by Nix,Garth
This didn’t feel the same. She felt no Charter mark, no connection with the Charter. Instead there were two painful welts of new scar tissue, crossing each other to make something like a misshapen, twisted X.
Clariel let her hands fall. She lay there, staring out at the sky for a long time. She had tried to do what was right, but in retrospect so much of it had been wrong. The Clayr would have defeated Kilp without her. All she’d done was help Aziminil get close to carrying out some long-laid plan to destroy the Great Charter Stones.
Even worse than that, she had to admit to herself, was the fact that Free Magic was wonderful. If she had let herself not worry about anyone else, then she could have just used the power of Aziminil and Baazalanan. They would never have dared turn against her without Mogget’s help, and her own weakness. She could have flown to Estwael, gone to live in the Great Forest, ruled the Forest . . .
“No . . .” whispered Clariel. She sat up in the bed and slapped herself in the head. What was she thinking? She’d been stupid, and would no doubt pay the price. But it was better this way, far better than if she had become a fully fledged Free Magic sorcerer.
Or a necromancer, whispered a voice in the back of her mind, remembering the bells in the cavern on the slopes of Mount Aunden. The bells were still there, even if the sword was gone. It was probably destroyed already, melted down by the Abhorsen and his lackeys. But if she could get to the mountain, or find bells elsewhere . . .
“No,” groaned Clariel. She put her face in her hands and tried to think of her place of willow arches by the two streams, her calm and pleasant refuge. But though she could picture it, she could no longer imagine herself there. She was a traitor, even if she hadn’t meant to be, and there was only one punishment for that.
A soft knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. It opened, and through the gap she saw a winding stair beyond. She was in a tower room, Clariel realized, probably in the Palace. She had no real memory beyond fading out in the Great Hall, though she had some faint recollection of a place of rippling water, and great stones that thronged with Charter marks . . .
Bel came through the door, his finger to his lips. He was wearing a simple blue tunic dusted with silver keys, hunting breeches, and soft slippers, and he looked much better than he had when last she’d seen him. He moved well, as if his shoulder no longer troubled him. That made her wonder how long she had been unconscious. Such healing as she must have needed did not take place in a few days, no matter how much magic was involved.
“We must be quiet,” whispered Bel.
“Why?” asked Clariel. Her voice still sounded raspy, strange to her ears.
“Because I’m helping you escape,” said Bel. “I’ve bespelled the guards below with a misdirection, like the one Kargrin used on us when we went to the Islet.”
“Why?” asked Clariel again. She let herself fall back on her pillow. “I know what I’ve done. I should pay the price.”
“I owe you my life,” said Bel simply. “Twice. Perhaps I’ve repaid part of that, and now I would repay all. Also . . . I feel responsible. I should have realized Mogget was wriggling free of his bonds, that three generations of Abhorsens had ignored him to everyone’s cost. I should have warned you that he was not to be trusted. And I should have made sure the lower depths of the House were forbidden to you.”
“You weren’t to know,” said Clariel wearily. “Not your responsibility.”
“But it was,” said Bel anxiously. “I’ve been the Abhorsen-in-Waiting for years, only I didn’t know it. I had only to claim my bells . . . and . . .”
He hesitated, then pressed on. “Tyriel was thrown from his horse the evening you escaped. His neck was broken, and everyone was milling around in a great panic, with Yannael not doing anything useful. In the midst of it, a message-hawk came to me, to me personally. The most curious message-hawk ever because it didn’t say anything, it just drew a picture of the Abhorsen’s House in the dirt and a bell with legs on a horse riding to the house. So I went, and . . . it turned out I was the new Abhorsen.”
“As you always wanted,” said Clariel. She tried to smile, but there seemed to be a problem with the corner of her mouth. “Speaking of aunts, is my aunt Lemmin . . . is she still . . . did they—”
“She’s fine, she was treated well,” said Bel. He frowned and hesitated again. “They told her you were dead. They’ve told everyone. Killed with the King, trying to save him.”
“I did try to save the King,” said Clariel. “I suppose the rest will soon be true.”
“No,” said Bel, shaking his head. He went to the chest at the foot of the bed and took out a plain woolen cloak. “It is true Queen Tathiel thinks you should be executed, but that’s not going to happen. I told you I’d help you escape. Get up and get this cloak over your nightgown. Not the best for traveling, but I couldn’t risk bringing anything up. There’s some other clothing, and money and food and suchlike in the boat—”
“Bel . . . I thank you for what you’re trying to do,” said Clariel. “But I . . . I was a Free Magic sorcerer, and I will be again. If I find another creature, I am sure I will try to bind it. I want that power again. Charter help me, I even want to walk in Death! I don’t think I can stop it, not by myself. Best to end it here. I always said Belisaere would kill me, one way or another.”
“You won’t become a Free Magic sorcerer again,” argued Bel. “When Mistress Ader and I healed you, we bound that part of you, wrapped it in Charter spells drawing on the Great Charter itself. You would not be able to bind a creature, even if you found one. It would simply kill you, like any other ordinary mortal.”
“Spells fade,” said Clariel. “Bindings fail.”
Bel smiled, a melancholy smile.
“Not in your lifetime,” he said. “Nor in mine. Come, the guards will be out of the spell soon.”
“Where can I go?” asked Clariel softly. She could feel tears forming in her eyes, tears for the life offered her, tears for the life she could never have, her life in the Forest. “A boat, you said. But were can I go?”
“I’ve spelled it to take you north,” said Bel. “Far to the north. It will follow the coast, then go up the river Greenwash to where they’re building the bridge. There is a pass for you to cross, plenty of money to buy a horse or mule, anything you need. The steppe lies beyond, but farther still, across the Great Rift there are stories of a forest . . . wilder and more immense than anything in the Kingdom . . . it will be risky, of course, but . . .”
“Thank you,” said Clariel.
Not her Forest, but a forest somewhere. That was something to live for. She sat up and swung her legs over the bed. There was something under her feet, something cold and metallic. She picked it up and stared down at the bronze mask. The straps were blackened as if they’d been burned, and the bronze was pitted and scarred.
“I thought . . . perhaps you might want to keep it,” said Bel very awkwardly.
Clariel touched her face again, feeling the scars on her forehead and the corner of her mouth that wouldn’t move, the many small ridges of scar tissue on her cheeks. She nodded, and lifted the mask to her face, slipping the straps over her hair, noticing for the first time it had been clipped almost to her scalp.
“It doesn’t matter to me,” said Bel. “Your face, I mean. If you could stay . . . I would still want to . . . well, you know how I feel.”
“I know,” said Clariel. She stood up and went over to him, lightly touching his own cheek, smooth under her hand. “Marry Denima, Bel. You’d be good for each other.”
Crimson dots burned bright on Bel’s pallid cheeks.
“I don’t think the Abhorsen himself should blush,” said Clariel. She took the cloak and swung it over her shoulders.
“This one will,” muttered Bel.
Clariel opened the door, went down the first flight of steps, and stopped. There on the landing was Mogget, licking his paws. He looked up at her and shrugged.
“You shouldn’t have li
stened to me,” he chided. “I wasn’t myself.”
“I think you were more yourself than you are now,” said Clariel softly. She hesitated, then added, “I don’t blame you, Mogget. We all want to be free, but that can’t work. I had a puzzle once, when I was girl, a badly made puzzle. One of the pieces would never fit. I loved it, even though the pieces could never come together as a whole.”
“True,” said Mogget. “May I say that I approve of a piece that tries to remake the entire puzzle?”
“Good-bye, Mogget,” said Clariel. She bent down and scratched his head, the little cat purring. He seemed more cat now, and less something else.
“Charter Magic fades beyond the Rift,” whispered Mogget, so softly that only Clariel could hear him. “But there is Free Magic there.”
Clariel smiled behind her mask, and scratched him again, taking care not to touch his collar. Mogget purred and pressed his head against her fingers.
“This way,” said Bel, opening the door that led out to one of the seaward walls. Halfway to the next tower, some hundred paces away, two figures stood upon the walkway. The moon was above them, and in its light Clariel could see the white hair of Mistress Ader and the tall figure of Magister Kargrin.
“Kargrin!” said Clariel in surprise. She half raised her hand, but then let it fall. She was pleased he was still alive, but doubted he would reciprocate. However, as they drew closer, he also smiled and raised his hand in greeting.
“Clariel,” he said softly, giving her a full bow. “I am glad to see you well, and sorry at our parting. Sorrier still that I failed to teach you anything useful, and did not appreciate the danger you were in. If I had not used you to lure the creature—”
“Hush,” said Clariel. “I would have come to it anyway, I think. But now I am bound about with spells to keep me from my worse nature and . . . and I am glad of it.”
“No you’re not,” said Mistress Ader. “You may be, in time. I must also take my part in Kargrin’s apology. I should have spoken to your parents, and had you sent to the Borderers. A passion thwarted will oft go astray.”
“Does the walker choose the path, or the path the walker?” asked Clariel.
“Where did you read that?” asked Mistress Ader, surprise and suspicion in equal parts in her voice.
“I told her,” said Bel quickly. He indicated a rope ladder hanging down the wall, out of the closest embrasure. “We’d best hurry. The Queen’s guards will be coming round in a minute, and I’d rather explain this after you’re gone, Clariel.”
“Good-bye then,” said Clariel, her voice breaking. There was a still moment where she almost reached out to Bel, to hug him, to let out some feeling that she had long suppressed. But the moment passed. She ducked her head and lowered herself backward through the embrasure, feeling for the rungs of the ladder. When she had a good footing, she transferred her hands to the ropes and began to climb down.
“The boat is spelled, but I’ve got someone to help you,” said Bel. He was leaning down, his hand outstretched, ready to catch Clariel if she missed her grip. “He’ll be a faithful servant, he’s magicked to serve you, we didn’t know what else to do with him. It wasn’t his fault—”
Bel’s words were lost in the thud of a long, slow wave hitting the wall below. Clariel looked down. There in the moonlight was a small fishing boat, its sails furled, up against a rectangular rock that formed a makeshift quay. A white-bearded old fisherman was holding the boat there, one foot aboard and one on shore.
He held out a hand to help Clariel as she reached the bottom of the ladder and stepped into the boat. He either didn’t notice the mask or paid it no heed.
“Take a thwart, there, milady,” he said easily, unshipping an oar and using it to push off from the rock. “Name’s Marral. Folk call me Old Marral. We’ll row out a bit and get the sail up. Wind’s fair for the north, and that young chap said he’d spelled her for a fast voyage. Bit of luck me getting this job, if you don’t mind me saying so. I’ve been sick, you know. But I’m all better now. Don’t you worry. I’m all better now.”
Clariel nodded and drew her cloak around her. As Marral rowed she watched the dark bulk of the wall grow smaller, and then they were out of its shadow, and she saw the lights of the city beyond. So many lights, brighter and more numerous even than the stars above them.
She watched the lights for a long time, long after Marral had stowed the oars and raised both sails, watched them till the city was just a sparkling jewel on the far horizon.
“Begging your pardon, milady,” said Old Marral. “But they didn’t tell me your name.”
“I’m not sure myself,” said Clariel slowly. “I will think of it, in time.”
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Author’s Note
Clariel is of course Chlorr of the Mask, who appears at the beginning of Lirael, having been drawn south by the reawakened powers of Orannis. As to what she did in the intervening years between the events of this book and those in Lirael, who can say?
The next Old Kingdom novel, which I am currently working on, jumps forward again and continues the story of Nicholas Sayre (and Lirael), picking up their story after the novella The Creature in the Case.
I would like to thank the many patient readers who have waited a long time for this book. I am also very grateful for the expertise, advice, and hard work of my publishing partners around the world: my literary agents Jill Grinberg, Fiona Inglis, and Antony Harwood; my editors Katherine Tegen, Eva Mills, and Emma Matthewson; and everyone at HarperCollins USA, Allen & Unwin, Hot Key Books, and my various publishers in translation.
Finally I would like to thank my wife, Anna, and my two sons, who have had to be the most patient of all: not waiting for this book, but for me to stop writing it.
Garth Nix
Sydney, 22 November 2013
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About the Author
New York Times bestselling author GARTH NIX, one of the most-talked-about names in fantasy, is the author of Lirael, Sabriel, Abhorsen, The Ragwitch, Shade’s Children, and A Confusion of Princes. You can visit him online at www.garthnix.com.
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Also by Garth Nix
THE ABHORSEN TRILOGY
Sabriel
Lirael
Abhorsen
Across the Wall: A Tale of the Abhorsen and Other Stories
The Ragwitch
One Beast Beastly Beast: Two Aliens, Three Inventors, Four Fantastic Tales
Shade’s Children
A Confusion of Princes
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Copyright
CLARIEL. Copyright © 2014 by Garth Nix. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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