A State of Constant Repair (Sabriel fanfiction) Part 1: Chapters 1-3
Rebuilding the Old Kingdom is going to be more difficult than Sabriel and Touchstone thought. When their troubles begin to seep into their relationship, Sabriel takes a vacation to learn more about the Abhorsens and about herself.
Warning: PG-13 violence
Part 2
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"Who are these ones again?" Touchstone asked distractedly as Sabriel straightened his waistcoat.
"The ambassadors from Navis," Sabriel reminded him, "And they'll be here in less than five minutes, so you'd better look presentable by then." Everything was ready for the meeting. Plans and schedules were drawn up and sat waiting on the table. Sabriel and Touchstone had situated themselves in one of the smaller meeting rooms of the palace in Belisaere; it was imposing with its stone walls and pillars, but not quite so forbidding as the Great Hall. Not that they could have used the Great Hall anyway, since it was in the part of the castle that hadn't been repaired, and was still a mess of fallen stone and blackened timber.
In the months since Kerrigor's defeat, the Kingdom had seen some real improvements. The Dead were still strong, but for the first time in generations their numbers were shrinking instead of growing. Everyone felt the fire of hope being slowly rekindled, especially in Belisaere. Under Sabriel's supervision, the Dead had been driven back, the aqueducts expanded, and Castle Hill reclaimed. The capitol was nowhere near its former glory, but it was a start.
Now that they had a base of operations, Touchstone needed to begin the long and arduous process of gaining recognition as King. He held the title by birthright, of course, but that meant nothing if the people refused his rule. Even in Belisaere there were plenty of people - thieves, slavers, extortionists - who had found a niche for themselves in the absence of the Royals and the Regents. Many would be glad to see Touchstone fail. Many more would be glad to see him dead.
That was why they were entertaining representatives from the larger cities all over the Kingdom. Since the fall of the Regency, cities like Navis, Orchyre, and Sindle had become like tiny Kingdoms to themselves, while small towns struggled just to stay alive. If Touchstone could gain the allegiance of the rulers of all the major cities, he could unite the Kingdom once more. Unfortunately, that was easier said than done.
Sabriel tucked Touchstone's hair neatly under the plain circlet he was wearing. His clothes, most of which had been found in the undamaged portions of the castle, were stately, yet modest. "We have flashier clothes, you know," she said, "We even found a proper crown. Don't you think that would make a better impression?" Sabriel felt lucky that she didn't have to worry about her wardrobe and what impression it would give. No one expected the Abhorsen to wear anything but her surcoat and weapons.
An answer came in the form of a gravelly voice over by the door. "No," said Karstel, "Don't assume anything. You don't buy a horse with a debt you haven't collected yet."
Karstel had been a lucky find. She came from a family of Charter Bloodline loyalists, and her devotion to the Royals and the Abhorsen was unshakeable. After she had proved herself time and time again in the early months, when attacks by Dead and humans alike were frequent, Touchstone had made her the Captain of the Guard. Of course, the guard she commanded was nothing but a couple dozen of her friends and a handful of mercenaries, but everyone hoped that once the people began to recognize Touchstone as King, more help would be forthcoming. In the meantime, Karstel was a permanent fixture by Touchstone's side, a mountain of a woman clad in leather armor.
Touchstone nodded to Karstel. "She's right," he said, "We can't appear presumptuous. Until we get these treaties signed, I'm no King. I'm just a kid playing dress-up."
Sabriel took his face between her hands. Every day they spent in Belisaere, he had seemed to become more regal until he was every inch a King straight out of the stories. "You're more than that," she assured him, trying to make him see what she saw in him, "You're the King by blood and by right. The Abhorsen and the Clayr recognize you and stand beside you. Show them that you belong here. Show them who you are."
"And who am I?" Touchstone said, smiling and running his fingers through Sabriel's hair.
Sabriel said as she leaned in to kiss him, "You are the ruler of the Old Kingdom, and of my heart." Then their lips met, and she lost herself in him for a moment.
She barely heard Karstel mutter, "Charter help me, you two are going to make me throw up."
Then the door creaked abruptly open, and all three of them snapped to attention. There in the doorway stood the party from Navis. The two ambassadors were a complementary set: one fat and one thin, both in silks far finer than what Touchstone was wearing. Two porters followed them.
By the time the door had swung completely open, Sabriel, Touchstone, and Karstel were standing in the proper arrangement with proper dignity. The Abhorsen, the King, and his bodyguard. But by the looks on the ambassadors' faces, they hadn't missed the more relaxed and intimate scene that had just been interrupted. Sabriel's heart dropped, and she could see the same chagrin on Touchstone's face. So much for first impressions.
"I hope we aren't intruding," said the thin man with a sneer.
"Not at all," said Touchstone, keeping his composure admirably, "Sit down, please. We have much to discuss."
The pair slid into the room and took their seats. Their porters stood ready at their backs, eyeing Karstel warily. She was a good head taller than either of them. The tiniest twitch of her lip warned them not to stare.
"Ambassador Gromba," the fat man introduced himself.
"Ambassador Sastek," said the thin man, nodding to Touchstone, "And I presume you are our host: Torrigan, allegedly of the ancient royal line?" Sabriel didn't like the sound of that. Their cooperation might have to be harder-earned than she had thought.
Gromba looked Sabriel up and down, but addressed Touchstone. "And this is your…?" His tone filled in the blank for him. Lover? Concubine? Whore?
Sabriel could see Touchstone's hackles rising, but she kept her voice calm and professional. "I'm no possession," she said, "I am Sabriel, the Abhorsen." Of course he knew who she was; he couldn't have missed her bells and coat. He was just trying to throw them off-balance. Sabriel shot Touchstone a glance, willing him to keep his head.
Sitting herself down across from the ambassadors, Sabriel tried to get things back on track. "You know our position, gentlemen," she said, "By the ancient treaties, Navis is bound to accept the rule of Belisaere as long as a royal holds the crown."
Touchstone took his cue to sit beside her and continue, "We understand that this is highly unusual, given my long absence. Much has changed since my mother's time. But I am ready and willing to accept the responsibility of my station. You can plainly see the strides we've taken toward reclaiming Belisaere. And we are not asking for much: some of your militia to help defend the castle, and your province's official recognition of my rule."
The ambassadors listened politely, but Sabriel could see herself and Touchstone reflected in their eyes: young, lustful, untried. Children. This would not end well, but they had to try.
"We have other things to discuss before you begin demanding the use of our troops," said Sastek coldly, "As far as I can see it, you have no real proof as to your heritage. In fact, this story about the young lady finding you in Holehallow sounds more like a fairy tale than reality. Tell us, what makes your claim to the throne any more valid than those of the other impostors who have sprung up over the years?"
"The Clayr have Seen that what I say is true," said Touchstone, "And the Abhorsen can vouch for everything that happened after Holehallow."
Gromba wagged a finger infuriatingly as he said, "The Clayr's words hold little weight with us. They have spent too long removed from the world, up in their glacier. They do not know what we have suffered in the centuries since the Royals fell, and especially in the decades since the Regency ended. Why should we trust them now?"
"As for the Abhorsen…" Sastek gestured toward Sabriel with an incredulous expression, as if that were explanation enough.
"He is the rightful King," Sabriel insisted, "You have my word."
"Yes," Sastek said, his eyes betraying exactly how little he valued Sabriel's word, "And perhaps if it were Abhorsen saying that, and not his daughter…"
Sabriel had to work to keep the fire out of her voice when she reminded him, "I am Abhorsen."
"I've rallied Belisaere," said Touchstone, trying to steer the conversation back to safer ground, "Things are better here than they've been in the last fifty years. I can do the same for the rest of the Kingdom."
"That's evidence of competence," Gromba conceded, "And luck. But it doesn't prove your blood."
"I remember things from two hundred years ago," Touchstone said, but he was just grasping at straws now, "Things no one else could know."
"And since no one else knows them," said Sastek, "They cannot be verified."
Standing abruptly, Sabriel gave it one last-ditch effort. "I understand that Navis has been on its own for a long time. It's admirable how your people have thrived in these difficult times. But others have not been so lucky. The Kingdom is still in turmoil. We need a King to unite us! And whether or not you believe Touch… Torrigan to be King by blood, he has more than proved that he is equal to the task. Perhaps the salvation of the Old Kingdom will come down not to blood, but to choice. Your choice. Choose now to recognize Torrigan as King, and we will restore the Kingdom to its former glory. Let this chance slip by and there may not be another."
But she could see that the ambassadors were unmoved. "We are sorry," said Gromba, getting to his feet, "But without proof of your birthright, we have no obligation to you."
"We wish you well," said Sastek as he joined his compatriot. There was nothing any of them could do as both ambassadors left the room. After the boom of the closing door, they were left in stunned silence.
"I think they knew what they were going to say before they even walked in the door," said Sabriel bitterly.
"It would have been nice if they had tried to hide it." Touchstone's voice was deceptively quiet, but his disappointment showed a moment later when he swept his hand over the table angrily, sending a goblet flying across the room and a storm of papers into the air. All their careful plans fluttered to the ground like snow.
Karstel tried to reassure them, "Navis is nothing. A bunch of frostbitten cowards. There are other envoys to meet with, other cities we can convince."
Sabriel leaned over and placed her palms on the now-empty table. "But how can we convince them?" she sighed, "Those two windbags may have put it as coarsely as possible, but they made some good points. We have no proof and no leverage."
Touchstone rested his head against his fist, still looking sour. "And it doesn't help that the one ally people might have taken seriously is apparently cast into doubt by virtue of being my lover." Sabriel winced. There was no doubt that the kiss the ambassadors witnessed had made her seem biased.
"So we need to show them what we can do," said Karstel, leaning against a pillar and picking her nails with a knife, "We'll keep cleaning up the city. My guards have rounded up five more slavers just this last week."
"No," said Sabriel, "We've already done so much, and it didn't change their minds. It's a start, but we need something bigger."
Touchstone suddenly looked pensive as he muttered, "Yes. Something they can't ignore." He stood with a sigh. "There's nothing more we can do today. I'll be in my study. Karstel, bring me reports from your guards on the towers. I want visual confirmation that our wards are holding the Dead back."
"Yes, sire," said Karstel, saluting as she left.
Sabriel followed Touchstone out, matching his pace as he went through the hallways toward his rooms.
"When did you start going by Torrigan?" she asked, trying not to sound confrontational. It was what the ambassadors had called him, which meant it was what he had put on his official documents.
He shrugged. "It's my name," he said simply.
"I know that," Sabriel sighed, "But I've always called you Touchstone. It's just strange to hear."
Touchstone kept his eyes pointed straight ahead. "You should probably call me Torrigan now too," he suggested, "Touchstone was fine before, but it's not exactly a dignified name for a King."
"Torrigan," Sabriel rolled the name over in her mouth. He had asked to her call him Touchstone when they had first met, and it was his right to ask her to call him something different. Still Sabriel couldn't help but feel a little insecure. What else would change now that he was a King?
"You look unhappy," Touchstone observed.
Sabriel shook her head and forced herself to smile. "No, you're right. You should be called by your real name," she said, "Actually, I was thinking about something similar. I want to be called Abhorsen from now on."
Touchstone looked a bit taken aback, but he kept his composure. "But…" he said, "That's your title, not your name. Don't you think it's a little, er, impersonal?"
Sabriel was quick to explain herself. "From what Mogget has told me, lots of Abhorsens have taken the title as their name," she said, "That's what my father did. I never even knew his real name until I looked it up in the records at the House. And the name means something. No one knows who Sabriel is, but all our allies and our enemies know Abhorsen."
"All right," said Touchstone, though his smile wasn't entirely happy, "Abhorsen."
As Sabriel met his eyes, she wondered if they had made the right choice. A name could be a powerful thing, and already Touchstone - no, Torrigan - seemed one step farther away from her.
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Laughter and the clinking of goblets rang out through the dining hall. Sabriel was taking supper with Karstel and her guards. It might have seemed strange to an outsider that the Abhorsen would associate so closely with these rough soldiers, but to Sabriel nothing else would have made sense. These were her friends and closest allies. And though the food wasn't as fancy as what she could get at Abhorsen's House, the company was infinitely better.
"To the Abhorsen!" called out one soldier, holding up his glass, "For a brilliant rescue today."
There was a chorus of cheering and congratulations. When it died down, a young man in ill-fitting armor bounced a chunk of bread playfully off the helmet of the man who had started the toast. "I wouldn't have needed rescuing if you all had covered me the way you were supposed to," he insisted.
The boy's neighbor at the table grabbed him in a headlock. "No one told you to run off on your own, you little idiot. You were just lucky Abhorsen was there to save you," she said.
Sabriel held up her hand modestly. "We've almost finished clearing the Dead out of the city," she reminded them, "You all know how far we've come, and how many lives we've lost. I'll always do my best, just as I expect of you. But now is not the time to take risks." She gave the young man a pointed glance. "If we play this safe and smart, I think we have a chance of retaking the rest of the city without a single casualty."
A second, louder cheer rang out, and the meal resumed with renewed vigor. Insults and food were thrown back and forth freely.
"Alone? Is that what he's been telling you? He had the whole squad right there backing him up…"
"That's why you only ever get guard duty. Captain doesn't trust you with the real work."
"So she's got this club in one hand, see, and her own broken sword in the other, and she…"
"…you liar, you ain't never seen a Mordicant…"
"Hey, Abhorsen! Where's your sweetheart? I didn't see him out on patrol today."
Everything up until then had been said in good humor, but Sabriel's frosty gaze told the last man who had spoken that she wasn't in a joking mood. "You mean the King?" she said pointedly.
The man dipped his head, red-faced. "Of course, milady," he stammered, "Forgive me. I didn't mean anything by it." The collective shouted conversation went on.
Karstel leaned over to growl into Sabriel's ear, "Insubordinate little hooligan. I'll put him on midnight watch for a week."
"Thank you, Karstel," said Sabriel, sipping her water, "Although he's right. I haven't seen Tou-Torrigan all day. Do you know where he's been?"
Karstel shrugged. "Search me," she sighed, "I turned the castle upside down this afternoon and not a sign of him. Do you suppose we ought to start worrying?"
"Not yet," said Sabriel, though she was chewing her lip pensively, "He's no fool. He wouldn't put himself in danger at a time like this."
"If you'll forgive my saying so, milady," said Karstel, "He was foolish enough to go off on his own all day without telling either of us."
Karstel's words worked their way into Sabriel's mind, and by the time dinner was over she was beginning to get nervous. She went back to her rooms in a fog of apprehension.
Safe in her chambers was the only place she dared to take off her armor nowadays, and even then she always kept her bells and sword close at hand. As she stripped off her mail and replaced it with linen nightclothes, she kicked the small wicker basket at the foot of her bed lightly. "Mogget," she said, "Have you seen Touchstone today?"
Mogget stirred from the depths of the basket with a sleepy sigh. "I haven't even been awake today. Thanks so much for rectifying that," he said, his voice sharp with sarcasm. His eyes lit on Sabriel's desk, where envelopes were stacked high and spilling onto the floor. "You're a popular one, aren't you?" he added.
"Yes," Sabriel sighed, "One of the benefits of Abhorsen's House is that no one in their right mind would try to deliver mail there. Now that everyone knows I'm in Belisaere, they keep sending me requests." She sat down and opened one. It was from Qyrre, where they were being terrorized by a margrue. Another: there had been a plague in Ganel, and now all its victims were rising to attack the living. Another: in Callibe, people were being found flayed and drained of blood. All of them requested that Sabriel come solve their problems.
Sabriel pushed the letters aside with a heavy heart. Watching her, Mogget said, "Not what you were hoping for?"
"I don't know what I'm hoping for," Sabriel admitted, "But I know that I'm needed more here than anywhere else."
Mogget settled back into his basket with a yawn. "I'm sure you know best, Abhorsen," he said, and Sabriel couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not.
Just then, there was a knock at the door. Sabriel shut her desk, hiding the letters for now, and opened the door to find Touchstone standing there sheepishly. Her relief at seeing him lasted only until she noticed how slumped and pale he appeared. Still, he gave her a weak smile and a kiss as he let himself in.
"By the Nine!" she said, "What happened to you? Where have you been?"
"Sorry," he said, heading straight for the bed and flopping into it without even getting undressed, "I didn't think I would be gone so long. Karstel already gave me an earful for making you worry, so could we skip the lecture?"
"I'm not going to lecture you," said Sabriel, sitting on the bed next to him, "I just want to know what you've been up to." Her brow furrowed as she stroked his face lightly. He looked so tired.
Though he had looked like he was almost asleep, Touchstone's eyes fluttered open and his hand caught Sabriel's. "I'll tell you as soon as there's something to tell," he said earnestly but cryptically, "There's something I need to do, but I'm playing it close to the chest until I know more. All right?"
"Since when do you keep secrets from me?" Sabriel complained, but Touchstone had closed his eyes again and was asleep in an instant.
Without the heart to wake him, Sabriel waved her hand to dim the Charter mark that lit the room from the ceiling. The sudden darkness made her yawn, and in a moment her hard day of fighting caught up with her. She laid her head on his shoulder, his arm wrapped itself around her waist, and they were both deeply asleep in minutes.
Neither of them heard Mogget mutter from his basket, "Humans. Useless."
The next morning, Sabriel awoke to find Touchstone already upright and changed into clean clothes. He was standing by Sabriel's desk, holding one of the letters that had fallen on the floor. The bulk of them remained hidden under the closed desktop, but Touchstone was reading this one with a dark expression on his face.
"What's this?" he asked when he saw that Sabriel was awake.
Sabriel hopped out of bed and snatched the letter away from him. "Private," she said curtly, "If you're allowed to have your secrets, then I'll at least expect you not to go through my things while I'm asleep."
"They want you to go to Ganel," he observed, ignoring her complaints, "Ganel is far away."
The expression on his face was enough to make Sabriel hurry to say, "I'm not going. They can take care of themselves, and there's still so much to do here…" A smile immediately returned to Touchstone's face, and it was almost enough to make Sabriel forget her guilt.
"That's right," he said, "We have to focus on protecting Belisaere before we worry about everywhere else." He threw on a coat and moved toward the door.
"Are you going to disappear all day again?" Sabriel demanded, her hands on her hips and her tone only half-joking.
Touchstone backtracked to tip her chin up for a kiss. "I won't be as long today as last time," he said, "I promise."
"And how long will it be until you can let me in on this little project?" Sabriel asked, but Touchstone was already out the door.
"Be safe, Sabriel!" he called over his shoulder.
Sabriel stuck her head out the door and shouted down the hallway after him, "It's Abhorsen!"
Once again, Touchstone only returned late at night and went straight to sleep without answering any of Sabriel's questions.
It became a pattern over the next few weeks. On some days things would be as they were, with Touchstone planning and helping as always. The Dead continued to retreat, repairs on the castle progressed slowly but surely, and envoys from cities all over the Kingdom arrived to refuse their cooperation with varying degrees of rudeness. But more and more, Touchstone would be absent for days at a time, returning in a worse state after each outing. It was driving Karstel, who considered herself responsible for her liege's safety, to distraction.
"We should follow him one of these days," she confided in Sabriel, "I'd feel better if I just knew where he was going."
Though she inwardly agreed, Sabriel forced herself to say, "No. He deserves not to be treated like a child, even if he's acting like one. Let him play his games."
The next layer of frustration began a week later, when Sabriel was wandering down a hallway that she thought was deserted. Suddenly, she heard voices behind a closed door. Her first thought was that bandits had somehow sneaked into the building, and her hand went to her sword hilt. Then she recognized Touchstone's voice.
For a moment she wondered if she shouldn't intrude on whatever was going on behind the door. But then she screwed up her resolve and reminded herself that this was just as much her home as Touchstone's. There was no room where she was not allowed. Without so much as knocking, she swung the door open and stepped inside.
"… should arrive within the week. We should be able to increase your forces by half. If you've done this much with this ragtag lot, we'll just see what you can do with real trained soldiers." The speaker was a tall, bearded man in red silk. He was shaking hands with Touchstone while Karstel stood in the back of the room like a statue. On a wooden table there stood two goblets and stacks of paper that Sabriel recognized as the plans she had drawn up with Touchstone. Karstel noticed her first, and gave a tiny, apprehensive grimace.
Touchstone was about to reply when Sabriel's entrance distracted him. "Sabriel!" he said guiltily. But he hid his surprise well. He gestured to the man in red, saying, "This is the ambassador from Orchyre. He's just promised us a squadron to add to our guard."
"A pleasure, sir," said Sabriel, nodding to the ambassador but keeping her eyes on Touchstone, "I am Abhorsen."
"Of course you are," said the ambassador as he bowed from the waist, "Your work over the last months has been astounding. Word has reached us in Orchyre. I only hope we can help."
"You already have helped," said Sabriel with real gratitude. After a few more words were exchanged, the ambassador left the room, and there was silence.
Touchstone was the first to speak. "Sabriel, don't take this the wrong way."
He fell silent under Sabriel's glare. "It's Abhorsen," she reminded him with as much patience as she could muster, "Karstel, give us a moment please." Karstel didn't need to be told twice. With a speed that was impressive for her large frame, she slipped past the pair and out the door, leaving Sabriel and Touchstone alone. Only then did Sabriel speak again, "What is this?"
Touchstone had gotten over the initial shock of getting caught, and now he was ready to defend himself. "You were busy," he said, "So I took this meeting on my own. It was at the spur of the moment, otherwise I would have…"
Sabriel shook her head. "Try again," she said, "You knew I wasn't doing anything important today. You didn't even try to include me. In fact, I talked to Karstel not an hour ago, so you must have ordered her not to tell me about this meeting. Are you keeping everything a secret from me now?"
"Don't get carried away," said Touchstone, "It was one meeting, and it went well for a change! We should be celebrating!"
Sabriel wanted to be happy at their change of fortune, but she couldn't let this go. Not yet. "I've been a part of every meeting since the beginning…" she protested.
"Yes, and look how that's gone so far," Touchstone muttered.
There was a pause as Touchstone realized exactly what he had said, and Sabriel felt her lips press so hard together that they disappeared. "Are you saying it's my fault that we haven't gotten the support we hoped for?" she said, her voice rising.
"Of course not," said Touchstone, trying to backpedal, "I just think it's a better move for me to handle these negotiations alone. It makes me seem less reliant on you."
"Maybe you're right. And maybe that's something you should have discussed with me." Sabriel was on the verge of shouting now, even though she knew that wouldn't do either of them any good.
Touchstone didn't give an inch. "I don't need your permission for everything I do," he said, "I made a decision."
"You made a decision to shut me out, just like you've been doing for the last month!" said Sabriel, and shouting now, "I'm sick of it!"
She stormed out, but that night Touchstone came to her full of apologies, and she had to forgive him. They celebrated their small victory that day with a bottle of wine, and fell asleep wrapped around each other. Sabriel wondered if that would be the end of their troubles, but the next day Touchstone was back to sneaking off and dodging her questions. Orchyre came through with their promised soldiers, but the ambassadors from Sindle visited only to dismiss Touchstone out of hand. Even though they were still making progress, the air was tenser than ever in the castle.
More arguments and shouting matches flared up between Sabriel and Touchstone, and though they always forgave each other, Sabriel could feel her resolve weakening with each new slight. "I love him," she sighed to Karstel one day on patrol, as they cleared the last of the Dead out of the city, "But I can't live like this."
Karstel hid her worry badly as she tried to reassure Sabriel. "Everyone goes through good and bad times. We're all just under a lot of stress right now. Stick it out. Things will get better."
Sabriel was prepared to take her friend's advice, but then everything came to a head the next day when Touchstone was about to meet with another envoy. "I wish I could be there," said Sabriel as she saw him off. They had long since decided, rationally and mutually this time, that Touchstone would conduct these meetings alone. To Sabriel's annoyance, the word of the Abhorsen seemed to carry more weight when it wasn't coming straight out of the mouth of a young girl. But she was resigned to it, and she was willing to swallow her pride if it would help their cause.
"It's only temporary," said Touchstone, "They only object to us because it seems improper. Once we're married, it won't matter as much anymore."
Sabriel's smile froze on her face and changed to consternation in a split second. "Wait," she interrupted, "Married? Did I miss something?"
He looked at her, genuinely confused. "Well, of course we're getting married, right?" he laughed nervously, "You love me, I love you; it makes sense."
Sabriel was too flabbergasted to be angry. "Did it ever occur to you that I might want a say in this?" she demanded.
"I didn't think you'd be so opposed to the idea of marrying me," he said, crossing his arms defensively, "I didn't realize it was such an unattractive prospect."
"That's not the point!" Sabriel said, unable to keep the displeasure out of her voice. She tried to control her temper. At this rate, this discussion would soon become a shouting match.
"No," said Touchstone, his voice rising to meet hers, "The point is that I'm trying to get these people - people whose great-grandparents couldn't even remember the last time there was a Royal in Belisaere - to take me seriously as their King. All our plans rest on that, and I'm already at a disadvantage being young, illegitimate, and about two hundred years late. I can't afford to seem like some foolish, love-struck teenager. I need a wife, not a girlfriend."
"Keep this up and you'll have neither!" Sabriel snapped. So much for keeping her temper. "I'm not a piece you can move around the chessboard. I'm the Abhorsen! And in case you had forgotten, I'm trying to get people to take me seriously too. I'm nineteen and raised in Ancelstierre; do you think this is easy for me? That everywhere I go people don't wish I were my father? I need to prove myself! I can't afford to be seen as the King's trophy!" Her blood boiled a little hotter with each word until she had backed Touchstone against a wall and was prodding his chest with her finger. She knew she had to deescalate this fight before it got out of hand, but she just couldn't see straight to do it.
"That's not what I want!" Touchstone protested, looking every bit as enraged as Sabriel felt, "I just want you to keep your promise to me. You said you'd help me reclaim the Kingdom…"
Sabriel interrupted, "And what is it you think I've been doing? I've been here, Torrigan, every day. You saw that letter from Ganel, right? I have a mountain of letters like that! People are begging the Abhorsen to come help them, and I've stayed here with you because you said you needed me. And what have I gotten for it? I'm supposed to be the one you trust, but you just keep getting more distant. I never know what you're up to anymore, or if you even care about me."
"Of course I care about you," said Touchstone through gritted teeth. He sounded like he was trying to convince himself of the fact too. "I love you, Sabriel."
"Abhorsen!" Sabriel shouted, "It's Abhorsen! That's who I am now! It's who I have to learn to be! And instead of doing my job, I'm here taking care of you while you take me for granted. And now you want me to sign up to do this forever? To stay here supporting you while my own duties lie forgotten?"
"Of course not!" said Touchstone, "Stop twisting my words! You can still be Abhorsen after we're married."
"Oh, thanks so much for giving me your permission!" Sabriel spat.
Touchstone slapped a hand to his forehead in exasperation. "You know that's not how I meant it," he said, "Look, if you think you should be out there fighting Dead, then you should go!"
The words hung between them like lead weights for a moment. Then Sabriel said, more quietly this time, "Are you asking me to leave?"
The gravity of the situation had shocked Touchstone out of his rage too. But they had come this far, and neither knew quite how to turn back. "I'd rather you stay," he said weakly.
"But only if I marry you," Sabriel guessed bitterly.
Touchstone grimaced. They both knew his answer, and they both knew what the outcome would be. "Yes," he said, his voice full of regret.
There was nothing left to say. Sabriel turned on her heel and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
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Sabriel locked her door that night. If Touchstone wanted to apologize, then he could just squirm until morning. But the knock she was expecting never came. When she woke up and he still wasn't there, she knew that they had finally managed to screw things up for real.
She lay in bed. Her body couldn't sleep anymore, but her soul was too exhausted to let her rise. She only managed to get herself upright when Karstel banged on her door, yelling, "Breakfast, milady!" Something must have shown on Sabriel's face, because as soon as she opened the door Karstel's eyebrows twitched up and she said, "Is something wrong?"
Sabriel forced a smile. "No," she said, "I just overslept. Have you seen King Torrigan?"
Karstel wasn't convinced, but she answered the question, "Missing in action, as usual. Don't worry; he always turns up."
Sabriel nodded grimly and joined the soldiers for breakfast. She walked through the rest of the day in a fog. When she returned to her room that night, she was surprised to see Mogget stretched out on her bed, looking lazy but awake. He looked at her with half-lidded eyes and said knowingly, "Trouble in paradise?"
Sabriel swept him off her sheets and back into his basket. "What do you know about it?" she muttered.
Mogget fell into the basket with a hiss, but he quickly righted himself and continued. "That fat woman in the armor came by looking for you. Something about the boy. Is he going by Torrigan again?"
"Yes," Sabriel snapped, "You'd know that much if you were awake even half the time." She hated his superior tone and the way he refused to use anyone's name when he could replace it with an insult. It wasn't as if he didn't know what Karstel was called; his memory was perfect going back centuries.
Mogget shook his head. "Touchstone suited him better," he said, "He's still just a fool. Anyway, he's eating supper in the Great Hall as of ten minutes ago, if you want to go talk to him. And that's the last time I'll be acting as your message-taking service if you can't at least be civil." With that, he sank into the basket and out of sight.
Sabriel moved to the door. It would have been childish to avoid Touchstone. But then she hesitated, and looked back at her desk. With sudden conviction, she grabbed an envelope at random out of the pile and opened it as she walked.
By the time she reached the Great Hall, she had read the letter inside and was holding it loosely in her hand. Touchstone sat at the table alone, staring into his plate and looking like he was about to nod off. Sabriel felt a familiar welling up of affection and protectiveness, but she reminded herself of what she had to do. She entered the room and, clearing her throat, sat at the opposite end of the table from Touchstone.
Touchstone's head snapped up as if he were awakening from a deep reverie. A grateful smile lit his face as he greeted her, "Sabriel!" She didn't bother to correct him, but poured herself a glass of wine in silence.
Neither knew where their relationship stood at the moment, and the awkwardness was overwhelming. The silence persisted as Sabriel sipped her wine, breaking only when she said, her face like a stone, "There's a broken Charter Stone near High Bridge. Dead are gathering there. The people want me to help defend the city."
Touchstone's face was also unreadable. "How long will you be gone?" he asked.
"I don't know," said Sabriel.
There was another long, uncomfortable pause before Touchstone asked, "Are you coming back at all?" Sabriel thought she saw a flicker of desperation beneath his businesslike façade, but she couldn't be sure.
"I don't know," she repeated. It was strange to hear her voice sound so calm when her heart was twisting in her chest.
They ate the rest of their meal in silence, and the next morning Sabriel packed her things and left Belisaere without a word to anyone.
It was disorienting to be back on the road after months in the relative comfort of the ruins of the castle. Belisaere had almost started to feel like home. Traveling only reminded her of that terrible time just after her father had sent her the bells, when she was always on the run and haunted at every turn. But at least then she had had Mogget, and later Touchstone. Now she was alone, the sound of her footsteps her only companion, the way she had been during her mad dash from Cloven Crest to Abhorsen's House. Just the thought of that terrible night made her throat feel like it was closing up.
She wiped the beginnings of tears out of her eyes impatiently. Things were different now. She was no longer a girl barely out of school; she was Abhorsen. She feared nothing on these roads. The weight of her bells on her chest, the sway of her sword at her hip, and the buzz of the Charter all around her were all reassuring.
Still, she was lonely.
Suddenly, a sensation of movement at her back made her think someone had grabbed her from behind. In a flash, she wriggled free of her pack and turned to face her assailant. The road behind her was empty, but as her pack hit the dust there came a loud, indignant yowl. Sabriel, her sword half-drawn, watched as a pink nose poked itself out of the top of her pack. The nose was followed shortly by a ruffled-looking white cat.
"That was certainly uncalled-for," said Mogget.
Sabriel took a few minutes to get over her shock before saying, "What do you think you're doing in my pack?"
"Well," said Mogget, settling back inside the bag and kneading Sabriel's spare clothes, "You're the last Abhorsen, and you haven't found yourself a successor yet. I couldn't very well let you run off and get killed."
Sabriel swung the pack back up and kept walking. She said over her shoulder, "I'm not going to get killed. It's one simple job."
"They usually start out simple," said Mogget, his voice getting quieter as he drifted back off to sleep, "This way, if things get out of hand, you'll have me to save your skin. Just slip my collar off… Actually, you could do that now. Then you could rebind me with Saraneth and I wouldn't be so damned sleepy all the time."
Sabriel snorted in derision. "If I never have to take that collar off again, I'll die happy," she said, but Mogget was already asleep. Despite her annoyance at the intrusion, she had to admit that she felt better with a companion. Even if that companion was only waiting for her to make a mistake so he could kill her horribly.
The journey was long, but surprisingly pleasant. The mild autumn weather was much more comfortable than the snow Sabriel had had to contend with the last time she traveled by foot. Even more calming was the knowledge that there was no Kerrigor waiting to spring his next trap, no Mordicant on her heels. Her Death-sense had been honed over the months, so she had ample warning before the appearance of each of the few revenants that she met along the road. They were weak and desperate, and she dispatched them all easily.
When she had first taken up her father's mantle, she had been a scared little girl doing her best in an impossible situation. Shortly after Kerrigor's defeat, she had somehow become something like Touchstone's lackey, helping the soldiers clean up the city while he abandoned her for his own secret projects. Now, walking the land and facing all comers with her bells and sword in hand, she finally began to feel like a true Abhorsen.
Mogget rarely stirred, except to demand some food every now and then. By the time Sabriel reached High Bridge, she had almost forgotten that he was riding in her pack.
High Bridge was so named for the massive, arcing bridge that spanned the Upper Ratterlin. It was as wide as a house, with three separate levels. When the river was at its lowest, all three levels were exposed. During the heaviest of floods - the kind that could only be caused by the Clayr - the water would lap the feet of a person standing at the highest point. That way, no matter the state of the river, the bridge could always be a refuge from the Dead.
And so it had become. The town of High Bridge had once been situated just east of the bridge itself, centered on a Charter Stone. But since the stone had been broken, and the Dead had begun terrorizing the people, everyone had taken advantage of the safest place available to them. Countless people were crammed onto all three levels of the bridge, packed so tight that there was barely room to move. There were the healthy and strong alongside the sick and injured, alongside scattered livestock, alongside the elderly, alongside families with small children. In some parts of the bridge, the crowding was so thick that everyone was standing; there was no space to sit.
As she approached the bridge, taking in the sight, Sabriel was struck by how quiet it was. Some moaning from the hospital area, here and there a child crying, a rare conversation conducted in low whispers - compared to the massive congregation of people before her, the lack of noise was downright unnerving. These were people who had lived so long clinging to the tail end of hope that they had almost lost their grip entirely. They had nothing left to say to each other; they just sat and waited for a miracle.
"Abhorsen!" said a voice, and Sabriel looked to her right to see an elderly woman in a green robe approaching her. By the way people respectfully shifted in their already-tight quarters to make way for her, Sabriel guessed that she was the leader of the town. At her greeting, a rumble of voices broke out and dozens of people turned to see. The old woman reached Sabriel and held out her hands to her, her head bowed. "We hoped against hope that you would come. I'm sorry we have no hospitality to offer you," she said.
Sabriel took the woman's hands and bowed in return. "Never mind," she said kindly, "I'll make my own arrangements, and I'll do my best for your people."
"My people…" said the woman in a voice layered with despair, exhaustion, and the weight of responsibility, "My people are starving. We have fought hard, but the Dead are unending and we have no more ground left to lose. No one can leave the bridge; those who try never return. Our situation is impossible. Please, Abhorsen. We don't ask for much. Drive the Dead out of the town, and let us return home. After that, we will fortify and defend ourselves. We can hold back the Dead if we are given time to prepare." Sabriel had to respect the old woman's certainty. She had no doubt that this woman, given a chance, would organize a defense that would allow her people to hold High Rock.
But Sabriel had other plans. "I will," she said, "I will rid High Rock of Dead, and I'll do you one better. I will repair your Charter Stone."
She left the people on the bridge and made her way east, toward the abandoned town. As she got close enough to feel the corruption of the broken stone, movement against her shoulder blades and the pressure of two paws on her shoulder let her know that Mogget had popped his head out of the pack.
"Hungry?" she guessed.
Mogget sniffed, and Sabriel thought it sounded haughty until she realized that he was smelling the air. "Don't you smell that?" he said, "Even a human should be able to smell that. Watch yourself."
As the tops of humble roofs became visible in the distance, Sabriel realized what Mogget meant. The stench of rotting flesh wafted from the town, faintly at first, and then overpoweringly. High Rock was swarming with Dead.
"Stay in the pack," she said to Mogget as she drew Saraneth. She had never faced this many Dead at once before, but there was no hesitation in her step. She swelled with confidence. After surviving the final battle with Kerrigor, there was nothing in this town that she feared.
The sounds of shuffling feet, creaking bones, and guttural voices were all silenced upon the first peal of Sabriel's bell. She walked into the town, between the buildings, toward the town square with Saraneth's song as her companion the entire way. As she walked, she passed the still forms of revenants she had bound. Their eyes followed her with intense hatred, but their bodies were no longer their own. Sabriel could feel each soul as it fell under her power, and the effort of keeping them all in check made sweat break out on her face. They pushed against the binding, fighting to free themselves, but her will was stronger.
Most heartening of all was the sight that greeted her in the town square. The last of the Dead were scrambling frantically to get away from the deadly sound of the bell, and at the sight of Sabriel a great, terrified howling began. The Dead trampled each other in their haste to flee from the Abhorsen. In their wake they left the broken bodies of their fellows who were not strong enough to keep up with the panicked mob.
Once Sabriel had run from the Dead, but now they ran from her. It was a giddy feeling, most of all because she knew that if the Dead had all turned and faced her, she would have been powerless against their numbers. Her reputation had done the work for her this time. It was good to be reminded that, even though Touchstone and those stuffy ambassadors wouldn't give her her due, the Dead knew who she was and they feared her.
A few more minutes and the small army of Dead had disappeared into the woods, their screams fading and leaving Sabriel standing in silence. It didn't take her long to weave her way back through town, finding all the revenants who had been unfortunate enough to be bound and sending them to their final rest.
When only one revenant was left in town, the sun was just beginning to set. Sabriel, feeling the strain of her efforts now, held it in place while she drew the marks over its body. But she stammered, and the marks failed. She swiped her hand across her forehead, taking a deep breath. The combination of the work she had done and the proximity of the ruined stone was taking its toll, but she was more than equal to the challenge. She forced her hands to be still and her voice to be strong, and the marks came through clearly. The last Dead in High Rock was sent screaming into Death while its stolen body burned.
"The others will be back," said the familiar sardonic voice from Sabriel's pack, "And you've overdone it. You don't even have the energy left to cast a Diamond of Protection."
Sabriel returned to the town square and proved Mogget wrong, casting a huge Diamond with the stone just inside the northern point. Midway through the casting, she almost thought that Mogget would be proven right. The weight of the corruption surrounding the stone was crushing. But this was not the first time Sabriel had felt this discomfort. She calmed her mind, repressed her nausea, and reached deep into the Charter for the marks she needed. When she was finished her Diamond was bright and strong.
She made camp by dropping her pack on the ground and kicking her bedroll open. The nights were mild at this time of year, and she didn't bother with a fire. With a hard day behind them and the sun setting, Mogget curled up at the foot of Sabriel's bedroll and prepared to do even more hard napping. But Sabriel showed no signs of sleepiness as she approached the broken Charter Stone with a contemplative look on her face.
Mogget flicked a single eye open. "Aren't you coming to bed?" he asked, "You're not going to fix that thing in one night."
"I know," said Sabriel, "I'm just looking." With careful concentration, she was able to control the effects of being near the stone and focus on what needed to be done. The stone had once been tall, like a rough obelisk, but was now split down the middle. The two halves sat slightly apart, leaving a gap that was a hand's-width wide at the top and that narrowed as it went down. At the base of the stone, where it was stained with old, rust-colored blood, it was still in one piece. Sabriel could see the Charter marks on the stone, still and lifeless, but in them she could read hope. The Charter that had once flowed through this place was not dead, but merely damaged. In the remnants of the stone, Sabriel could see the places where the order had been disrupted, and she could see what she had to do to realign it.
Heedless of her fatigue, she placed her hands on the stone and began chanting Charter marks. She didn't know exactly what she was doing, but she thought she could feel a sense of rightness, of communion with the Charter. It didn't matter that she didn't know the exact marks; the Charter wanted to be put right, and it would guide her tongue and her hand. She even thought she could feel the stone respond to her efforts, becoming warm under her touch and glowing faintly.
Mogget was right: it would be a long, hard task. But Sabriel knew that she would succeed.
Touchstone wouldn't let her help him, and she couldn't repair what had been broken between them. But as she had looked over the bridge at the sparks of hope her presence had ignited in so many eyes, she had known that here were people she could help. Here was something broken that she could repair.
Warning: PG-13 violence
Part 2
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"Who are these ones again?" Touchstone asked distractedly as Sabriel straightened his waistcoat.
"The ambassadors from Navis," Sabriel reminded him, "And they'll be here in less than five minutes, so you'd better look presentable by then." Everything was ready for the meeting. Plans and schedules were drawn up and sat waiting on the table. Sabriel and Touchstone had situated themselves in one of the smaller meeting rooms of the palace in Belisaere; it was imposing with its stone walls and pillars, but not quite so forbidding as the Great Hall. Not that they could have used the Great Hall anyway, since it was in the part of the castle that hadn't been repaired, and was still a mess of fallen stone and blackened timber.
In the months since Kerrigor's defeat, the Kingdom had seen some real improvements. The Dead were still strong, but for the first time in generations their numbers were shrinking instead of growing. Everyone felt the fire of hope being slowly rekindled, especially in Belisaere. Under Sabriel's supervision, the Dead had been driven back, the aqueducts expanded, and Castle Hill reclaimed. The capitol was nowhere near its former glory, but it was a start.
Now that they had a base of operations, Touchstone needed to begin the long and arduous process of gaining recognition as King. He held the title by birthright, of course, but that meant nothing if the people refused his rule. Even in Belisaere there were plenty of people - thieves, slavers, extortionists - who had found a niche for themselves in the absence of the Royals and the Regents. Many would be glad to see Touchstone fail. Many more would be glad to see him dead.
That was why they were entertaining representatives from the larger cities all over the Kingdom. Since the fall of the Regency, cities like Navis, Orchyre, and Sindle had become like tiny Kingdoms to themselves, while small towns struggled just to stay alive. If Touchstone could gain the allegiance of the rulers of all the major cities, he could unite the Kingdom once more. Unfortunately, that was easier said than done.
Sabriel tucked Touchstone's hair neatly under the plain circlet he was wearing. His clothes, most of which had been found in the undamaged portions of the castle, were stately, yet modest. "We have flashier clothes, you know," she said, "We even found a proper crown. Don't you think that would make a better impression?" Sabriel felt lucky that she didn't have to worry about her wardrobe and what impression it would give. No one expected the Abhorsen to wear anything but her surcoat and weapons.
An answer came in the form of a gravelly voice over by the door. "No," said Karstel, "Don't assume anything. You don't buy a horse with a debt you haven't collected yet."
Karstel had been a lucky find. She came from a family of Charter Bloodline loyalists, and her devotion to the Royals and the Abhorsen was unshakeable. After she had proved herself time and time again in the early months, when attacks by Dead and humans alike were frequent, Touchstone had made her the Captain of the Guard. Of course, the guard she commanded was nothing but a couple dozen of her friends and a handful of mercenaries, but everyone hoped that once the people began to recognize Touchstone as King, more help would be forthcoming. In the meantime, Karstel was a permanent fixture by Touchstone's side, a mountain of a woman clad in leather armor.
Touchstone nodded to Karstel. "She's right," he said, "We can't appear presumptuous. Until we get these treaties signed, I'm no King. I'm just a kid playing dress-up."
Sabriel took his face between her hands. Every day they spent in Belisaere, he had seemed to become more regal until he was every inch a King straight out of the stories. "You're more than that," she assured him, trying to make him see what she saw in him, "You're the King by blood and by right. The Abhorsen and the Clayr recognize you and stand beside you. Show them that you belong here. Show them who you are."
"And who am I?" Touchstone said, smiling and running his fingers through Sabriel's hair.
Sabriel said as she leaned in to kiss him, "You are the ruler of the Old Kingdom, and of my heart." Then their lips met, and she lost herself in him for a moment.
She barely heard Karstel mutter, "Charter help me, you two are going to make me throw up."
Then the door creaked abruptly open, and all three of them snapped to attention. There in the doorway stood the party from Navis. The two ambassadors were a complementary set: one fat and one thin, both in silks far finer than what Touchstone was wearing. Two porters followed them.
By the time the door had swung completely open, Sabriel, Touchstone, and Karstel were standing in the proper arrangement with proper dignity. The Abhorsen, the King, and his bodyguard. But by the looks on the ambassadors' faces, they hadn't missed the more relaxed and intimate scene that had just been interrupted. Sabriel's heart dropped, and she could see the same chagrin on Touchstone's face. So much for first impressions.
"I hope we aren't intruding," said the thin man with a sneer.
"Not at all," said Touchstone, keeping his composure admirably, "Sit down, please. We have much to discuss."
The pair slid into the room and took their seats. Their porters stood ready at their backs, eyeing Karstel warily. She was a good head taller than either of them. The tiniest twitch of her lip warned them not to stare.
"Ambassador Gromba," the fat man introduced himself.
"Ambassador Sastek," said the thin man, nodding to Touchstone, "And I presume you are our host: Torrigan, allegedly of the ancient royal line?" Sabriel didn't like the sound of that. Their cooperation might have to be harder-earned than she had thought.
Gromba looked Sabriel up and down, but addressed Touchstone. "And this is your…?" His tone filled in the blank for him. Lover? Concubine? Whore?
Sabriel could see Touchstone's hackles rising, but she kept her voice calm and professional. "I'm no possession," she said, "I am Sabriel, the Abhorsen." Of course he knew who she was; he couldn't have missed her bells and coat. He was just trying to throw them off-balance. Sabriel shot Touchstone a glance, willing him to keep his head.
Sitting herself down across from the ambassadors, Sabriel tried to get things back on track. "You know our position, gentlemen," she said, "By the ancient treaties, Navis is bound to accept the rule of Belisaere as long as a royal holds the crown."
Touchstone took his cue to sit beside her and continue, "We understand that this is highly unusual, given my long absence. Much has changed since my mother's time. But I am ready and willing to accept the responsibility of my station. You can plainly see the strides we've taken toward reclaiming Belisaere. And we are not asking for much: some of your militia to help defend the castle, and your province's official recognition of my rule."
The ambassadors listened politely, but Sabriel could see herself and Touchstone reflected in their eyes: young, lustful, untried. Children. This would not end well, but they had to try.
"We have other things to discuss before you begin demanding the use of our troops," said Sastek coldly, "As far as I can see it, you have no real proof as to your heritage. In fact, this story about the young lady finding you in Holehallow sounds more like a fairy tale than reality. Tell us, what makes your claim to the throne any more valid than those of the other impostors who have sprung up over the years?"
"The Clayr have Seen that what I say is true," said Touchstone, "And the Abhorsen can vouch for everything that happened after Holehallow."
Gromba wagged a finger infuriatingly as he said, "The Clayr's words hold little weight with us. They have spent too long removed from the world, up in their glacier. They do not know what we have suffered in the centuries since the Royals fell, and especially in the decades since the Regency ended. Why should we trust them now?"
"As for the Abhorsen…" Sastek gestured toward Sabriel with an incredulous expression, as if that were explanation enough.
"He is the rightful King," Sabriel insisted, "You have my word."
"Yes," Sastek said, his eyes betraying exactly how little he valued Sabriel's word, "And perhaps if it were Abhorsen saying that, and not his daughter…"
Sabriel had to work to keep the fire out of her voice when she reminded him, "I am Abhorsen."
"I've rallied Belisaere," said Touchstone, trying to steer the conversation back to safer ground, "Things are better here than they've been in the last fifty years. I can do the same for the rest of the Kingdom."
"That's evidence of competence," Gromba conceded, "And luck. But it doesn't prove your blood."
"I remember things from two hundred years ago," Touchstone said, but he was just grasping at straws now, "Things no one else could know."
"And since no one else knows them," said Sastek, "They cannot be verified."
Standing abruptly, Sabriel gave it one last-ditch effort. "I understand that Navis has been on its own for a long time. It's admirable how your people have thrived in these difficult times. But others have not been so lucky. The Kingdom is still in turmoil. We need a King to unite us! And whether or not you believe Touch… Torrigan to be King by blood, he has more than proved that he is equal to the task. Perhaps the salvation of the Old Kingdom will come down not to blood, but to choice. Your choice. Choose now to recognize Torrigan as King, and we will restore the Kingdom to its former glory. Let this chance slip by and there may not be another."
But she could see that the ambassadors were unmoved. "We are sorry," said Gromba, getting to his feet, "But without proof of your birthright, we have no obligation to you."
"We wish you well," said Sastek as he joined his compatriot. There was nothing any of them could do as both ambassadors left the room. After the boom of the closing door, they were left in stunned silence.
"I think they knew what they were going to say before they even walked in the door," said Sabriel bitterly.
"It would have been nice if they had tried to hide it." Touchstone's voice was deceptively quiet, but his disappointment showed a moment later when he swept his hand over the table angrily, sending a goblet flying across the room and a storm of papers into the air. All their careful plans fluttered to the ground like snow.
Karstel tried to reassure them, "Navis is nothing. A bunch of frostbitten cowards. There are other envoys to meet with, other cities we can convince."
Sabriel leaned over and placed her palms on the now-empty table. "But how can we convince them?" she sighed, "Those two windbags may have put it as coarsely as possible, but they made some good points. We have no proof and no leverage."
Touchstone rested his head against his fist, still looking sour. "And it doesn't help that the one ally people might have taken seriously is apparently cast into doubt by virtue of being my lover." Sabriel winced. There was no doubt that the kiss the ambassadors witnessed had made her seem biased.
"So we need to show them what we can do," said Karstel, leaning against a pillar and picking her nails with a knife, "We'll keep cleaning up the city. My guards have rounded up five more slavers just this last week."
"No," said Sabriel, "We've already done so much, and it didn't change their minds. It's a start, but we need something bigger."
Touchstone suddenly looked pensive as he muttered, "Yes. Something they can't ignore." He stood with a sigh. "There's nothing more we can do today. I'll be in my study. Karstel, bring me reports from your guards on the towers. I want visual confirmation that our wards are holding the Dead back."
"Yes, sire," said Karstel, saluting as she left.
Sabriel followed Touchstone out, matching his pace as he went through the hallways toward his rooms.
"When did you start going by Torrigan?" she asked, trying not to sound confrontational. It was what the ambassadors had called him, which meant it was what he had put on his official documents.
He shrugged. "It's my name," he said simply.
"I know that," Sabriel sighed, "But I've always called you Touchstone. It's just strange to hear."
Touchstone kept his eyes pointed straight ahead. "You should probably call me Torrigan now too," he suggested, "Touchstone was fine before, but it's not exactly a dignified name for a King."
"Torrigan," Sabriel rolled the name over in her mouth. He had asked to her call him Touchstone when they had first met, and it was his right to ask her to call him something different. Still Sabriel couldn't help but feel a little insecure. What else would change now that he was a King?
"You look unhappy," Touchstone observed.
Sabriel shook her head and forced herself to smile. "No, you're right. You should be called by your real name," she said, "Actually, I was thinking about something similar. I want to be called Abhorsen from now on."
Touchstone looked a bit taken aback, but he kept his composure. "But…" he said, "That's your title, not your name. Don't you think it's a little, er, impersonal?"
Sabriel was quick to explain herself. "From what Mogget has told me, lots of Abhorsens have taken the title as their name," she said, "That's what my father did. I never even knew his real name until I looked it up in the records at the House. And the name means something. No one knows who Sabriel is, but all our allies and our enemies know Abhorsen."
"All right," said Touchstone, though his smile wasn't entirely happy, "Abhorsen."
As Sabriel met his eyes, she wondered if they had made the right choice. A name could be a powerful thing, and already Touchstone - no, Torrigan - seemed one step farther away from her.
----------
Laughter and the clinking of goblets rang out through the dining hall. Sabriel was taking supper with Karstel and her guards. It might have seemed strange to an outsider that the Abhorsen would associate so closely with these rough soldiers, but to Sabriel nothing else would have made sense. These were her friends and closest allies. And though the food wasn't as fancy as what she could get at Abhorsen's House, the company was infinitely better.
"To the Abhorsen!" called out one soldier, holding up his glass, "For a brilliant rescue today."
There was a chorus of cheering and congratulations. When it died down, a young man in ill-fitting armor bounced a chunk of bread playfully off the helmet of the man who had started the toast. "I wouldn't have needed rescuing if you all had covered me the way you were supposed to," he insisted.
The boy's neighbor at the table grabbed him in a headlock. "No one told you to run off on your own, you little idiot. You were just lucky Abhorsen was there to save you," she said.
Sabriel held up her hand modestly. "We've almost finished clearing the Dead out of the city," she reminded them, "You all know how far we've come, and how many lives we've lost. I'll always do my best, just as I expect of you. But now is not the time to take risks." She gave the young man a pointed glance. "If we play this safe and smart, I think we have a chance of retaking the rest of the city without a single casualty."
A second, louder cheer rang out, and the meal resumed with renewed vigor. Insults and food were thrown back and forth freely.
"Alone? Is that what he's been telling you? He had the whole squad right there backing him up…"
"That's why you only ever get guard duty. Captain doesn't trust you with the real work."
"So she's got this club in one hand, see, and her own broken sword in the other, and she…"
"…you liar, you ain't never seen a Mordicant…"
"Hey, Abhorsen! Where's your sweetheart? I didn't see him out on patrol today."
Everything up until then had been said in good humor, but Sabriel's frosty gaze told the last man who had spoken that she wasn't in a joking mood. "You mean the King?" she said pointedly.
The man dipped his head, red-faced. "Of course, milady," he stammered, "Forgive me. I didn't mean anything by it." The collective shouted conversation went on.
Karstel leaned over to growl into Sabriel's ear, "Insubordinate little hooligan. I'll put him on midnight watch for a week."
"Thank you, Karstel," said Sabriel, sipping her water, "Although he's right. I haven't seen Tou-Torrigan all day. Do you know where he's been?"
Karstel shrugged. "Search me," she sighed, "I turned the castle upside down this afternoon and not a sign of him. Do you suppose we ought to start worrying?"
"Not yet," said Sabriel, though she was chewing her lip pensively, "He's no fool. He wouldn't put himself in danger at a time like this."
"If you'll forgive my saying so, milady," said Karstel, "He was foolish enough to go off on his own all day without telling either of us."
Karstel's words worked their way into Sabriel's mind, and by the time dinner was over she was beginning to get nervous. She went back to her rooms in a fog of apprehension.
Safe in her chambers was the only place she dared to take off her armor nowadays, and even then she always kept her bells and sword close at hand. As she stripped off her mail and replaced it with linen nightclothes, she kicked the small wicker basket at the foot of her bed lightly. "Mogget," she said, "Have you seen Touchstone today?"
Mogget stirred from the depths of the basket with a sleepy sigh. "I haven't even been awake today. Thanks so much for rectifying that," he said, his voice sharp with sarcasm. His eyes lit on Sabriel's desk, where envelopes were stacked high and spilling onto the floor. "You're a popular one, aren't you?" he added.
"Yes," Sabriel sighed, "One of the benefits of Abhorsen's House is that no one in their right mind would try to deliver mail there. Now that everyone knows I'm in Belisaere, they keep sending me requests." She sat down and opened one. It was from Qyrre, where they were being terrorized by a margrue. Another: there had been a plague in Ganel, and now all its victims were rising to attack the living. Another: in Callibe, people were being found flayed and drained of blood. All of them requested that Sabriel come solve their problems.
Sabriel pushed the letters aside with a heavy heart. Watching her, Mogget said, "Not what you were hoping for?"
"I don't know what I'm hoping for," Sabriel admitted, "But I know that I'm needed more here than anywhere else."
Mogget settled back into his basket with a yawn. "I'm sure you know best, Abhorsen," he said, and Sabriel couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not.
Just then, there was a knock at the door. Sabriel shut her desk, hiding the letters for now, and opened the door to find Touchstone standing there sheepishly. Her relief at seeing him lasted only until she noticed how slumped and pale he appeared. Still, he gave her a weak smile and a kiss as he let himself in.
"By the Nine!" she said, "What happened to you? Where have you been?"
"Sorry," he said, heading straight for the bed and flopping into it without even getting undressed, "I didn't think I would be gone so long. Karstel already gave me an earful for making you worry, so could we skip the lecture?"
"I'm not going to lecture you," said Sabriel, sitting on the bed next to him, "I just want to know what you've been up to." Her brow furrowed as she stroked his face lightly. He looked so tired.
Though he had looked like he was almost asleep, Touchstone's eyes fluttered open and his hand caught Sabriel's. "I'll tell you as soon as there's something to tell," he said earnestly but cryptically, "There's something I need to do, but I'm playing it close to the chest until I know more. All right?"
"Since when do you keep secrets from me?" Sabriel complained, but Touchstone had closed his eyes again and was asleep in an instant.
Without the heart to wake him, Sabriel waved her hand to dim the Charter mark that lit the room from the ceiling. The sudden darkness made her yawn, and in a moment her hard day of fighting caught up with her. She laid her head on his shoulder, his arm wrapped itself around her waist, and they were both deeply asleep in minutes.
Neither of them heard Mogget mutter from his basket, "Humans. Useless."
The next morning, Sabriel awoke to find Touchstone already upright and changed into clean clothes. He was standing by Sabriel's desk, holding one of the letters that had fallen on the floor. The bulk of them remained hidden under the closed desktop, but Touchstone was reading this one with a dark expression on his face.
"What's this?" he asked when he saw that Sabriel was awake.
Sabriel hopped out of bed and snatched the letter away from him. "Private," she said curtly, "If you're allowed to have your secrets, then I'll at least expect you not to go through my things while I'm asleep."
"They want you to go to Ganel," he observed, ignoring her complaints, "Ganel is far away."
The expression on his face was enough to make Sabriel hurry to say, "I'm not going. They can take care of themselves, and there's still so much to do here…" A smile immediately returned to Touchstone's face, and it was almost enough to make Sabriel forget her guilt.
"That's right," he said, "We have to focus on protecting Belisaere before we worry about everywhere else." He threw on a coat and moved toward the door.
"Are you going to disappear all day again?" Sabriel demanded, her hands on her hips and her tone only half-joking.
Touchstone backtracked to tip her chin up for a kiss. "I won't be as long today as last time," he said, "I promise."
"And how long will it be until you can let me in on this little project?" Sabriel asked, but Touchstone was already out the door.
"Be safe, Sabriel!" he called over his shoulder.
Sabriel stuck her head out the door and shouted down the hallway after him, "It's Abhorsen!"
Once again, Touchstone only returned late at night and went straight to sleep without answering any of Sabriel's questions.
It became a pattern over the next few weeks. On some days things would be as they were, with Touchstone planning and helping as always. The Dead continued to retreat, repairs on the castle progressed slowly but surely, and envoys from cities all over the Kingdom arrived to refuse their cooperation with varying degrees of rudeness. But more and more, Touchstone would be absent for days at a time, returning in a worse state after each outing. It was driving Karstel, who considered herself responsible for her liege's safety, to distraction.
"We should follow him one of these days," she confided in Sabriel, "I'd feel better if I just knew where he was going."
Though she inwardly agreed, Sabriel forced herself to say, "No. He deserves not to be treated like a child, even if he's acting like one. Let him play his games."
The next layer of frustration began a week later, when Sabriel was wandering down a hallway that she thought was deserted. Suddenly, she heard voices behind a closed door. Her first thought was that bandits had somehow sneaked into the building, and her hand went to her sword hilt. Then she recognized Touchstone's voice.
For a moment she wondered if she shouldn't intrude on whatever was going on behind the door. But then she screwed up her resolve and reminded herself that this was just as much her home as Touchstone's. There was no room where she was not allowed. Without so much as knocking, she swung the door open and stepped inside.
"… should arrive within the week. We should be able to increase your forces by half. If you've done this much with this ragtag lot, we'll just see what you can do with real trained soldiers." The speaker was a tall, bearded man in red silk. He was shaking hands with Touchstone while Karstel stood in the back of the room like a statue. On a wooden table there stood two goblets and stacks of paper that Sabriel recognized as the plans she had drawn up with Touchstone. Karstel noticed her first, and gave a tiny, apprehensive grimace.
Touchstone was about to reply when Sabriel's entrance distracted him. "Sabriel!" he said guiltily. But he hid his surprise well. He gestured to the man in red, saying, "This is the ambassador from Orchyre. He's just promised us a squadron to add to our guard."
"A pleasure, sir," said Sabriel, nodding to the ambassador but keeping her eyes on Touchstone, "I am Abhorsen."
"Of course you are," said the ambassador as he bowed from the waist, "Your work over the last months has been astounding. Word has reached us in Orchyre. I only hope we can help."
"You already have helped," said Sabriel with real gratitude. After a few more words were exchanged, the ambassador left the room, and there was silence.
Touchstone was the first to speak. "Sabriel, don't take this the wrong way."
He fell silent under Sabriel's glare. "It's Abhorsen," she reminded him with as much patience as she could muster, "Karstel, give us a moment please." Karstel didn't need to be told twice. With a speed that was impressive for her large frame, she slipped past the pair and out the door, leaving Sabriel and Touchstone alone. Only then did Sabriel speak again, "What is this?"
Touchstone had gotten over the initial shock of getting caught, and now he was ready to defend himself. "You were busy," he said, "So I took this meeting on my own. It was at the spur of the moment, otherwise I would have…"
Sabriel shook her head. "Try again," she said, "You knew I wasn't doing anything important today. You didn't even try to include me. In fact, I talked to Karstel not an hour ago, so you must have ordered her not to tell me about this meeting. Are you keeping everything a secret from me now?"
"Don't get carried away," said Touchstone, "It was one meeting, and it went well for a change! We should be celebrating!"
Sabriel wanted to be happy at their change of fortune, but she couldn't let this go. Not yet. "I've been a part of every meeting since the beginning…" she protested.
"Yes, and look how that's gone so far," Touchstone muttered.
There was a pause as Touchstone realized exactly what he had said, and Sabriel felt her lips press so hard together that they disappeared. "Are you saying it's my fault that we haven't gotten the support we hoped for?" she said, her voice rising.
"Of course not," said Touchstone, trying to backpedal, "I just think it's a better move for me to handle these negotiations alone. It makes me seem less reliant on you."
"Maybe you're right. And maybe that's something you should have discussed with me." Sabriel was on the verge of shouting now, even though she knew that wouldn't do either of them any good.
Touchstone didn't give an inch. "I don't need your permission for everything I do," he said, "I made a decision."
"You made a decision to shut me out, just like you've been doing for the last month!" said Sabriel, and shouting now, "I'm sick of it!"
She stormed out, but that night Touchstone came to her full of apologies, and she had to forgive him. They celebrated their small victory that day with a bottle of wine, and fell asleep wrapped around each other. Sabriel wondered if that would be the end of their troubles, but the next day Touchstone was back to sneaking off and dodging her questions. Orchyre came through with their promised soldiers, but the ambassadors from Sindle visited only to dismiss Touchstone out of hand. Even though they were still making progress, the air was tenser than ever in the castle.
More arguments and shouting matches flared up between Sabriel and Touchstone, and though they always forgave each other, Sabriel could feel her resolve weakening with each new slight. "I love him," she sighed to Karstel one day on patrol, as they cleared the last of the Dead out of the city, "But I can't live like this."
Karstel hid her worry badly as she tried to reassure Sabriel. "Everyone goes through good and bad times. We're all just under a lot of stress right now. Stick it out. Things will get better."
Sabriel was prepared to take her friend's advice, but then everything came to a head the next day when Touchstone was about to meet with another envoy. "I wish I could be there," said Sabriel as she saw him off. They had long since decided, rationally and mutually this time, that Touchstone would conduct these meetings alone. To Sabriel's annoyance, the word of the Abhorsen seemed to carry more weight when it wasn't coming straight out of the mouth of a young girl. But she was resigned to it, and she was willing to swallow her pride if it would help their cause.
"It's only temporary," said Touchstone, "They only object to us because it seems improper. Once we're married, it won't matter as much anymore."
Sabriel's smile froze on her face and changed to consternation in a split second. "Wait," she interrupted, "Married? Did I miss something?"
He looked at her, genuinely confused. "Well, of course we're getting married, right?" he laughed nervously, "You love me, I love you; it makes sense."
Sabriel was too flabbergasted to be angry. "Did it ever occur to you that I might want a say in this?" she demanded.
"I didn't think you'd be so opposed to the idea of marrying me," he said, crossing his arms defensively, "I didn't realize it was such an unattractive prospect."
"That's not the point!" Sabriel said, unable to keep the displeasure out of her voice. She tried to control her temper. At this rate, this discussion would soon become a shouting match.
"No," said Touchstone, his voice rising to meet hers, "The point is that I'm trying to get these people - people whose great-grandparents couldn't even remember the last time there was a Royal in Belisaere - to take me seriously as their King. All our plans rest on that, and I'm already at a disadvantage being young, illegitimate, and about two hundred years late. I can't afford to seem like some foolish, love-struck teenager. I need a wife, not a girlfriend."
"Keep this up and you'll have neither!" Sabriel snapped. So much for keeping her temper. "I'm not a piece you can move around the chessboard. I'm the Abhorsen! And in case you had forgotten, I'm trying to get people to take me seriously too. I'm nineteen and raised in Ancelstierre; do you think this is easy for me? That everywhere I go people don't wish I were my father? I need to prove myself! I can't afford to be seen as the King's trophy!" Her blood boiled a little hotter with each word until she had backed Touchstone against a wall and was prodding his chest with her finger. She knew she had to deescalate this fight before it got out of hand, but she just couldn't see straight to do it.
"That's not what I want!" Touchstone protested, looking every bit as enraged as Sabriel felt, "I just want you to keep your promise to me. You said you'd help me reclaim the Kingdom…"
Sabriel interrupted, "And what is it you think I've been doing? I've been here, Torrigan, every day. You saw that letter from Ganel, right? I have a mountain of letters like that! People are begging the Abhorsen to come help them, and I've stayed here with you because you said you needed me. And what have I gotten for it? I'm supposed to be the one you trust, but you just keep getting more distant. I never know what you're up to anymore, or if you even care about me."
"Of course I care about you," said Touchstone through gritted teeth. He sounded like he was trying to convince himself of the fact too. "I love you, Sabriel."
"Abhorsen!" Sabriel shouted, "It's Abhorsen! That's who I am now! It's who I have to learn to be! And instead of doing my job, I'm here taking care of you while you take me for granted. And now you want me to sign up to do this forever? To stay here supporting you while my own duties lie forgotten?"
"Of course not!" said Touchstone, "Stop twisting my words! You can still be Abhorsen after we're married."
"Oh, thanks so much for giving me your permission!" Sabriel spat.
Touchstone slapped a hand to his forehead in exasperation. "You know that's not how I meant it," he said, "Look, if you think you should be out there fighting Dead, then you should go!"
The words hung between them like lead weights for a moment. Then Sabriel said, more quietly this time, "Are you asking me to leave?"
The gravity of the situation had shocked Touchstone out of his rage too. But they had come this far, and neither knew quite how to turn back. "I'd rather you stay," he said weakly.
"But only if I marry you," Sabriel guessed bitterly.
Touchstone grimaced. They both knew his answer, and they both knew what the outcome would be. "Yes," he said, his voice full of regret.
There was nothing left to say. Sabriel turned on her heel and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
----------
Sabriel locked her door that night. If Touchstone wanted to apologize, then he could just squirm until morning. But the knock she was expecting never came. When she woke up and he still wasn't there, she knew that they had finally managed to screw things up for real.
She lay in bed. Her body couldn't sleep anymore, but her soul was too exhausted to let her rise. She only managed to get herself upright when Karstel banged on her door, yelling, "Breakfast, milady!" Something must have shown on Sabriel's face, because as soon as she opened the door Karstel's eyebrows twitched up and she said, "Is something wrong?"
Sabriel forced a smile. "No," she said, "I just overslept. Have you seen King Torrigan?"
Karstel wasn't convinced, but she answered the question, "Missing in action, as usual. Don't worry; he always turns up."
Sabriel nodded grimly and joined the soldiers for breakfast. She walked through the rest of the day in a fog. When she returned to her room that night, she was surprised to see Mogget stretched out on her bed, looking lazy but awake. He looked at her with half-lidded eyes and said knowingly, "Trouble in paradise?"
Sabriel swept him off her sheets and back into his basket. "What do you know about it?" she muttered.
Mogget fell into the basket with a hiss, but he quickly righted himself and continued. "That fat woman in the armor came by looking for you. Something about the boy. Is he going by Torrigan again?"
"Yes," Sabriel snapped, "You'd know that much if you were awake even half the time." She hated his superior tone and the way he refused to use anyone's name when he could replace it with an insult. It wasn't as if he didn't know what Karstel was called; his memory was perfect going back centuries.
Mogget shook his head. "Touchstone suited him better," he said, "He's still just a fool. Anyway, he's eating supper in the Great Hall as of ten minutes ago, if you want to go talk to him. And that's the last time I'll be acting as your message-taking service if you can't at least be civil." With that, he sank into the basket and out of sight.
Sabriel moved to the door. It would have been childish to avoid Touchstone. But then she hesitated, and looked back at her desk. With sudden conviction, she grabbed an envelope at random out of the pile and opened it as she walked.
By the time she reached the Great Hall, she had read the letter inside and was holding it loosely in her hand. Touchstone sat at the table alone, staring into his plate and looking like he was about to nod off. Sabriel felt a familiar welling up of affection and protectiveness, but she reminded herself of what she had to do. She entered the room and, clearing her throat, sat at the opposite end of the table from Touchstone.
Touchstone's head snapped up as if he were awakening from a deep reverie. A grateful smile lit his face as he greeted her, "Sabriel!" She didn't bother to correct him, but poured herself a glass of wine in silence.
Neither knew where their relationship stood at the moment, and the awkwardness was overwhelming. The silence persisted as Sabriel sipped her wine, breaking only when she said, her face like a stone, "There's a broken Charter Stone near High Bridge. Dead are gathering there. The people want me to help defend the city."
Touchstone's face was also unreadable. "How long will you be gone?" he asked.
"I don't know," said Sabriel.
There was another long, uncomfortable pause before Touchstone asked, "Are you coming back at all?" Sabriel thought she saw a flicker of desperation beneath his businesslike façade, but she couldn't be sure.
"I don't know," she repeated. It was strange to hear her voice sound so calm when her heart was twisting in her chest.
They ate the rest of their meal in silence, and the next morning Sabriel packed her things and left Belisaere without a word to anyone.
It was disorienting to be back on the road after months in the relative comfort of the ruins of the castle. Belisaere had almost started to feel like home. Traveling only reminded her of that terrible time just after her father had sent her the bells, when she was always on the run and haunted at every turn. But at least then she had had Mogget, and later Touchstone. Now she was alone, the sound of her footsteps her only companion, the way she had been during her mad dash from Cloven Crest to Abhorsen's House. Just the thought of that terrible night made her throat feel like it was closing up.
She wiped the beginnings of tears out of her eyes impatiently. Things were different now. She was no longer a girl barely out of school; she was Abhorsen. She feared nothing on these roads. The weight of her bells on her chest, the sway of her sword at her hip, and the buzz of the Charter all around her were all reassuring.
Still, she was lonely.
Suddenly, a sensation of movement at her back made her think someone had grabbed her from behind. In a flash, she wriggled free of her pack and turned to face her assailant. The road behind her was empty, but as her pack hit the dust there came a loud, indignant yowl. Sabriel, her sword half-drawn, watched as a pink nose poked itself out of the top of her pack. The nose was followed shortly by a ruffled-looking white cat.
"That was certainly uncalled-for," said Mogget.
Sabriel took a few minutes to get over her shock before saying, "What do you think you're doing in my pack?"
"Well," said Mogget, settling back inside the bag and kneading Sabriel's spare clothes, "You're the last Abhorsen, and you haven't found yourself a successor yet. I couldn't very well let you run off and get killed."
Sabriel swung the pack back up and kept walking. She said over her shoulder, "I'm not going to get killed. It's one simple job."
"They usually start out simple," said Mogget, his voice getting quieter as he drifted back off to sleep, "This way, if things get out of hand, you'll have me to save your skin. Just slip my collar off… Actually, you could do that now. Then you could rebind me with Saraneth and I wouldn't be so damned sleepy all the time."
Sabriel snorted in derision. "If I never have to take that collar off again, I'll die happy," she said, but Mogget was already asleep. Despite her annoyance at the intrusion, she had to admit that she felt better with a companion. Even if that companion was only waiting for her to make a mistake so he could kill her horribly.
The journey was long, but surprisingly pleasant. The mild autumn weather was much more comfortable than the snow Sabriel had had to contend with the last time she traveled by foot. Even more calming was the knowledge that there was no Kerrigor waiting to spring his next trap, no Mordicant on her heels. Her Death-sense had been honed over the months, so she had ample warning before the appearance of each of the few revenants that she met along the road. They were weak and desperate, and she dispatched them all easily.
When she had first taken up her father's mantle, she had been a scared little girl doing her best in an impossible situation. Shortly after Kerrigor's defeat, she had somehow become something like Touchstone's lackey, helping the soldiers clean up the city while he abandoned her for his own secret projects. Now, walking the land and facing all comers with her bells and sword in hand, she finally began to feel like a true Abhorsen.
Mogget rarely stirred, except to demand some food every now and then. By the time Sabriel reached High Bridge, she had almost forgotten that he was riding in her pack.
High Bridge was so named for the massive, arcing bridge that spanned the Upper Ratterlin. It was as wide as a house, with three separate levels. When the river was at its lowest, all three levels were exposed. During the heaviest of floods - the kind that could only be caused by the Clayr - the water would lap the feet of a person standing at the highest point. That way, no matter the state of the river, the bridge could always be a refuge from the Dead.
And so it had become. The town of High Bridge had once been situated just east of the bridge itself, centered on a Charter Stone. But since the stone had been broken, and the Dead had begun terrorizing the people, everyone had taken advantage of the safest place available to them. Countless people were crammed onto all three levels of the bridge, packed so tight that there was barely room to move. There were the healthy and strong alongside the sick and injured, alongside scattered livestock, alongside the elderly, alongside families with small children. In some parts of the bridge, the crowding was so thick that everyone was standing; there was no space to sit.
As she approached the bridge, taking in the sight, Sabriel was struck by how quiet it was. Some moaning from the hospital area, here and there a child crying, a rare conversation conducted in low whispers - compared to the massive congregation of people before her, the lack of noise was downright unnerving. These were people who had lived so long clinging to the tail end of hope that they had almost lost their grip entirely. They had nothing left to say to each other; they just sat and waited for a miracle.
"Abhorsen!" said a voice, and Sabriel looked to her right to see an elderly woman in a green robe approaching her. By the way people respectfully shifted in their already-tight quarters to make way for her, Sabriel guessed that she was the leader of the town. At her greeting, a rumble of voices broke out and dozens of people turned to see. The old woman reached Sabriel and held out her hands to her, her head bowed. "We hoped against hope that you would come. I'm sorry we have no hospitality to offer you," she said.
Sabriel took the woman's hands and bowed in return. "Never mind," she said kindly, "I'll make my own arrangements, and I'll do my best for your people."
"My people…" said the woman in a voice layered with despair, exhaustion, and the weight of responsibility, "My people are starving. We have fought hard, but the Dead are unending and we have no more ground left to lose. No one can leave the bridge; those who try never return. Our situation is impossible. Please, Abhorsen. We don't ask for much. Drive the Dead out of the town, and let us return home. After that, we will fortify and defend ourselves. We can hold back the Dead if we are given time to prepare." Sabriel had to respect the old woman's certainty. She had no doubt that this woman, given a chance, would organize a defense that would allow her people to hold High Rock.
But Sabriel had other plans. "I will," she said, "I will rid High Rock of Dead, and I'll do you one better. I will repair your Charter Stone."
She left the people on the bridge and made her way east, toward the abandoned town. As she got close enough to feel the corruption of the broken stone, movement against her shoulder blades and the pressure of two paws on her shoulder let her know that Mogget had popped his head out of the pack.
"Hungry?" she guessed.
Mogget sniffed, and Sabriel thought it sounded haughty until she realized that he was smelling the air. "Don't you smell that?" he said, "Even a human should be able to smell that. Watch yourself."
As the tops of humble roofs became visible in the distance, Sabriel realized what Mogget meant. The stench of rotting flesh wafted from the town, faintly at first, and then overpoweringly. High Rock was swarming with Dead.
"Stay in the pack," she said to Mogget as she drew Saraneth. She had never faced this many Dead at once before, but there was no hesitation in her step. She swelled with confidence. After surviving the final battle with Kerrigor, there was nothing in this town that she feared.
The sounds of shuffling feet, creaking bones, and guttural voices were all silenced upon the first peal of Sabriel's bell. She walked into the town, between the buildings, toward the town square with Saraneth's song as her companion the entire way. As she walked, she passed the still forms of revenants she had bound. Their eyes followed her with intense hatred, but their bodies were no longer their own. Sabriel could feel each soul as it fell under her power, and the effort of keeping them all in check made sweat break out on her face. They pushed against the binding, fighting to free themselves, but her will was stronger.
Most heartening of all was the sight that greeted her in the town square. The last of the Dead were scrambling frantically to get away from the deadly sound of the bell, and at the sight of Sabriel a great, terrified howling began. The Dead trampled each other in their haste to flee from the Abhorsen. In their wake they left the broken bodies of their fellows who were not strong enough to keep up with the panicked mob.
Once Sabriel had run from the Dead, but now they ran from her. It was a giddy feeling, most of all because she knew that if the Dead had all turned and faced her, she would have been powerless against their numbers. Her reputation had done the work for her this time. It was good to be reminded that, even though Touchstone and those stuffy ambassadors wouldn't give her her due, the Dead knew who she was and they feared her.
A few more minutes and the small army of Dead had disappeared into the woods, their screams fading and leaving Sabriel standing in silence. It didn't take her long to weave her way back through town, finding all the revenants who had been unfortunate enough to be bound and sending them to their final rest.
When only one revenant was left in town, the sun was just beginning to set. Sabriel, feeling the strain of her efforts now, held it in place while she drew the marks over its body. But she stammered, and the marks failed. She swiped her hand across her forehead, taking a deep breath. The combination of the work she had done and the proximity of the ruined stone was taking its toll, but she was more than equal to the challenge. She forced her hands to be still and her voice to be strong, and the marks came through clearly. The last Dead in High Rock was sent screaming into Death while its stolen body burned.
"The others will be back," said the familiar sardonic voice from Sabriel's pack, "And you've overdone it. You don't even have the energy left to cast a Diamond of Protection."
Sabriel returned to the town square and proved Mogget wrong, casting a huge Diamond with the stone just inside the northern point. Midway through the casting, she almost thought that Mogget would be proven right. The weight of the corruption surrounding the stone was crushing. But this was not the first time Sabriel had felt this discomfort. She calmed her mind, repressed her nausea, and reached deep into the Charter for the marks she needed. When she was finished her Diamond was bright and strong.
She made camp by dropping her pack on the ground and kicking her bedroll open. The nights were mild at this time of year, and she didn't bother with a fire. With a hard day behind them and the sun setting, Mogget curled up at the foot of Sabriel's bedroll and prepared to do even more hard napping. But Sabriel showed no signs of sleepiness as she approached the broken Charter Stone with a contemplative look on her face.
Mogget flicked a single eye open. "Aren't you coming to bed?" he asked, "You're not going to fix that thing in one night."
"I know," said Sabriel, "I'm just looking." With careful concentration, she was able to control the effects of being near the stone and focus on what needed to be done. The stone had once been tall, like a rough obelisk, but was now split down the middle. The two halves sat slightly apart, leaving a gap that was a hand's-width wide at the top and that narrowed as it went down. At the base of the stone, where it was stained with old, rust-colored blood, it was still in one piece. Sabriel could see the Charter marks on the stone, still and lifeless, but in them she could read hope. The Charter that had once flowed through this place was not dead, but merely damaged. In the remnants of the stone, Sabriel could see the places where the order had been disrupted, and she could see what she had to do to realign it.
Heedless of her fatigue, she placed her hands on the stone and began chanting Charter marks. She didn't know exactly what she was doing, but she thought she could feel a sense of rightness, of communion with the Charter. It didn't matter that she didn't know the exact marks; the Charter wanted to be put right, and it would guide her tongue and her hand. She even thought she could feel the stone respond to her efforts, becoming warm under her touch and glowing faintly.
Mogget was right: it would be a long, hard task. But Sabriel knew that she would succeed.
Touchstone wouldn't let her help him, and she couldn't repair what had been broken between them. But as she had looked over the bridge at the sparks of hope her presence had ignited in so many eyes, she had known that here were people she could help. Here was something broken that she could repair.