“Who’s that girl?” asked Lieutenant Tindall, with more than professional interest in their saviours. “I mean, who are those ladies?”
“That’s my sister, Ellimere!” exclaimed Sam. “And two of the Clayr, by the look of them!”
He started to run down to them but stopped after only two paces. They were all hurrying up and his place was here, by Lirael. She was still frozen in place, still somewhere in Death, facing who knew what dangers. That realisation brought Sam back to the current situation. The Dead had fled from Saraneth as wielded by the Abhorsen. But they were only lesser minions of the real Enemy.
“The lightning has stopped,” said Tim Wallach. “Listen – there’s no thunder now.”
Everyone turned back to the ridge. Sam’s feelings of relief vanished in an instant. The thunder and lightning had faded away to nothing, sure enough, but the fog was as thick as ever. It was no longer lit with blue flashes but by a steady, pulsing red that grew brighter as they watched – as if an enormous heart of fire grew in the valley beyond.
Something was coming down from the ridge, a shape that seemed to have too many arms, an awful silhouette backlit by the blood-red glow from behind the ridge.
Sam raised his sword and felt for the panpipes. Whatever this was didn’t seem to be Dead – or at least he couldn’t sense it. But it carried the hot stench of Free Magic with it – and it was coming straight towards him.
Then the thing shouted, with the voice of Mogget.
“It’s me – Mogget! I’ve got Nicholas!”
The fog eddied, and Sam saw that the voice came from the strange little man with the pale hair and skin who he had last seen on the hill above the Red Lake. He was carrying an emaciated body that just might be Nick. Whoever it was, Mogget held the man’s right arm out to the side, where it writhed and twitched with a life of its own, all too like a tentacle.
“What is that?” asked Major Greene quietly as he signalled his men to close up again around Lirael.
“It’s Mogget,” replied Sam with a frown. “He had that shape in my grandfather’s time. And that... that is my friend Nick.”
“Of course it is!” shouted Mogget, who hadn’t stopped walking down. “Where is the Abhorsen? And Lirael? We must hurry – the hemispheres have almost joined. If we can get Nicholas further away, the fragment will not be able to join and the hemispheres will be incomplete—”
He was interrupted by a terrible scream. Nick’s eyes flashed open and his whole body jerked into rigidity, one arm pointed back towards the loch valley like a gun. Something brighter than the sun flared at his fingertip for a moment, then it flashed over the ridge, too fast to follow.
“No!” Nick screamed. His mouth frothed with bloody foam and his fingers clutched uselessly at empty air. But his scream was lost in another sound, a sound that welled up from the red heart of the fog beyond the ridge. An indescribable shout of triumph, greed and fury. With that shout, a column of fire boiled up to the sky. It climbed up and up till it loomed high above the ridge. The fog swirled around it like a cloak and began to burn away.
“Free!” boomed the Destroyer. The word howled across the watchers like a hot wind, stripping the moisture from their eyes and mouths. On and on the sound carried, echoing from distant hills, screaming through far-off towns, striking fear into all who heard it, long after the word itself was lost.
“Too late,” said Mogget. He laid Nick carefully down on the rocky ground and crouched himself. His pale hair began to spread down his neck and face, and his bones contracted and tightened under the skin. Inside a minute, he was once again a little white cat, with Ranna tinkling on his collar.
Sam hardly noticed the transformation. He hurried up to Nick and bent over him, already reaching for the strongest Charter marks he knew for healing, assembling them in his mind. There was no question that his friend was dying. Sam could feel his spirit slipping through to Death, see the terrible pallor of Nick’s face, the blood on his mouth, and the deep bruises on his chest and arm.
Golden fire grew in Sam’s gesturing hands as he pulled marks from the Charter with ferocious haste. Then he gently laid his palms on Nick’s chest and sent the healing magic into his damaged body.
Only the spell wouldn’t take hold. The marks slid away and were lost, and blue sparks crackled under Sam’s palms. He cursed and tried again, but it was no use. There was still too strong a residue of Free Magic in Nick and it repulsed all Sam’s efforts.
All it did do was bring Nick back into consciousness – of a sort. He smiled as he saw Sam, thinking himself back at school again, struck down by a fastball. But Sam was in some weird armour, not in cricket whites. And there was thick fog behind him, not bright sunshine, and stones and stunted trees, not new-mown grass.
Nick remembered, and his smile disappeared. With memory came pain, everywhere in his body, but there was a welcome lightness as well. He felt clear and unrestricted, as if he were a prisoner freed from a lifetime locked in a single room.
“I’m sorry,” he gasped, the blood in his mouth choking him as he spoke. “I didn’t know, Sam. I didn’t know...”
“It’s all right,” said Sam. He wiped the bloody froth away from Nick’s mouth with the sleeve of his surcoat. “It’s not your fault. I should have realised something had happened to you...”
“The sunken road,” whispered Nick. He closed his eyes again, his breath coming in choking gasps. “After you went into Death on the hill. I can remember it now. I ran down to see what I could do and fell into the road. Hedge was waiting. He thought I was you, Sam...”
His voice trailed off. Sam bent over him again, trying to force the healing marks into him by strength of will. For the third time, they slid off.
Nick’s lips moved and he said something too faint to hear. Sam bent still closer, his ear to Nick’s mouth, and he took his hand and held it as if he might physically drag his friend back from Death.
“Lirael,” whispered Nick. “Tell Lirael I remembered her. I tried...”
“You can tell her yourself,” Sam said urgently. “She’ll be here! Any moment. Nick – you have to fight it!”
“That’s what she said,” coughed Nick. Specks of blood stained Sam’s cheek, but he didn’t move. He didn’t hear the soft bark of the Dog as she returned to Life, or the cracking of ice, or Lirael’s exclamation of surprise. For Sam, there was only the space he and Nicholas occupied. Everything else had ceased to exist.
Then he felt a cold hand on his shoulder and he looked around. Lirael was standing there. She was still covered in frost. Ice flaked from her as she moved. She looked at Nick, and Sam saw a fleeting expression that he could not place. Then it was gone, visibly repressed by a hardness that reminded Sam of his mother.
“Nick’s dying,” said Sam, his eyes bright with tears. “The healing spells won’t— The shard flew out of him— I can’t do anything!”
“I know how to bind and break the Destroyer,” said Lirael urgently. She turned her gaze away from Nick and looked directly at Sam. “You have to make a weapon for me, Sam. Now!”
“But Nick!” protested Sam. He didn’t let go of his friend’s hand.
Lirael glanced at the column of fire. She could feel its heat now, could gauge the state of the Destroyer’s power by its colour and the height of the flames. There were still minutes left – but very few of them. Even twice as many would not be enough for Nick.
“There’s... there’s nothing you can do for Nick,” she said, though the words came out with a sob. “There’s no time and I need... I need to tell you what must be done. We have a chance, Sam! I didn’t think we would, but the Clayr did See who was needed and they’re here. But we have to act now!”