The Path (a Sabriel fanfiction) Chapter 1
Summary: Sabriel's father is a young Abhorsen-in-Waiting. His aunt, the Abhorsen, brings him along on a strange mission. Who is the girl they are protecting? What does this mean for the future of the Kingdom? Terciel x Sabriel's Mother.
Go to the master list here: blackat16.livejournal.com/3611.html
Terciel had never been to Aunden before.
Usually he would have been glad to get out of the stuffy library of Abhorsen’s House, but the rainy season had made for a miserable journey. After more than a week of riding, during which time Terciel was never truly dry, they had arrived at the coast. Now instead of simply soaking into his clothing, the rain blew horizontally, actively seeking out the gap between his hood and his neck. The town of Aunden had materialized out of the sea-fog and sat crouching on the cliff. It was less than an hour’s ride away, but the cold, salty rain made every moment a torment. Terciel turned to his companion, whose horse had stopped alongside his, and tried to hide his frustration.
“If we had taken the Paperwing, we could have been here days ago,” he said, trying to sound matter-of-fact instead of petulant.
The figure beside him was almost shapeless under a billowing cloak, but a single hand drew back the drenched hood to reveal the face of a woman. Though past her prime, she was of formidable stature, and her dark eyes were hard and merciless against the snowy canvas of her skin. But her smile cracked the façade, and one could see that she was not without warmth. She returned her nephew’s stare, looking into eyes that were mirrors of her own. “Flying?” she said, “In this weather? Neither of us is so skilled at weather-working for that, Terciel.”
“It just seems like an awfully long journey just for us to escort one person to the next town over,” he sighed, “Especially for someone of your importance.” He nodded to the sword and bells concealed beneath her cloak.
The Abhorsen kicked her horse back into motion, forcing Terciel to follow her. “None of us are so important that we can ignore a person in their time of need,” she said, “The Abhorsen must serve the people, not herself. Or himself, as the case may be.”
“But there must be any number of people able to protect a lone traveler,” protested Terciel, “Family or friends, or even mercenaries in a pinch. Why you, when you live so far away? And why me, for that matter?” Though Abhorsen often brought him along when she went on missions all over the Kingdom, they were usually calculated to challenge and educate him. For such a mundane task, it would have been better worth his time to stay in the library at Abhorsen’s House and study.
Abhorsen paused before answering, “It’s time you learned what it means to carry the title of Abhorsen,” she said, “It isn’t always glamorous battles and good prevailing over evil. Sometimes our job is, as you say, mundane. But we do what is required of us.”
“This job wasn’t required of us,” said Terciel, “You chose to take it.”
“Ah, but does the walker choose the path, or the path the walker?” said Abhorsen, her lips creeping into a smile once more.
Terciel groaned. He had heard that line before. It was a powerful mantra from the Book of the Dead, but Abhorsen liked to use it when there was something she didn’t want to explain to her young student. He stopped arguing and kept his head down until they reached the town. By then, it was beginning to get dark.
Once they were among the scattered buildings that had once been a grand city, Terciel was mildly surprised to see his master steer her horse into the stables of an inn. He had assumed that some hospitality would be forthcoming from the person they intended to escort, but apparently they would be staying in a rented room. After leaving their horses in the care of a drenched and surly stable hand, they went inside.
A fire crackled in the hearth, and the warmth that filled the room immediately eased some of Terciel’s temper. He hadn’t been out of the rain since Chasel, and it was a welcome relief. But he had no time to relax before a weary-looking man approached them, his hand outstretched. He reached not for Abhorsen’s hand, but her forehead.
“You understand, ma’am,” he said, pausing with his fingers just shy of her skin, “Can’t be too careful these days.”
“Of course,” she replied, and reached out her own hand. Each touched their fingers to the other’s forehead, and two Charter marks glowed brightly. Though satisfied with the purity of Abhorsen‘s mark, the man seemed troubled, as if he had just forgotten something. Then he eyes came to rest on Abhorsen’s collar, where a width of her blue surcoat with silver keys was showing from beneath her riding cloak. Suddenly wide-eyed, he seemed to re-appraise the lumps under Abhorsen’s cloak at the level of her chest and waist, obviously guessing what lay underneath.
“You know me,” Abhorsen observed.
“I saw your predecessor’s work in Navis, when I was a little boy,” he admitted, “He slew an Adept there, and a score of his Shadow Hands. I wouldn’t know his face, but I remember the coat.” He wrung his hands, searching for a way to speak his mind without insult. Finally he said, “Is there some sort of… trouble? I’m honored to host you, of course, but if there’s some reason you’re here… Some danger… I’ve got a family, you see.”
“You needn’t worry,” said Abhorsen quickly, “We are merely passing through.” The man’s relief was visible. He showed them to their room, refusing to take Abhorsen’s money. He didn’t bother checking Terciel’s Charter mark, but scuttled away from the pair as soon as he politely could.
Abhorsen began stripping off her soggy layers of clothing, laying them out on the floor to dry. “Tonight we rest,” she said, “Tomorrow we will locate our charge and set out for Sindle.”
“What sort of person is it?” Terciel wondered as he peeled off his coat and armor.
“You’ll find out soon enough," mumbled Abhorsen sleepily. After disrobing down to a linen shirt over a cotton undergarment, she strapped her sword and bells (which were curiously dry) back onto her body. Then she rolled herself into bed, kicking the blankets loose around her feet so they wouldn’t trip her if she was attacked in her sleep. Terciel copied her, arranging the sheets and placing his pipes within easy reach of his bed. His linen and cotton underclothes were wet through, but he had nothing drier to wear, so he flopped onto the mattress and tried to ignore the cold, sticky sensation of the fabric clinging to his skin.
After some time, long after Terciel assumed that Abhorsen was asleep, she spoke. “People fear me now,” she said quietly, “They used to welcome me. Now I am only a herald of bad news.”
Terciel repeated what he had heard Abhorsen herself say before. “The Dead are getting stronger. People fear the Dead, and you go where they are. The people don’t fear you; they only fear what your presence means.”
“Yes,” Abhorsen mumbled, “The Dead grow stronger. And the Regency grows weak, as do we. The line of Abhorsens is no longer what it was. I’ve tried to train you as best I could, but under the circumstances…”
Abhorsen’s voice had become uncharacteristically soft and sentimental. Terciel remained silent, not wanting to interrupt.
Abhorsen shifted in her bed, gazing at her nephew’s face in the moonlight. To Terciel, her face was backlit, shrouded in shadow, unreadable. “There’s no alternative anymore,” she said sadly, “Our paths are chosen.”
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Thank you for reading!
Chapter 2 is here: blackat16.livejournal.com/673.html