Those that were saw the great spark of Life in Lirael and they hungered for it. Other necromancers had assuaged their hunger in the past and helped them back from the brink of the Ninth Gate – willingly or not. This one was young, and should thus be easy prey for any of the Greater Dead who chanced to be close.
There were three who were.
Lirael looked out and saw that huge shadows stalked between the apathetic lesser spirits, fires burning where once their living forms had eyes. There were three close enough to intercept her intended path – and that was three too many.
But once again The Book of the Dead had advice upon such a confrontation in the Sixth Precinct. And, as always, she had the Disreputable Dog.
As the three monstrous Greater Dead thrust their way towards her, Lirael replaced Ranna and drew Saraneth. Carefully composing herself this time, she rang it, joining her indomitable will with its deep call.
The Dead creatures hesitated as Saraneth’s strong voice echoed out across the Precinct, and they prepared to fight, to struggle against this presumptuous necromancer who thought to bend them to her will.
Then they laughed, awful laughter that sounded like a great crowd of people caught between absurdity and sorrow. For this necromancer was so incompetent that she had focused her will not upon them, but on the Lesser Dead who lay all around.
Still laughing, the Greater Dead plunged forward, greedy now, each warily eyeing the others to gauge if they were weak enough to push out of the way. For whoever reached this necromancer first would gain the delight of consuming the greater part of her life. Life and power, the only things that were of any use for the long journey out of Death.
They didn’t even notice the first few spirits who clutched at their shadowy legs or bit at their ankles, shrugging them off as a living person might ignore a few mosquito bites.
Then more and more spirits began to rise out of the water and hurl themselves at the three Greater Dead. They were forced to stop and swat these annoying Lesser Dead away, to rip them apart and rend them with their fiery jaws. Angrily, they stomped and threshed, roaring with anger now, the laughter gone.
Distracted, the Greater Dead closest to Lirael hardly noticed the Charter-spell that revealed its name to her, and it didn’t see her as she walked almost right up to where it fought against a churning mass of its lesser brethren.
But Lirael gained the creature’s full attention when a new bell rang, replacing Saraneth’s strident commands with an excitable march. This bell was Kibeth, close by the thing’s head, sounded with a dreadful tone specifically for its hearing. A tune that it couldn’t ignore, even after the bell had stopped.
“Lathal the Abomination!” commanded Lirael. “Your time has come. The Ninth Gate calls and you must go beyond it!”
Lathal screamed as Lirael spoke, a scream that carried the anguish of a thousand years. It knew that voice, for Lathal had made the long trek into Life twice in the last millennium, only to be forced back into Death by others with that same cold tone. Always, it had managed to stop itself being carried through to the ultimate gate. Now Lathal would never walk under the sun again, never drink the sweet life of the unsuspecting living. It was too close to the Ninth Gate and the compulsion was strong.
Drubas and Sonnir heard the bell, the scream and the voice, and knew that this was no foolish necromancer – it was the Abhorsen. A new one, for they knew the old and would have run from her. The sword was different too, but they would remember it in future.
Still screaming, Lathal turned and stumbled away, the Lesser Dead tearing at its legs as it staggered and tumbled through the water and constantly tried to turn back without success.
Lirael didn’t follow, because she didn’t want to be too close when it passed the Sixth Gate, in case the sudden current took her too. The other Greater Dead were moving hastily away, she noted with grim satisfaction, clubbing a path through the clinging spirits who still harassed them.
“Can I round them up, Mistress?” asked the Dog eagerly, staring after the retreating shapes of darkness with tense anticipation. “Can I?”
“No,” said Lirael firmly. “I surprised Lathal. Those two will be on their guard and would be much more dangerous together. Besides, we haven’t got time.”
As she spoke, Lathal’s scream was suddenly cut off and Lirael felt the river current suddenly spring up around her legs. She set her feet apart and stood against it, leaning back on the rock-steady Dog. The current was very strong for a few minutes, threatening to drag her under; then it subsided into nothing – and once again the waters of the Sixth Precinct were still.
Immediately, Lirael began to wade through to the point where she could summon the Sixth Gate. Unlike the other precincts, the Gate out of the Sixth Precinct wasn’t in any particular place. It would open randomly from time to time – which was a danger – or it could be opened anywhere a certain distance away from the Fifth Gate.
Just in case it was like the previous gate, Lirael clutched the Disreputable Dog’s collar again, though it meant sheathing Nehima. Then she recited the spell, wetting her lips between the phrases to try to ease the blistering heat of the Free Magic.
As the spell built, the water drained away in a circle about ten feet wide around and under Lirael and the Dog. When it was dry, the circle began to sink, the water rising around it on all sides. Faster and faster it sank, till they seemed to be at the base of a narrow cylinder of dry air bored into three hundred feet of water.
Then, with a great roar, the watery sides of the cylinder collapsed, pouring out in every direction. It took a few minutes for the waters to pass and the froth and spray to subside; then the river slowly ebbed back and wrapped around Lirael’s legs. The air cleared and she saw that they were standing in the river, the current once again trying to pull them under and away.
They had reached the Seventh Precinct and already Lirael could see the first of the Three Gates that marked the deep reaches of Death. The Seventh Gate – an endless line of red fire that burnt eerily upon the water, the light bright and disturbing after the uniform greyness of the earlier precincts.
“We’re getting closer,” said Lirael, in a voice that revealed a mixture of relief that they’d made it so far and apprehension at where they still had to go.
But the Dog wasn’t listening – she was looking back, her ears pricked and twitching. When she did look at Lirael, she simply said, “Our pursuer is gaining on us, Mistress. I think it is Hedge! We must go faster!”
chapter twenty - four
mogget’s inscrutable
initiative
Nick dragged himself up and leant against the door. He’d found a bent nail on the ground, and armed with that and a dim memory of how locks worked, he tried once more to get into the concrete blockhouse that housed one of the nine junction boxes that were vital to the operation of the Lightning Farm.
He could hear nothing but thunder now, and he couldn’t look up because the lightning was too close, too bright. The thing inside him wanted him to look, to make sure the hemispheres were being properly loaded into the bronze cradles. But even if he gave in to that compulsion, his body was too weak to obey.
Instead he slipped back down to the ground and dropped the nail. He started to search for it, even though he knew it was useless. He had to do something. However futile.
Then he felt something touch his cheek and he flinched. It touched it again – something wetter than the fog, and rasping. Gingerly, he opened his eyes to narrow slits, bracing himself for the white flash of lightning.
He got that, but there was another, softer whiteness as well. The fur of a small white cat who was delicately licking his face.