Old Kingdom fic: Word of a Sayre (G)

[koalathebear]

Tweaking of the Old Kingdom series by Garth Nix
Note: For darksilvermoon (err and me) because we wanted a shippy scene between Nicholas Sayre and Lirael. Large parts are taken from the last part of Abhorsen and parts of The Creature in the Case given that the potential already exists. So please do note that much of this is Nix's own wording with just a few bits and pieces added here and there so that you can pretend it's canon if you want to do so .... Unbeta'd as usual. Any beta of mine would be exhausted :P - but feel free to correct/request changes!

From Death ....

Nick stood in the river and watched with interest as the current tugged at his knees. He wanted to go with that current, to lie down and be swept away, taking his guilt and sorrow with him to wherever the river might go. But he couldn't move, because he was somehow fixed in place by a force that emanated from the patch of heat on his forehead, which was very strange when everything else was cold.

After a time that could have been minutes or hours or even days - for there was no way to tell whether time meant anything at all in this place of constant grey light - Nick noticed there was a dog sitting next to him. A large brown and black dog, with a serious expression. It looked kind of familiar.

"You're the dog from my dream," said Nick. He bent down to scratch it on the head. "Only it wasn't a dream, was it? You had wings."

"Yes," agreed the dog. "I'm the Disreputable Dog, Nicholas."

"Pleased to meet you," said Nick formally. The Dog offered a paw, and Nicholas shook it. "Do you happen to know where we are? I thought I - "

"Died," replied the Dog cheerily. "You did. This is Death."

"Ah," replied Nick. Once he might have wanted to argue about that. Now he had a different perspective, and other things to think about. "Do you . . . did they . . . the hemispheres?"

"Orannis has been bound anew," announced the Dog. "It is once again imprisoned in the hemispheres. In due course, they will be transported back to the Old Kingdom and buried deep beneath stone and spell."

Relief crossed Nick's face and smoothed out the lines of worry around his eyes and mouth. He knelt down beside the Dog to hug her, feeling the warmth of her skin in sharp contrast to the chill of the river. The bright collar around her neck was nice, too. It gave him a warm feeling in his chest.

"Sam and . . . and Lirael?" asked Nick hopefully, his head still bowed, close to the Dog's ear. There was a very slight hesitation in his voice as he mentioned Lirael's name.

"They live," replied the Dog. "Though not without scathe. My mistress lost her hand." At the expression in Nick's eyes, the Dog smiled slightly. It was strange to think of a Dog smiling - it was almost as strange as hearing a Dog speak. "Prince Sameth will make her one, of course, of shining gold and clever magic. Lirael Goldenhand, she'll be forever after. Remembrancer and Abhorsen, and much else besides. But there are other hurts, which require different remedies. She is very young. Stand up, Nicholas."

Nicholas stood. He wavered a little as the current tried to trip him and take him under.

"I gave you a late baptism to preserve your spirit," said the Dog. "You bear the Charter mark on your forehead now, to balance the Free Magic that lingers in your blood and bone. You will find Charter mark and Free Magic both boon and burden, for they will take you far from Ancelstierre, and the path you will walk will not be the one you have long thought to see ahead."

"What do you mean?" asked Nick in bewilderment. He touched the mark on his forehead and blinked as it flared with sudden light. The Dog's collar shone too, with many other bright marks that surrounded her head with a corona of golden light.

"What do you mean, far from Ancelstierre? How can I go anywhere? I'm dead, aren't-"

"I'm sending you back," said the Dog gently, nudging Nick's leg with her snout, so he turned to face towards Life. Then she barked, a single sharp sound that was both a welcome and a farewell.

"Is this allowed?" asked Nick as he felt the current reluctantly release him, and he took the first step back.

"No," said the Dog. "But then I am the Disreputable Dog."

Nick took another step, and he smiled as he felt the warmth of Life, and the smile became a laugh, a laugh that welcomed everything, even the pain that waited in his body.

In Life, his waking eyes looked up, and he saw the sun breaking through a low, dark cloud, and its warmth and light fell on a diamond-shaped patch of earth where he lay, safe amidst ruin and destruction. Nick sat up and saw soldiers approaching, picking their way across an ashen desert. Southerlings followed the soldiers, their just-scrubbed hats and scarves bright blue, the only colour in the wasteland.

A white cat suddenly appeared next to Nicholas's feet. He sniffed in disgust and said, "I might have known"; then he looked past Nick at something that wasn't there and winked, before trotting off in a northerly direction.

The cat was followed a little later by the weary footsteps of six people, who were supporting the seventh. Nick managed to stand and wave, and in the space of that tiny movement and its startled response, he had time to wonder what all the future held, and think that it would be much brighter than the past.

The Disreputable Dog sat with her head cocked to one side for several minutes, her wise old eyes seeing much more than the river, her sharp ears hearing more than just the gurgle of the current. After a while a small, enormously satisfied rumble sounded from deep in her chest. She got up, grew her legs longer to get her body out of the water, and shook herself dry. Then she wandered off, following a zigzag path along the border between Life and Death, her tail wagging so hard, the tip of it beat the river into a froth behind her.

Sam had been the one to find Lirael, curled up in the ash, the carving of the Dog nestled in the crook of her handless arm. She had been holding Astarael - the Weeper - with her remaining hand, her fingers clenched tight around the clapper so it could not sound.

"She needs help now!" he had called out to his parents who come over immediately and crouched by Lirael's side to tend to her injured hand. The girl had not wanted to move, tears of despair streaming silently down her face. She had been almost rigid with sorrow. Even now, she was almost completely without expression on that pale despairing face.

"Is she all right" The familiar albeit husky voice made Sam's mind finally register what it had failed to process when he had seen his friend wave at him just a moment ago.

"Nick?" he demanded in obvious shock. His voice made everyone turn around and stare in disbelief.

Francis Tindall who had been crouched on the ground beside Ellimere tending to the wounded looked up and stared. "Isn't he the chap that just died?" he asked quizzically.

Everyone immediately looked over at the Abhorsen, assuming that she must have had something to do with it. Sabriel looked as blank and confused as everyone else. Her own puzzlement displaying that clearly had nothing to do with with Nicholas Sayre's miraculous return to the living.

The sound of Nick's voice had stirred Lirael from her grief and she shook off the hold of those around her despite her pain and exhaustion.

"No child, you need to lie down," Touchstone urged her but she shook off his grasp determinedly. Nick, swaying on his feet walked towards her. His steps were wavering and the world spun around him. Lirael reached out her hand to touch the Charter mark that had appeared on his brow. Heat and light rushed around them as her eyes widened in shock at what she felt.

"You're ...."

"Yes ..." he said and smiled down at her despite everything.

Both of them crumpled to the ground where they stood and there was a moment's stunned silence before everyone ran around them, shouting for stretchers and medical care.

***

Into life....

"Lirael ... Tell Lirael I remembered her. I tried ..."

Nick's mouth twisted in a wry smile. Six months later and in a sense absolutely nothing had changed. Yet again, disaster of momumental proportions had been unleashed on the world and although it wasn't precisely his fault, he was again inextricably involved and feeling very culpable.

Six months later and somehow, Lirael's face was still as clear in his thoughts as the first time they had encountered one another. That unnervingly direct stare of hers lingered in his thoughts in a very unsettling fashion. Lirael had a toughness that he had never seen in the young women he had met at debutante parties in Corvere. She was a young woman who had been completely unimpressed by his family's wealth and connections. At the time it had piqued him, later it intrigued him.

He had told his uncle that he was returning to the Old Kingdom but had not elaborated his reasons. Now as he was chasing this dark Free Magic creature, he knew that he had been wrong to return to Ancelstierre in the first place. He should never have left the Old Kingdom. His desire to put his terrible past behind him had been foolish as well as impossible. He could not ignore the legacy of his involvement with Hedge and the Destroyer, nor his return to Life at the hands-or paws-of the Disreputable Dog. He had become someone else, and he could only find out who that was in the Old Kingdom - and with Lirael.

Nick was halfway across the No Man’s Land when the creature reached the Wall. But it did not enter the tunnel, instead hunkering down on its haunches for half a minute before easing itself up and turning back. It was still sur­rounded by white sparks, and even thirty yards away Nick could smell the acrid stench of hot metal. He stopped, too, and braced himself for a sudden, swift attack.

The creature slowly paced toward him. Nick lifted the wreath and made ready to throw or swing it over the creature’s head. But it didn’t attack or increase its pace. It walked up close and bent its long neck down.

Nick didn’t take his eyes off it for even a microsecond. As soon as he was sure of his aim, he tossed the wreath over the creature’s head. The chain settled on its shoulders, the yellow and red flowers taking on a bluish cast from the crackling sparks that jetted out from the creature’s hide.

“Let us talk and make truce, as the day’s eye bids me do,” a chill, sharp voice said directly into Nick’s mind, or so it felt. His ears heard nothing but the wind flutes and the jangle of cans tied to the wire. “We have no quarrel, you and I.”

“We do,” said Nick. “You have slain many of my people. You would slay more.”

The creature did not move, but Nick felt the mental equiv­alent of a snort of disbelief.

“These pale, insipid things? The blood of a great one moves in you, more than in any of the inheritors that I have drunk from before. Come, shed your transient flesh and travel with me back to our own land, beyond this prison wall.”

Nick didn’t answer, for he was suddenly confused. Part of him felt that he could leave his body and go with this creature, which had somehow suddenly become beautiful and alluring in his eyes. He felt he had the power to shuck his skin and become something else, something fierce and powerful and strange. He could fly over the Wall and go wherever he wanted, do whatever he wanted.

Against that yearning to be untrammelled and free was another set of sensations and desires. He did want to change, that was true, but he also wanted to continue to be himself. To be a man, to find out where he fitted in among people, specif­ically the people of the Old Kingdom, for he knew he no longer could be content in Ancelstierre. He wanted to see his friend Sam again, and he wanted to talk to Lirael.. . . He swallowed hard. There was so much more he wanted. He had been wrong to leave her.

“Come,” said the creature again. “We must be away before any of Astarael’s get come upon us. Share with me a little of your blood, so that I may cross this cursed Wall with­out scathe.”

“Astarael’s get?” asked Nick. “The Abhorsens?”

“Call them what you will,” said the creature. “One comes, but not soon. I feel it, through the bones of the earth beneath my feet. Let me drink, just a little.”

“Just a little...” mused Nick. “Do you fear to drink more?”

“I fear,” said the creature, bowing its head still lower. “Who would not fear the power of the Nine Bright Shiners, highest of the high?”

“What if I do not let you drink, and I do not choose to leave this flesh?”

“Your will is yours alone,” said the creature. “I shall go back and reap a harvest among those who bear the Charter,

“Drink then,” said Nick. He cut the bandage at his wrist and, wincing at the pain, sliced open the wound Dorrance had made. Blood welled up immediately.

The creature leaned forward, and Nick turned his wrist so the blood fell into its open mouth, each drop sizzling as it met the thing’s internal fires. A dozen drops fell; then Nick took his dagger again and cut more deeply. Blood flowed more freely, splashing over the creature’s mouth.

“Enough!” said the voice in his mind. But Nick did not withdraw his hand, and the creature did not move. “Enough!”

Nick held his hand closer to the creature’s mouth, sparks enveloping his fingers, to be met by golden flames, blue and gold twirling and wrestling, as if Charter Magic visibly sought dominance over Free Magic.

“Enough!” screamed the silent voice in Nick’s head, driving out all other thoughts and senses, so that he became blind and dumb and couldn’t feel anything, not even the rapid stammer of his own heartbeat. “Enough! Enough! Enough! ”

It was too much for Nick’s weakened body to bear. He fal­tered, his hand wavering. As the blood missed the creature’s mouth, it staggered, too, and fell to one side. Nick fell also, away from it, and the voice inside his head gave way to blessed silence.

His vision returned a few seconds later, and his hearing. He lay on his back, looking up at the sky. The moon was just about to set in the west, but it was like no moonset he had ever seen, for the right corner of it was diagonally cut off by the Wall.

Nick stared at the bisected moon and thought that he should get up and see if the creature was moving, if it was going to go and attack the soldiers in order to dilute his blood once again. He should bandage his wrist, too, he knew, for he could feel the blood still dripping down his fingers.

But he couldn’t get up. Whether it was blood loss or simply exhaustion from everything he’d been through, or the effects of the icy voice on his brain, he was as limp and helpless as a rag doll.

I’ll gather my strength, he thought, closing his eyes. I’ll get up in a minute. Just a minute . . .

Something warm landed on his chest. Nick forced his eyes to open just enough to look out. The moon was much lower, now looking like a badly cut slice of pumpkin pie.

His chest got even warmer, and with the warmth, Nick felt just a tiny fraction stronger. He opened his eyes properly and managed to raise his head an inch off the ground.

A coiled spiral made up of hundreds of Charter Marks was slowly boring its way into his chest, like some kind of celestial, star-wrought drill, all shining silver and gold. As each Mark went in, Nick felt strength return to more far-flung parts of his body. His arms twitched, and he raised them too, and saw a nice, clean, Army-issue bandage around his wrist. Then he regained sensation in his legs and lifted them up, to see his car­pet slippers had been replaced with more bandages.

“Can you hear me?” asked a soft voice, just out of sight. A woman’s voice, familiar to Nick, though he couldn’t place it for a second.

He turned his head. He was still lying near the Wall, where he’d fallen. The creature was still lying there, too, a few steps away. Between them, a young woman knelt over Nick. A young woman wearing an armoured coat of laminated plates, and over it a surcoat with the golden stars of the Clayr quartered with the silver keys of the Abhorsen.

“Yes,” whispered Nick. He smiled and said, “Lirael.” His voice was a caress.

Lirael didn’t smile back. She brushed her black hair back from her face with a golden-gloved hand, and said, “The spells are working strangely on you, but they are working. I’d best deal with the Hrule.”

“The creature?”

Lirael nodded.

“Didn’t I kill it? I thought my blood might poison it.. . .”

“It has sated it,” said Lirael. “And made it much more powerful, when it can digest it.”

“You’d better kill it first, then.”

“It can’t be killed,” said Lirael. But she picked up a very odd-looking spear, a simple shaft of wood that was topped with a fresh-picked thistle head, and stepped over to the crea­ture. “Nothing of stone or metal can pierce its flesh. But a thistle will return it to the earth, for a time.”

She lifted the spear high above her head and drove it down with all her strength into the creature’s chest. Surprisingly, the thistle didn’t break on the hide that had turned back bullets; it cut through as easily as a hand through water. The spear quivered there for a moment; then it burst, shaft and point to­gether, like a mushroom spore. The dust fell on the creature, and where it fell, the flesh melted away, soaking into the ground. Within seconds there was nothing left, not even the glow of the violet eyes.

“How did you know to bring a thistle?” Nick asked, and then cursed himself for sounding so stupid. And for looking so pathetic. He raised his head again and tried to roll over, but Lirael quickly knelt and gently pushed him back down.

“I didn’t. I arrived an hour ago, in answer to a rather con­fused message from the Magistrix at Wyverley. I expected merely to cross here, not to find one of the rarest of Free Magic creatures. And . . . and you. I bound your wounds and put some healing charms upon you, and then I went to find a thistle.”

“I’m glad it was you.” Nick's voice was soft, wishing that Lirael would turn and look at him. He could hardly believe that she was here. It was as if he had summoned her with his thoughts alone. She looked well. Vivid and beautiful and yet he could sense a lingering sorrow.

But there are other hurts, which require different remedies. She is very young. What had the Disreputable Dog in her inexplicable canine wisdom known?

“It’s lucky I read a lot of bestiaries when I was younger,” said Lirael, who wouldn’t look him in the eye. “I’m not sure even Sabriel would know about the peculiar nature of the Hrule. Well, I’d best be on my way. There are stretcher bear­ers waiting to come over to take you in. I think you’ll be all right now. There’s no lasting damage. Nothing from the Hrule, I mean. No new lasting effects, that is....I really do have to get going. Apparently there’s some Dead thing or other farther south-the message wasn’t clear.. . .”

“That was the creature,” said Nick. “I sent a message to the Magistrix. I followed the creature all the way here from Dorrance Hall.”

“Then I can go back to the Guards who escorted me here,” Lirael said, but she made no move to go, just nervously parted her hair again with her golden-gloved hand. “They won’t have started back for Barhedrin yet. That’s where I left my Paperwing. I can fly by myself now. I mean, I’m still-”

“I don’t want to go back to Ancelstierre,” Nick burst out. He tried to sit up and this time succeeded, Lirael reaching out to help him and then letting go as if he were red-hot. “I want to come to the Old Kingdom.”

“But you didn’t come before,” said Lirael. “When we left and Sabriel said you should because of what . . . because of what had happened to you. I wondered... that is, Sam thought later, perhaps you didn’t want to . . . that is, you needed to stay in Ancelstierre for some person, I mean rea­son-”

“No,” said Nick. “There is nothing for me in Ancelstierre. I was afraid, that’s all.”

“Afraid?” asked Lirael. “Afraid of what?”

“I don’t know,” said Nick. He smiled again. “Can you give me a hand to get up? Oh, your hand! Sam really did make a new one for you!”

Lirael flexed her golden, Charter-spelled hand, opening and closing the fingers to show Nick that it was just as good as one of flesh and bone, before she gingerly offered both her hands to him.

“I’ve had it for only a week,” she said shyly, looking down as Nick stood not very steadily beside her. “And I don’t think it will work very far south of here. Sam really is a most useful nephew. Do you think you can walk?”

“If you help me,” said Nick.

Lirael looked up at him wonderingly and there was a faint smile on her mouth, softening her stern and serious face.

"Oh .... bloody hell. We should make a small detour. Captain Tindall - I broke his ankle - we should go back and help him," Nick told her as he suddenly remembered. Lirael's eyes widened in shock which made Nick babble,"I mean, I didn't break it exactly, but he was on the back of the motorcycle and when we both fell off ..."

Lirael's mouth twitched. "Around you - nothing surprises me, Nick ... "

"Destruction of the world, unleashing dark creatures on the unsuspecting and breaking the ankles of allies?" Nick asked her ruefully

Lirael smiled and nodded. She stopped and reached up to brush his hair from his forehead so that she could touch the Charter mark with the index finger of her left hand. Golden fire burst from the mark as she touched it, and Lirael felt herself drawn into the familiar, never-ending swirl of the Charter. Nonetheless there was a strangeness about it, not only was the power very strong within Nick, the tang of Free Magic was almost overwhelming. Almost but not quite. Nick's fingertip touched Lirael's brow at the same time and there was a warmth and reassuring quality that enveloped him and comforted him with its rightness.

"Miss Abhorsen-in-Waiting, ma'am, sir ..., It's good to see you again," he said deliberately and Lirael laughed, shaking her head as her hand sliding down to touch his cheek lightly. The light caress caused a reaction in him that was even stronger than that generated when she touched his Charter mark. It was startling given that there was no magic involved. Or perhaps it was a different form of magic ....

The first time Nick had met Sabriel, he had called her “Mrs. Abhorsen, Ma’am Sir,” in confusion and Lirael had laughed in amusement. Everyone, including Nick had been surprised by that laugh, amidst such sorrow and pain.

It had been a strange day. Waiting for everything to be discussed and sorted and explained just enough so that everyone could go home. The two of them had been lying side by side on their stretchers with activity swirling around them. Nick had comforted her, telling her of the Disreputable Dog, telling her of the conversation that he had had with the Dog in Death - but he had not told her everything ...

"Have you seen her since that day?" Nick asked Lirael and then regretted asking because sorrow filled Lirael's eyes as she shook her head. He cursed himself for his insensitivity. For years, the Disreputable Dog had been Lirael's only friend and confidante. Her loss had affected the young woman deeply.

Lirael put her hand into her pocket and drew out a small carving of the Dog, holding it up in her palm. Nick looked down at it. It was carved from a soft grey-blue soapstone. It looked like a fairly hard-bitten sort of dog, with pointy ears and a sharp snout. But it also had a friendly grin, and the suggestion of a tongue in the corner of its mouth.

“Hello Dog,” Nick said softly.

"I always have her with me ..." Lirael said quietly.

Nick reached down and touched the soapstone carving with a fingertip. It blazed briefly with a sudden fire and Lirael's eyes widened questioningly, staring up into Nick's face with shock. Nick frowned for a moment and then he found himself smiling.

"I have a feeling we'll be seeing her again soon," he told her. Lirael didn't bother to ask him how he knew but found herself believing his words because she knew them to be true.

As they arrived back at the Checkpoint, to the shock of both Lirael and Nick, Tindall was already waiting for them - apparently in perfect health. He greeted Lirael with courteous warmth and tried to brush off her attempts to see to his injury. Lirael ignored his protests and insisted on examining his ankle.

Charter marks flared from his ankle, briefly visible even beneath the fabric of his uniform and Lirael exclaimed. "This is a very advanced healing spell ...." There was an unspoken question in her eyes.

Tindall was the most powerful Charter Mage among the Ancelstierrans but his powers and skills appeared to have increased dramatically since their last encounter.

"Well Ellimere ..." Tindall began and then trailed off, clearing his throat awkwardly and pretending to look extremely interested in Lirael's new hand.

"Did Prince Sameth make that? Fascinating ..." he said deliberately with admiration while Nick and Lirael exchanged questioning glances.

Prince Sameth but Ellimere? Lirael's mouth twitched but she said nothing.

"We'd best be going," Nick said, taking pity on the young captain's discomfort and Tindall shot him a relieved look.

Lirael glanced back at him curiously but didn't ask anymore questions - she would be grilling Ellimere herself upon her return to Belisaere. "It was good to see you again, Lieutenant Tindall..."

"Captain," Nick corrected her. "Captain Tindall has been promoted since we last met," he said and Tindall made a self-deprecating gesture.

With a polite inclination of his head he asked,"Will you allow my men to escort you to your destination, ma'am?"

Nick shook his head and it was turn for Tindall's eyebrows to lift quizzically.

"All right then," he said with a knowing smile and watched as the two walked back into No Man's Land, slowly, leaning against one another.

"Are you sure you want to return to the Old Kingdom?" Lirael asked him after they had walked in silence for some time.

"You will find Charter mark and Free Magic both boon and burden, for they will take you far from Ancelstierre, and the path you will walk will not be the one you have long thought to see ahead'," Nick quoted.

Lirael nodded as if she understood. "Oh ... I see. The Dog spoke of your destiny ..." Before Lirael could continue, Nick had put his hand into hers.

"I've missed you," he said quietly, his face very serious.

"I didn't think that I would ever see you again," Lirael told him slowly in a very careful voice.

"I never doubted that we would meet again," Nick told her. He raised her hands to his lips, one at a time. The debutantes in Corvere would have simpered and giggled at the old-fashioned gesture. Lirael did neither, merely held his gaze squarely as the Charter magic flared in her Golden Hand.

To his surprise, she took his hand and raised it to her own lips, kissing it lingeringly before raising it to her cheek. Nick found himself smiling at her as old wounds at long last began to heal.

"What does that smile mean?" she asked him curiously.

"You won't ever have to come in search of me to rescue me again ..."

"Is that so?" She inclined her head, looking perplexed.

He reached out and smoothed her glossy black hair back from her face. Lowering his head, he pressed his lips to her Charter mark, closing his eyes at the rush of emotion and strength that rushed through both of them. She clutched at him convulsively, overwhelmed by the force of the reaction and when his mouth brushed across hers, they were both trembling uncontrollably.

He nodded. "You'll never get rid of me again," he whispered against her lips. Her mouth clung to his as she held him close. They had much to learn from each other.

"Is that a promise?" Lirael asked him. She did not have the Sight of the Clayr, but as she looked into Nicholas Sayre's eyes, she could see her future and his - and it made her smile.

Nick's eyes were very dark and very serious. "Word of a Sayre."

The End (for now!)