A State of Constant Repair (Sabriel fanfiction) Chapter 6
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: mentions of suicide
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It took Sabriel's mind several seconds to catch up with what had just happened. She stood staring with an uncharacteristically dumbfounded expression until Karstel scuffed her toe in the dirt and cleared her throat. "Maybe you could let me inside your Diamond so I can greet you properly, milady?"
"Oh, of course," said Sabriel, finally collecting herself. She dissipated the Diamond of Protection with a wave of her hand.
Immediately she knew who the Charter Mages were among Karstel's soldiers. Though everyone shuddered as they felt the effects of the Stone, five or six suddenly turned green and looked distinctly uncomfortable. One man dropped to his knees and retched.
Karstel was no mage, but even she scratched the back of her neck as if something were bothering her. She noticed her soldiers' reactions to the Stone, saw how tired Sabriel looked, and make a snap decision. "Make camp north of town, far enough so that the mages can sleep," she ordered. Then she turned to Sabriel. "Would you walk with me, Abhorsen?"
The concern in Karstel's voice was welcome, but it also made Sabriel begin to feel a little guilty. Mere minutes ago, she had been ready to give up everything - her life, her duty, her bloodline - in a moment of weakness. Now that the moment was gone, she could see how pathetic it had been to contemplate going down without so much as a fight. Her eyes flicked to Karstel's; did she understand that the charge she had led was not so much adding reinforcements to a battle as it was interrupting a suicide attempt? No. Sabriel saw only trust and respect in Karstel's gaze. She would never have believed Sabriel capable of such a thing. That blind faith was as much a relief was it was a burden.
"Yes," was all Sabriel said. She didn't trust her voice to say anything more.
The two of them walked in silence away from the town, in the opposite direction that Karstel's squad had taken. Once she had had some time to compose herself, Sabriel began to speak. "I don't want to seem ungrateful after such a spectacularly-timed rescue," she said, "But what are you doing here?"
Karstel seemed honestly hurt by the question. "I've always been sure to show you the proper respect," she said, "But I thought we were friends too. Friends enough, at least, that I deserved to know when you left Belisaere. You didn't even say goodbye." Then, before Sabriel could apologize, Karstel covered her show of emotion with her usual straightforward tone, "We're on our way to Chasel. Their representatives can't leave the city while their roads are blocked by Dead. It's our job to clear the roads and escort them to Belisaere to negotiate with the King." Then Karstel smiled self-consciously as she said, "But you were not too far out of our way, and I thought…"
The little detour Karstel had taken to visit Sabriel was probably the closest she had come to disobeying an order since the beginning of her service. Sabriel smiled in return. "I'm very glad you did," she said. Then, before she could stop herself, she blurted out, "How's Touchstone? I mean Torrigan. I mean… well, how is he?"
Karstel's face darkened. "That's the other reason I came to find you," she admitted, "I came to beg you to come back."
Sabriel was shaking her head before Karstel had even finished speaking. "You know what it was like those last few months," she said, "It's better this way."
"Not for him," said Karstel vehemently, "You don't know what it's been like since you left. He's gotten worse. I can't reach him at all. He disappears for days on end and comes back looking like death. He won't eat; he barely sleeps. We've been hiding the sorry state of affairs from the public, but the truth is that everything's gone to hell."
Sabriel had hoped that she wasn't petty enough to take comfort from Touchstone's misery, but nevertheless she felt a guilty stab of pleasure at knowing that Touchstone needed her. "Well," she said, not ready to concede the point, "He was acting strangely for months before I left. It might not have anything to do with me."
"He's confided in me," Karstel admitted, "He says that if you don't come back, he'll die."
Sabriel raised an eyebrow.
Karstel rolled her eyes in response. "So he's being melodramatic. At least he's sorry."
Suddenly, suspicion crept into Sabriel's mind. "Did he send you here to bring me back?" she demanded.
When she answered, Karstel's voice was so frank that Sabriel believed her. "No," she said, "In fact, he told me to leave you alone. I don't think he wants you knowing how bad off he is. Or at least, he doesn't want you to come back just because you feel obligated."
"I don't feel obligated," said Sabriel, though she knew it was a lie. If Touchstone was setting himself on a self-destructive course in her absence, it could affect the whole Kingdom and everything they'd worked for. But she tried not to think about it. She couldn't pretend to forgive him just because of what was at stake. Whether he meant it that way or not, that would be the same as him holding the Kingdom ransom for her love. She tried to make her voice cold and hard as she said, "If he's making himself miserable now, that's his own problem. He shouldn't have pushed me away in the first place."
Karstel frowned, but she didn't argue. Instead, she said, "And I suppose you're doing just fine?" in a tone that made it obvious that she knew that Sabriel was anything but fine.
"I am, as a matter of fact," Sabriel lied once more, "Except for that little ambush you saved me from just now, I've been doing quite well on my own."
Karstel very pointedly glanced at Sabriel's filthy clothes, her slouched posture, the bags under her eyes, and her skin that was somehow even paler than usual. "Of course you have," she said with a straight face.
"I know what you think of me," said Sabriel, suddenly defensive, "That I abandoned him. That I ran off in the night like a coward. That I'm out here making a fool of myself. But there are things I need to do. Things I need to figure out for myself. He never understood that. And even if he's changed, it's just… It's too hard. He fogs things up. He makes things more complicated. Love makes everything more complicated. I need things to be simple right now. That's all there is to it."
"No disrespect, milady," said Karstel slowly, carefully, "But I said before that I consider you a friend. And since we're friends, I can say this: you may be a great mage and a great warrior, but you don't know the first thing about love so don't try to talk like you do. Now here's what I think: his majesty was awfully unfair to you, but he's honestly sorry and he wants to make amends. So it's all in your hands now. You could walk away and no one would fault you for it. It just seems to me that you two love each other so much that it would be a shame not to give it another go."
They walked a while in silence. Sabriel stared at the ground, trying to collect her thoughts. She had spent so much time with all her energy directed at the Stone, and that had helped her put Touchstone almost out of mind. Karstel's presence and her words brought all her uncertainty back. It had been painful, but easy, to write her relationship with Touchstone off as irreparable. It had freed her to leave with impunity and to focus on herself without guilt. But if Touchstone was ready to apologize, then the rift between them became like the Stone of High Bridge: Sabriel could mend it, if she wanted to, and if she was clever enough, and if she was willing to do the work.
A difficult cause was so much scarier than a lost one.
When Karstel stopped walking beside her, Sabriel looked up to find that they had returned to the town square and the Stone. She found that she couldn't tell how long they had been walking.
"But I have to be the Abhorsen now," she sighed, protesting though Karstel had said nothing.
As if she had been following Sabriel's entire thought process, Karstel answered, "And where is it written that the Abhorsen must always be alone?" She clapped a huge hand onto Sabriel's shoulder as she said, "I won't tell you what to do. Just take care of yourself. Don't let this be the last time I see you."
With that, she went to join her soldiers at their camp. They stayed the night, and at first light they rode away toward Chasel. Sabriel wanted to beg Karstel to stay, but she had enough dignity to resist. After all, they both had duties to attend to.
Sabriel was left standing in the empty square with nothing but the Stone and Mogget for company. She allowed herself to feel lonely for a moment, and then she clapped her hands together and said, "Well, back to work."
Except those words did not come out of her mouth. Instead, she sobbed a great, hiccupping sob, sat on the ground, and began to cry.
She hadn't cried as a child when her father had left her in Ancelstierre, nor years later when his messenger had handed her the bells, nor lying on the floor of Wyverley College with a sword through her belly, thinking she was going to die. Any of those moments would have been more worthy of her tears, but for whatever reason this was the moment that the tears chose to come. She cried like someone who is not accustomed to crying, and she had no doubt that she looked and sounded hideous.
Mogget watched her as if he were embarrassed to be seen with her, but he didn't protest until she tried to comfort herself by cuddling him closer to her. "That's quite enough of that," he huffed, avoiding her grasp neatly. It took several minutes before Sabriel managed to get her sobbing under control, and several more before she was able to do anything other than sit in uncomfortable silence.
Mogget was beginning to look bored with the whole affair, and had curled up to go to sleep when Sabriel said, her voice steady now, "Tell me about my father."
"What about him?"
Sabriel narrowed her eyes. "This is where it's all been leading, hasn't it?" she said, "All these stories about all the Abhorsens. Seeing them through your eyes, hearing all your judgments. You'll exist longer than the sword, longer than the bells, longer than my bloodline, and you collect our stories. You remember us. You're the only one who does. So what do you have to say about my father, and what will you have to say about me?"
Mogget was silent for several seconds. Then, almost robotically, "He took the mantle from his aunt when he was seventeen. He was uncommonly skilled with the bells. He was present at the fall of Estwael. When the Regency ended…"
"I know all that," said Sabriel impatiently, "I read his journal. I'm not looking for a biography. I want to know the measure of him. What did you think of him, you who knew all the Abhorsens?"
"Why do you care what I think?" Mogget wondered, "It's not as if I am the official judge of the worth of each Abhorsen."
Sabriel laughed coldly. "That never stopped you from judging us anyway."
"You want me to judge your father?" said Mogget decisively, "Fine. He was a miserable man. He made himself miserable. He blamed himself for his aunt's death, and for Estwael, and for the Regency. He defined himself by his failures, and he shunned anything that could have made him happy. He allowed your mother to get involved in a war that he knew would eventually kill her, and when she died, he was left with you. And you were a problem, because he loved you. You made him proud. You made him happy. That wouldn't do, so he sent you away."
"To protect me!" Sabriel protested, stung by the harshness of Mogget's assessment even though she had anticipated it.
"I'm sure there were lots of good reasons for it," said Mogget, yawning disinterestedly, "But the choice was his, and he made it, and he was lonely and bitter for the rest of his life."
"That's not right," Sabriel insisted, scrambling to her feet and wiping her eyes on the back of her sleeve, "You're twisting the facts."
"I'm telling you the truth," said Mogget with no teasing in his voice, "It's what you asked for; don't blame me if you can't handle it. Isn't this what you wanted to know? How your ancestors lived, so you could be more like them?"
"I was wrong!" Sabriel shouted, "I'm the Abhorsen now, and I'll decide what that means! I'm not my father or any of the others. I don't have to make their mistakes. All I have in common with them is blood!"
Mogget nodded, infuriatingly smug. "Well, that's a start," he said, curling up and falling asleep as if to say his work here was done.
Sabriel seriously considered kicking him like a football when she was suddenly struck by realization.
"Blood," she repeated, softly.
Mogget, who must not have been sleeping very deeply, flicked an eye open. "What was that?" he muttered.
Sabriel smiled, the happiest smile that had graced her face in a long while. "I know how to repair the Stone," she said.
Warning: mentions of suicide
Previous chapter.
Next chapter.
----------
It took Sabriel's mind several seconds to catch up with what had just happened. She stood staring with an uncharacteristically dumbfounded expression until Karstel scuffed her toe in the dirt and cleared her throat. "Maybe you could let me inside your Diamond so I can greet you properly, milady?"
"Oh, of course," said Sabriel, finally collecting herself. She dissipated the Diamond of Protection with a wave of her hand.
Immediately she knew who the Charter Mages were among Karstel's soldiers. Though everyone shuddered as they felt the effects of the Stone, five or six suddenly turned green and looked distinctly uncomfortable. One man dropped to his knees and retched.
Karstel was no mage, but even she scratched the back of her neck as if something were bothering her. She noticed her soldiers' reactions to the Stone, saw how tired Sabriel looked, and make a snap decision. "Make camp north of town, far enough so that the mages can sleep," she ordered. Then she turned to Sabriel. "Would you walk with me, Abhorsen?"
The concern in Karstel's voice was welcome, but it also made Sabriel begin to feel a little guilty. Mere minutes ago, she had been ready to give up everything - her life, her duty, her bloodline - in a moment of weakness. Now that the moment was gone, she could see how pathetic it had been to contemplate going down without so much as a fight. Her eyes flicked to Karstel's; did she understand that the charge she had led was not so much adding reinforcements to a battle as it was interrupting a suicide attempt? No. Sabriel saw only trust and respect in Karstel's gaze. She would never have believed Sabriel capable of such a thing. That blind faith was as much a relief was it was a burden.
"Yes," was all Sabriel said. She didn't trust her voice to say anything more.
The two of them walked in silence away from the town, in the opposite direction that Karstel's squad had taken. Once she had had some time to compose herself, Sabriel began to speak. "I don't want to seem ungrateful after such a spectacularly-timed rescue," she said, "But what are you doing here?"
Karstel seemed honestly hurt by the question. "I've always been sure to show you the proper respect," she said, "But I thought we were friends too. Friends enough, at least, that I deserved to know when you left Belisaere. You didn't even say goodbye." Then, before Sabriel could apologize, Karstel covered her show of emotion with her usual straightforward tone, "We're on our way to Chasel. Their representatives can't leave the city while their roads are blocked by Dead. It's our job to clear the roads and escort them to Belisaere to negotiate with the King." Then Karstel smiled self-consciously as she said, "But you were not too far out of our way, and I thought…"
The little detour Karstel had taken to visit Sabriel was probably the closest she had come to disobeying an order since the beginning of her service. Sabriel smiled in return. "I'm very glad you did," she said. Then, before she could stop herself, she blurted out, "How's Touchstone? I mean Torrigan. I mean… well, how is he?"
Karstel's face darkened. "That's the other reason I came to find you," she admitted, "I came to beg you to come back."
Sabriel was shaking her head before Karstel had even finished speaking. "You know what it was like those last few months," she said, "It's better this way."
"Not for him," said Karstel vehemently, "You don't know what it's been like since you left. He's gotten worse. I can't reach him at all. He disappears for days on end and comes back looking like death. He won't eat; he barely sleeps. We've been hiding the sorry state of affairs from the public, but the truth is that everything's gone to hell."
Sabriel had hoped that she wasn't petty enough to take comfort from Touchstone's misery, but nevertheless she felt a guilty stab of pleasure at knowing that Touchstone needed her. "Well," she said, not ready to concede the point, "He was acting strangely for months before I left. It might not have anything to do with me."
"He's confided in me," Karstel admitted, "He says that if you don't come back, he'll die."
Sabriel raised an eyebrow.
Karstel rolled her eyes in response. "So he's being melodramatic. At least he's sorry."
Suddenly, suspicion crept into Sabriel's mind. "Did he send you here to bring me back?" she demanded.
When she answered, Karstel's voice was so frank that Sabriel believed her. "No," she said, "In fact, he told me to leave you alone. I don't think he wants you knowing how bad off he is. Or at least, he doesn't want you to come back just because you feel obligated."
"I don't feel obligated," said Sabriel, though she knew it was a lie. If Touchstone was setting himself on a self-destructive course in her absence, it could affect the whole Kingdom and everything they'd worked for. But she tried not to think about it. She couldn't pretend to forgive him just because of what was at stake. Whether he meant it that way or not, that would be the same as him holding the Kingdom ransom for her love. She tried to make her voice cold and hard as she said, "If he's making himself miserable now, that's his own problem. He shouldn't have pushed me away in the first place."
Karstel frowned, but she didn't argue. Instead, she said, "And I suppose you're doing just fine?" in a tone that made it obvious that she knew that Sabriel was anything but fine.
"I am, as a matter of fact," Sabriel lied once more, "Except for that little ambush you saved me from just now, I've been doing quite well on my own."
Karstel very pointedly glanced at Sabriel's filthy clothes, her slouched posture, the bags under her eyes, and her skin that was somehow even paler than usual. "Of course you have," she said with a straight face.
"I know what you think of me," said Sabriel, suddenly defensive, "That I abandoned him. That I ran off in the night like a coward. That I'm out here making a fool of myself. But there are things I need to do. Things I need to figure out for myself. He never understood that. And even if he's changed, it's just… It's too hard. He fogs things up. He makes things more complicated. Love makes everything more complicated. I need things to be simple right now. That's all there is to it."
"No disrespect, milady," said Karstel slowly, carefully, "But I said before that I consider you a friend. And since we're friends, I can say this: you may be a great mage and a great warrior, but you don't know the first thing about love so don't try to talk like you do. Now here's what I think: his majesty was awfully unfair to you, but he's honestly sorry and he wants to make amends. So it's all in your hands now. You could walk away and no one would fault you for it. It just seems to me that you two love each other so much that it would be a shame not to give it another go."
They walked a while in silence. Sabriel stared at the ground, trying to collect her thoughts. She had spent so much time with all her energy directed at the Stone, and that had helped her put Touchstone almost out of mind. Karstel's presence and her words brought all her uncertainty back. It had been painful, but easy, to write her relationship with Touchstone off as irreparable. It had freed her to leave with impunity and to focus on herself without guilt. But if Touchstone was ready to apologize, then the rift between them became like the Stone of High Bridge: Sabriel could mend it, if she wanted to, and if she was clever enough, and if she was willing to do the work.
A difficult cause was so much scarier than a lost one.
When Karstel stopped walking beside her, Sabriel looked up to find that they had returned to the town square and the Stone. She found that she couldn't tell how long they had been walking.
"But I have to be the Abhorsen now," she sighed, protesting though Karstel had said nothing.
As if she had been following Sabriel's entire thought process, Karstel answered, "And where is it written that the Abhorsen must always be alone?" She clapped a huge hand onto Sabriel's shoulder as she said, "I won't tell you what to do. Just take care of yourself. Don't let this be the last time I see you."
With that, she went to join her soldiers at their camp. They stayed the night, and at first light they rode away toward Chasel. Sabriel wanted to beg Karstel to stay, but she had enough dignity to resist. After all, they both had duties to attend to.
Sabriel was left standing in the empty square with nothing but the Stone and Mogget for company. She allowed herself to feel lonely for a moment, and then she clapped her hands together and said, "Well, back to work."
Except those words did not come out of her mouth. Instead, she sobbed a great, hiccupping sob, sat on the ground, and began to cry.
She hadn't cried as a child when her father had left her in Ancelstierre, nor years later when his messenger had handed her the bells, nor lying on the floor of Wyverley College with a sword through her belly, thinking she was going to die. Any of those moments would have been more worthy of her tears, but for whatever reason this was the moment that the tears chose to come. She cried like someone who is not accustomed to crying, and she had no doubt that she looked and sounded hideous.
Mogget watched her as if he were embarrassed to be seen with her, but he didn't protest until she tried to comfort herself by cuddling him closer to her. "That's quite enough of that," he huffed, avoiding her grasp neatly. It took several minutes before Sabriel managed to get her sobbing under control, and several more before she was able to do anything other than sit in uncomfortable silence.
Mogget was beginning to look bored with the whole affair, and had curled up to go to sleep when Sabriel said, her voice steady now, "Tell me about my father."
"What about him?"
Sabriel narrowed her eyes. "This is where it's all been leading, hasn't it?" she said, "All these stories about all the Abhorsens. Seeing them through your eyes, hearing all your judgments. You'll exist longer than the sword, longer than the bells, longer than my bloodline, and you collect our stories. You remember us. You're the only one who does. So what do you have to say about my father, and what will you have to say about me?"
Mogget was silent for several seconds. Then, almost robotically, "He took the mantle from his aunt when he was seventeen. He was uncommonly skilled with the bells. He was present at the fall of Estwael. When the Regency ended…"
"I know all that," said Sabriel impatiently, "I read his journal. I'm not looking for a biography. I want to know the measure of him. What did you think of him, you who knew all the Abhorsens?"
"Why do you care what I think?" Mogget wondered, "It's not as if I am the official judge of the worth of each Abhorsen."
Sabriel laughed coldly. "That never stopped you from judging us anyway."
"You want me to judge your father?" said Mogget decisively, "Fine. He was a miserable man. He made himself miserable. He blamed himself for his aunt's death, and for Estwael, and for the Regency. He defined himself by his failures, and he shunned anything that could have made him happy. He allowed your mother to get involved in a war that he knew would eventually kill her, and when she died, he was left with you. And you were a problem, because he loved you. You made him proud. You made him happy. That wouldn't do, so he sent you away."
"To protect me!" Sabriel protested, stung by the harshness of Mogget's assessment even though she had anticipated it.
"I'm sure there were lots of good reasons for it," said Mogget, yawning disinterestedly, "But the choice was his, and he made it, and he was lonely and bitter for the rest of his life."
"That's not right," Sabriel insisted, scrambling to her feet and wiping her eyes on the back of her sleeve, "You're twisting the facts."
"I'm telling you the truth," said Mogget with no teasing in his voice, "It's what you asked for; don't blame me if you can't handle it. Isn't this what you wanted to know? How your ancestors lived, so you could be more like them?"
"I was wrong!" Sabriel shouted, "I'm the Abhorsen now, and I'll decide what that means! I'm not my father or any of the others. I don't have to make their mistakes. All I have in common with them is blood!"
Mogget nodded, infuriatingly smug. "Well, that's a start," he said, curling up and falling asleep as if to say his work here was done.
Sabriel seriously considered kicking him like a football when she was suddenly struck by realization.
"Blood," she repeated, softly.
Mogget, who must not have been sleeping very deeply, flicked an eye open. "What was that?" he muttered.
Sabriel smiled, the happiest smile that had graced her face in a long while. "I know how to repair the Stone," she said.