There was an easy way through, a path charted by previous Abhorsens and recorded in The Book of the Dead. Lirael took it, though she didn’t trust her book learning enough to give up probing with her sword. But she did count out her steps as the Book instructed, and she took the memorised turns at each point.
She was so intent on doing that, lost in the cadence of her steps, that she almost fell into the Second Gate. The Dog’s quick grab for her belt pulled her to safety as she took one step too many, counting “Eleven” even as her brain said “Stop at Ten.”
As quick as that thought she tried to draw back, but the Second Gate’s grip was much stronger than the normal current of the river. Only her valiant Dog anchor saved her, though it took all the strength of both of them to drag Lirael back from the precipice of the gate.
For the Second Gate was an enormous hole, into which the river sank like sinkwater down a drain, creating a whirlpool of terrible strength.
“Thanks,” said Lirael, shaking as she looked into the whirlpool, and contemplated what might have happened. The Dog didn’t reply at once, as she was untangling her jaws from a sadly battered piece of leather that had previously been a serviceable belt.
“Take it steady, Mistress,” the Dog advised quietly. “We will need haste elsewhere, but not here.”
“Yes,” agreed Lirael, as she forced deep, slow breaths into her lungs. When she felt calmer, she stood up straight and recited further words of Free Magic, words that filled her mouth with a sudden heat, a strange glow against her deeply chilled cheeks.
The words echoed out, and the spiralling waters of the Second Gate slowed and then stopped completely, as if the whole whirlpool had been snap frozen. Now each swirl of current had become a terrace, making up one long spiral path down to the vortex of the Gate. Lirael stepped down to the start of the path and began to walk. Behind her, and above, the whirlpool began to swirl again.
It seemed she would have to circle around a hundred times or more to reach the bottom, but once again Lirael knew it was deceptive. It took only a few minutes to traverse the Second Gate, and she spent the time thinking about the Third Precinct and the trap it held for the unwary.
For the river there was only ankle deep, and a little warmer. The light was better, too. Brighter and less fuzzy, though still a pallid grey. Even the current wasn’t much more than a tickle around the ankles. All in all, it was a much more attractive place than the First or Second Precincts. Somewhere ill-trained or foolish necromancers might be tempted to tarry or rest.
If they did, it wouldn’t be for long – because the Third Precinct had waves.
Lirael knew it, and she left the Second Gate at a run. This was one of the places in Death where haste was necessary, she thought as she pushed her legs into an all-out sprint. She could hear the thunder of the wave behind her, a wave that had been held in check by the same spell that calmed the whirlpool. But she didn’t look and concentrated totally on speed. If the wave caught her, it would crash her through the Third Gate, and she would drift on, stunned and unable to save herself.
“Faster!” shouted the Dog, and Lirael ran even harder, the sound of the wave so close now, it seemed certain to catch them both.
Lirael reached the mists of the Third Gate only a step or two in front of the rushing waters, frantically calling out the necessary Free Magic spell as she ran. This time the Dog was in front, the spell only just parting the mists ahead of her snout.
As they halted, panting, in the mist door created by the spell, the wave broke around them, hurtling its cargo of Dead into the waterfall beyond. Lirael waited to catch her breath and a few seconds more for the path to appear. Then she walked on, into the Fourth Precinct.
They crossed this precinct rapidly. It was relatively straightforward, without holes or other traps for the unwary, though the current was strong again, stronger even than in the First Precinct. But Lirael had grown used to its cold and cunning grip.
She remained wary. Besides the known and charted dangers of each precinct, there was always the possibility of something new, or something so old and infrequent, it was not recorded in The Book of the Dead. Besides such anomalies, the Book hinted at powers that could travel in Death, besides the Dead themselves, or necromancers. Some of these entities created odd local conditions, or warped the usual natures of the precincts. Lirael supposed that she herself was one of the powers that altered the nature of the river and its gates.
The Fourth Gate was another waterfall, but it was not cloaked in mist. At first sight it looked like an easy drop of only two or three feet, and the river appeared to keep on flowing after it.
Lirael knew better, from The Book of the Dead. She stopped a good ten feet back and spoke the spell that would let her pass. Slowly, a dark ribbon began to roll out from the edge of the waterfall, floating in the air above the water below. Only three feet wide, it seemed to be made of night – a night without stars. It stretched out horizontally from the top of the waterfall into a distance Lirael couldn’t make out.
She stepped on to the path, moved her feet a little to get a better balance, and began to walk. This narrow way was not only the path through the Fourth Gate, it was also the sole means of crossing the Fifth Precinct. The river was deep here, too deep to wade, and the water had a strong metamorphic effect. A necromancer who spent any time in its waters would find both spirit and body altered, and not for the better. Any Dead spirit who managed to wade back this way would not resemble its once living form.
Even crossing the precinct by means of the dark path was dangerous. Besides being narrow, it was also the favoured means for the Greater Dead or Free Magic beings to cross the Fifth Precinct themselves – going the other way, towards Life. They would wait for a necromancer to create the path, then rush down it, hoping to overcome the pathmaker with a sudden, vicious attack.
Lirael knew that, but even so, it was only the Dog’s quick bark that warned her as something came ravening down the path ahead, seemingly out of nowhere. Once human, its long sojourn in Death had transformed it into something hideous and frightening. It scuttled forward on its arms as well as legs, moving all too like a spider. Its body was fat and bulbous, and its neck jointed so it could look straight ahead even when on all fours.
Lirael only had an instant to thrust her sword forward as it attacked, the point piercing one blobby cheek, bursting out the back of its neck. But it still pushed on, despite the blaze of white sparks that fountained everywhere as Charter Magic ate into its spirit flesh. It thrust itself almost up to the hilt, red fire eyes focused on Lirael, its too-wide mouth drooling spit and hissing.
Lirael kicked at it to try to get it off her sword and rang Saraneth at the same time. But she was unbalanced and the bell didn’t ring true. A discordant note echoed out into Death, and instead of feeling her will concentrated on the Dead thing and the beginnings of domination, Lirael felt distracted. Her mind wandered and for an instant she forgot what she was doing.
A second or a minute later she realised it and a shock ran through her, fear electrifying every nerve in her body. She looked and the Dead creature was almost off her sword, ready to attack again.
“Still the bell!” barked the Dog, as she made herself smaller and tried to get between Lirael’s legs to attack the creature. “Still the bell!”
“What?” exclaimed Lirael; then the shock and the fear ran through her again as she felt her hand still ringing Saraneth, without her being aware of it. Panicked, she forced it to be still. The bell sounded once more and then was silent as she fumbled it back into its pouch.