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A blue-waistcoated First Assistant Librarian was bending over her, peering closely at her face. Lirael blinked and wondered why this strange person was moving her hand backwards and forwards in front of Lirael’s eyes. But it wasn’t a strange person after all. It was Amerane, whom she had worked with for a few days last month.
“What happened?” asked Amerane, concern in her voice. “Does anything feel broken?”
“I hit my head,” whispered Lirael, and she felt tears springing up in her eyes. She hadn’t cried before, but now she couldn’t stop, and her whole body started to shake as well, no matter how hard she tried to stay still.
“Does anything feel broken?” Amerane repeated. “Does it hurt anywhere else aside from your head?”
“N-no,” sobbed Lirael. “Nothing’s broken.”
Amerane didn’t seem to trust Lirael’s opinion, because she lightly felt all the way up and down the girl’s arms and legs, and gently pressed against her fingers and feet. Since Lirael didn’t scream and there seemed to be no grating of bones or abnormal lumps or swellings, Amerane helped her get up.
“Come on,” she said kindly. “I’ll help you get to the Infirmary.”
“Thanks,” whispered Lirael, putting her arm around Amerane’s shoulders and letting her take most of her weight. Her other hand went to her pocket, fingers wrapping around the little stone dog, its smooth surface a source of comfort, as Amerane carried her away.
Chapter Nine
Creatures by Nagy
At first, Lirael thought she would be out of the Infirmary within a day. But even three days after her “fall,” she could barely speak, and she had lost all her energy, not even wanting to get up. While the pain in her head and throat lessened, fear grew everywhere else, sapping her strength. Fear of the silver-eyed, hook-handed monster that she could almost see waiting for her amidst the red daisies. Fear of her trespasses being found out, forcing the loss of her job. Fear of the fear itself, a vicious circle that exhausted her and filled what little sleep she got with nightmares.
On the morning of the fourth day, the Chief Healer clicked her teeth together and frowned at the patient’s lack of progress. She called in another healer to look at Lirael, who bore this patiently. They both decided, in Lirael’s hearing, that they would need to call Filris down from her dreaming room.
Lirael started nervously at this announcement. Among other things, Filris was the Infirmarian, and the oldest of the Clayr still living. For all of Lirael’s life, Filris had spent most of her time in her dreaming room, and presumably working in the Infirmary as well, though Lirael had never seen her on either of the two occasions she had been hospitalized with childhood illnesses.
She had never seen any of the really old Clayr, the ones old enough to retire to dreaming rooms of their own. They needed such rooms because the Sight tended to grow progressively more difficult with age, sending more and more frequent visions, but in smaller splinters, which could not be controlled, even with the focusing powers of ice and the Nine Day Watch. It was not uncommon for some of the more ancient Clayr to perceive only these fragmented futures and not be able to interact with the present at all.
However, when Filris arrived an hour later, she came alone and clearly needed no help with the ordinary world. Lirael eyed her suspiciously, seeing a short, slight woman with hair as white as the snow atop Starmount and skin like aged parchment, the underlying veins a delicate tracery upon her face, counterpoint to the wrinkles of extreme age.
She inspected Lirael from head to foot, without speaking, her paper-dry hands gently prodding her to move in the directions she required. Finally, she looked down Lirael’s throat, staring at it for some time, a small bauble of Charter-Magicked light floating an inch from Lirael’s stiffening jaw. When Filris finally stopped looking, she sent the Healer from the ward and sat beside Lirael’s bed. Silence crept over them, for the ward was empty now. The other seven beds were vacant.
Eventually, Lirael made a noise that was halfway between clearing her throat and a sob. She moved her hair away from her face and nervously looked at Filris—and was caught in the gaze of her pale blue eyes.
“So you are Lirael,” said Filris. “And the healer tells me you fell down the stairs. But I do not think your throat was damaged by a scream. To be frank, I am surprised you are still alive. I know of no other Clayr your age—and few of any age—who could speak such a mark without being consumed by it.”
“How?” croaked Lirael. “How can you tell?”
“Experience,” replied Filris dryly. “I have worked in this Infirmary for over a hundred years. You are not the first Clayr I have seen suffer from the effects of attempting overambitious magic. Also, I am curious as to how you came by these other injuries at the same time, particularly since the glass dug out of your feet is pure crystal, and certainly not the same as that of the glasses from the Zally Fountain.”
Lirael swallowed, but didn’t speak. The silence returned. Filris waited patiently.
“I’ll lose my job,” whispered Lirael at last. “I’ll be sent back to the Hall.”
“No,” said Filris, taking her hand. “What passes between us here shall go no further.”
“I’ve been stupid,” said Lirael huskily. “I’ve let something out. Something dangerous—dangerous to everyone. All the Clayr.”
“Hmph!” snorted Filris. “It can’t be that bad if it hasn’t done anything in the last four days. Besides, ‘all the Clayr’ can look after its collective self very well. It’s you I’m concerned about. You are letting your fear come between you and getting better. Now start from the beginning, and tell me everything.”
“You won’t tell Kirrith? Or the Chief?” asked Lirael desperately. If Filris told anybody, they’d take her away from the Library, and then she’d have nothing. Nothing at all.
“If you mean Vancelle, no I won’t,” replied Filris. She patted Lirael’s hand and said, “I won’t tell anybody. Particularly since I am coming to the conclusion that I should have looked in on you long ago, Lirael. I had no notion you were more than a child . . . but tell me. What happened?”
Slowly, her voice so soft that Filris had to lean close, Lirael told her. About her birthday, about going up to the terrace, meeting Sanar and Ryelle, getting her job and how much it had helped her. She told Filris about waking the spells in the bracelet, about the sunburst and crescent-moon doors. Her voice grew softer still as she spoke of the horror in the glass-roofed coffin. The statuette of the dog. The struggle up the spiral and the plans she had made as her mind wandered. Her faked fall.
They spoke for more than an hour, Filris questioning, bringing out all Lirael’s fears, hopes, and dreams. At the end of it, Lirael felt peaceful and no longer afraid, emptied of all the knotted pain and anguish that had filled her.
When Lirael finished talking, Filris asked to see the dog statuette. Lirael took the little stone dog from under her pillow and reluctantly handed it over. She had grown very attached to it, for it was the one thing that bought her some comfort, and she was afraid that Filris would take it away or tell her it must go back to the Library.
The old woman took the statuette in both hands, cupping it so only the snout was visible, thrusting out between her withered fingers. She looked at it for a long time, then gave a deep sigh and handed it back. Lirael took it, surprised by the warmth the stone had gained from the old woman’s hands. Still, Filris didn’t move or speak, till Lirael sat up straighter in bed, attracting her attention.
“I’m sorry, Lirael. I thank you for telling me the truth. And for showing me the dog statuette. It has been a long time coming, so long that I had thought I would be lost in the future, too mad to see it true.”
“What do you mean?” asked Lirael uneasily.
“I saw your little dog long ago,” explained Filris. “When the Sight still came clearly to me. It was the last vision that came to me whole and unbroken. I Saw an old, old woman, peering closely at a small stone dog clasped in her hands. It took
me many years to realize that the old woman was myself.”
