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Sabriel turned to her, eyes flashing in anger, but Lirael met her gaze. After a moment, the Abhorsen sighed and her face relaxed.
“I wondered if you’d remember that,” she said grudgingly. “And I suppose there will be plenty to do at the bridge anyway.”
Lirael looked at Nick. He knew what she was asking. She didn’t need to say anything, or he to answer. He moved to her side and took her hand. Her left hand.
“Like that, is it?” asked Sam. He smiled and nodded at them both. “I approve, Auntie. But if you’re going to go to parts unknown with my rather magically mixed-up friend, I’d better come with you. You will need someone who knows advanced Charter Magic, after all.”
“No one is going anywhere until we sit down and I hear everything I need to know,” said Touchstone firmly. “Why does this family forever run straight at the first enemy that sticks up its head? We need planning! Forethought and planning, which is based on actually sharing all the knowledge you lot have gained in Death or the past or wherever you have found it!”
“I think you should have a glass of wine,” said Sabriel gently. “The Charter knows I could do with one.”
It took several glasses of wine, and barley water, and cups of tea before the matter was settled, if not entirely to everyone’s satisfaction.
“Time,” said Touchstone. “Never enough time. As it is, we won’t even have half the Trained Bands to the bridge by the full moon. The Bridge Company has managed to let almost the whole Winter Shift go on leave, to Belisaere and parts farther south, and may not be able to collect them on time, or at all.”
He frowned, and changed tack suddenly.
“Are you sure you can fly as far as the Rift in owl shape, Lirael? Carrying Nicholas?”
“I flew before, carrying Sam,” said Lirael. “This will take longer; it is much farther. Several days, or nights, rather. I’ll need to rest in the day.”
“I will show you on the map the places where you might find safe havens,” said Ferin. “Anywhere it is hard for a horse to go is good. But there are not many on the steppe. Rocks, areas of nice sharp rocks, these are plentiful. A few hills, lonely hills, but they are very rare. Marshes. Full of biting insects, but no horse nomads.”
“You’ll need my jumping frog to eat bugs,” said Sam. “Lucky I brought it with me; always handy on a boat. Though I still think I should be going too.”
“I can’t carry you both,” said Lirael. “And the paperwings can’t or won’t fly that far beyond the Greenwash. Besides, I’m sure you’ll be needed at the bridge.”
“You can put spells on my arrows,” said Ferin, her scratched-all-over face beaming with enthusiasm. “Like Young Laska did to hers. Good for wood-weirds and Spirit-Walkers.”
“Y-e-es,” agreed Sam. He put his head to one side and looked at Ferin, perhaps seeing past the bloodied and bloodthirsty exterior for the first time to the young woman behind. “In fact, I’ll get everyone to spelling arrows, build up as many stocks as we can. Good idea.”
“And you’ll make me a foot later? Sabriel said you would. Better than carving my own.”
“Well, if Mother said I would, then of course I’ll be happy to oblige,” said Sam, slightly taken aback by the matter-of-fact way Ferin seemed to be dealing with the loss of an important limb. “It will take several months at least. You’ll need to come to Belisaere, to my workshop.”
“If we live, I will go there,” said Ferin. She eyed Sam up and down, either to gauge his use as a maker of a new foot or to size him up for some other purpose. He straightened his back and sucked in his stomach, before looking away to speak hurriedly to Lirael.
“Speaking of magical prosthetics! As we are. I hope Nick can keep your hand working. It’ll just be a lump of metal otherwise.”
“I’ll do my best,” said Nick very seriously.
“We would not put you to such a test, not so soon, if it were not necessary,” said Sabriel.
“I know,” muttered Nick. He did know, just as he knew that Sabriel and Touchstone and Sameth and Lirael would not spare themselves either, not from anything. If something needed to be done, they would do it, no matter the personal cost.
He cast a nervous look at Lirael, hoping he wasn’t showing his anxiety. On one level he was excited to be going to do something important with her, but he was also very apprehensive about something happening to Lirael. They had only just found each other, and now, to go into unknown dangers where he didn’t really know what he could do to help, and might even end up as a hindrance . . .
Lirael was thinking very similar thoughts. She had tried and tried again to think of some way she could go into the Empty Lands without Nick. But there was no one else who could be a source of Charter Magic. Which reminded her that they needed to practice together to make sure it would work, though this was also greatly influenced by her desire to be alone with him again. Alone somewhere safe, not in the wilds where they would always need to be on guard . . .
“Nick and I need to practice with me using him to access the Charter,” she said.
“And I need to help you remake your owl Charter skin,” said Sam. Lirael had told the group she had one prepared, which they could partially unstitch and just make larger. At least she could with Sam’s help. “I wonder who did fold it, by the way.”
“One of the old Abhorsen’s Sendings, I suppose,” said Lirael.
“Hmm,” replied Sam. “I don’t know the ones here. I guess it would be possible to make a Sending who could do that. It would be very difficult. . . .”
“Go practice,” said Sabriel. “And make the Charter skin. Ferin, do you wish to fly with me to the bridge?”
“Yes!” said Ferin, clashing her crutches on the floor.
“We will fly at dawn tomorrow,” said Touchstone. “Sam with me, Ferin with Sabriel. You should go tonight, Lirael. If your Charter skin can be ready.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Lirael. The comfortable, safe night she’d thought lay ahead popped like a soap bubble in the bath floating under the hot water.
“Time,” said Touchstone. “Two or three days to fly to the Great Rift, at least another three crossing it, another day searching for the sarcophagus—”
“I have Ferin’s charm,” said Lirael. “I will follow the thread in Death once we are there, find the place quickly.”
“Maybe,” said Touchstone. “But many things could happen. If you can finish off Chlorr once and for all, it would be best done before we come to battle. It might save many lives. On both sides.”
“This is what my elders feared,” said Ferin, suddenly very serious. “The Athask are the bravest; we will be the first sent in to battle. And if all our grown men and women are slain, what will become of the clan?”
“Yes,” said Lirael. “We will go tonight. Midnight, probably, from the paperwing terrace.”
She thought for a moment, then added, “Sam, can you see what you can get for Nick in the way of armor, and a traveler’s pack? Hard rations and a water bottle too, that sort of thing? Ask Mirelle; the Rangers have good equipment. I’ll meet you both in the Abhorsen’s Rooms later to work on the Charter skin, and practice with you, Nick. Ferin, I’d welcome your advice on where to stop. Come and look at the map with me.”
“We will all see you off,” said Sabriel. “Oh, I wish I could go myself!”
Chapter Thirty-Three
ACROSS THE GREENWASH
The North/The Greenwash Bridge
Lirael was very out of practice flying as a barking owl, particularly as a giant owl carrying a man weighed down with a pack and weapons. Launching from the paperwing terrace was a nightma
re, and she seriously frightened both herself and Nick by dropping at least four hundred feet toward the glacier below before managing to get her wings beating hard enough to lift them up and begin to climb over the massive monolith of ice and head north.
Her right wing was golden, which was part of the reason for Lirael’s panic. For a few seconds she thought it wouldn’t work, so it didn’t. But then it did, and apart from the color, it seemed to be just as good as the other one.
Once out of the mountains, when she could fly lower, with a warm wind carrying them in the right direction, it grew easier. She could glide a great deal of the time, and even talk to Nick, though he found it difficult to understand the words screeched from her beak, a noise that caused several curious night birds to immediately reverse direction and go elsewhere.
Toward dawn, Lirael sighted the Greenwash and the bridge, both easily visible from on high with the moon and a clear sky. The bridge was far off to the east, so though she had thought about resting there, she decided against it. She could also see a few hills ahead, eight or nine leagues north of the Greenwash, where the ground began to rise up toward the beginnings of the steppe. She could be there well before the sun was high enough to trouble her huge golden eyes.
Landing, as always, was a problem. Lirael had to make three attempts, almost smashing Nick into the ground on the first two. He was lying in a hammock she carried in her claws, and though he got his legs out and held himself ready, she still approached too fast.
But on the third try she managed to slow to a complete stop, beating her vast wings in a flurry that raised a huge column of dust, hopefully not too visible in the predawn light. Dropping Nick down, she let go of the net, flew up again, and came around to land a dozen paces away.
Nick came over and scratched the feathers on top of her head. They’d landed in a hollow between two bare hills, quite shielded from view, but Lirael hadn’t noticed there was a small spring bubbling away on the side of the northern hill. While water would be welcome, it might also be a known supply where nomads came with their horses.
