the child's eahd, and the priest cried: Bu 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 foal'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 now 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 stallion and midwife, who scuttled to the other side of the fire--- wanting to get way, but now too afraid to run.
He could hear the foal 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 will was strong , so they took only the color, not the substance. He paused to listen, and hearing the crying diminsish, hastened forward. Perhaps, she was already at the gatewaym 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 toward 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 ward 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 toward the creature, seeking a mother's breast, but it only held her away from itself, as if the foal were hot, or caustic. Slowly, Abhorsen drew a small silver handbell from the bandolier of bells across his chest, and cocked his hoof 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 cannot 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 that it would be in the nature of an exchange. Alas, his life was not sufficient for me to pass the last portal. But now 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 foal..."
He made as if to throw the baby into the stream, and with that jerk, awoke her. Immediately, she began to cry and her little hooves reached out to gather up the shadow-stuff of Kerrigor like the folds of a robe. He cried out, tried to detatch her, but the tiny hooves pinched together 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, snatcing her from both the river and Kerrigor's grasping claws.
Stepping back, he drew the silver bell one-hoofed, 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 bring me back and then..." Hhe cried out, as the river took him under. The warters swirled and gurgled and then resumed their steady flow.
Abhorsen stared at the gate for some time, then sighed and, placing the bell back in his belt, looked at the baby held in his arms. She stared back at him, dark eyes, matching his own. Already, the color had been drained from her coat. Nervously, Abhorsen laid a hoof across the mark 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 would return them both to their living flesh.
The baby wailed a scant second before Abhorsen opened his eyes, so that the midwife was already halfway around the dying fire, ready to pick her up.
