Abhorsen (17 page)

“It is my intention to connect the hemispheres to a Lightning Farm, which a trusted associate of mine is building in Ancelstierre even as we speak. The Lightning Farm will be composed of a thousand connected lightning rods that will draw down the full electrical force of an entire storm—rather than just a number of strikes—and feed it into the hemispheres. This power will . . . ah . . . repolarize . . . or demagnetize . . . the two hemispheres so they can be brought together as one. This is the ultimate goal. They must be brought together, you see. It is absolutely essential!”

He collapsed back with the last word, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“How do you know?” asked Lirael. To her it sounded like the sort of waffle used by false seers and charlatan mages, as much to convince themselves as anything.

“I just know,” whispered Nick. “I am a scientist. When the hemispheres are in Ancelstierre, I will be able to prove my theories, with proper instruments and proper help.”

“Why do the hemispheres have to be brought together?” asked Lirael. That seemed to be the weakest point of his belief, and the most dangerous, for bringing the hemispheres together would make whatever was trapped inside them whole. It was only as she asked it that she realized there was a more important question.

“They have to be,” replied Nick, puzzlement showing clearly on his face. Obviously he couldn’t think clearly about it at all. “That should be obvious.”

“Yes, of course,” said Lirael, soothingly. “But I’m curious about how you will get the hemispheres to Ancelstierre. And where exactly is your Lightning Farm? It must be hard to set something like that up. I mean, it would take an awful lot of space.”

“Oh, it’s not as difficult as you might think,” said Nick. He seemed relieved to be moving away from the subject of bringing the hemispheres together. “We’ll take the metal down to the sea in barges, and then follow the coast south. Apparently the waters are too disturbed and the weather too foggy as a rule to go all the way by sea. We’ll take them ashore just north of the Wall, drag them over that, and then it’s only a matter of ten or twelve miles to Forwin Mill, where my Lightning Farm is being built. It should be just about completed by the time we arrive, all being well.”

“But . . .” Lirael said, “how will you get them over the Wall? It is a barrier to the Dead and all such things. You won’t be able to get the hemispheres across the Wall.”

“Rubbish!” exclaimed Nick. “You’re as bad as Hedge. Except that he at least is prepared to try, provided I let him do some mumbo jumbo first.”

“Oh,” said Lirael. Obviously Hedge—or more likely his ultimate Master—had found a way to get the hemispheres across the Wall. It had been a vain hope anyway, because Lirael knew Hedge had crossed more than once, and Kerrigor and his army had crossed years ago. She’d just hoped the hemispheres would be prevented.

“Won’t . . . ah . . . won’t you have difficulties with the authorities in Ancelstierre?” Lirael asked hopefully. Sam had told her about the Perimeter the Ancelstierrans had built to stop anything from entering their country from the north. She had no idea what she could do if the hemispheres were taken out of the Old Kingdom.

“No,” said Nick. “Hedge says there won’t be any trouble he can’t handle, but I think he was a bit of a smuggler in the past, and he does have rather unconventional ways. I prefer to work within the law, so I got all the usual customs permits and approvals and so on. Though I admit that they’re not for things from the Old Kingdom, because officially there is no Old Kingdom, so there are no forms. I also have a letter from my uncle, granting approval for me to bring across whatever I need for my experiment.”

“Your uncle?”

“He’s the Chief Minister,” Nick replied proudly. “Seventeen years as CM this year—with a three-year break in the middle when the Moderate Reform lot got it. The most successful CM the country has ever had, though of course he’s having trouble now, with the continental wars and all the Southerling refugees pouring in. Still, I don’t think Corolini and his ragtag bunch will get the numbers to unseat him. He’s my mother’s oldest brother, and a damn good chap. Always happy to help a deserving nephew.”

“Those papers would have burned in your tent,” suggested Lirael, clutching at another hope.

“No,” said Nick. “Thanks to Hedge again. He suggested I leave them with the fellow who’s meeting us over the Wall. Said they’d rot, which in hindsight is absolutely true. Now—are you going to let me go?”

“No,” said Lirael. “You’re being rescued, whether you like it or not.”

“In that case I shan’t tell you any more,” Nick proclaimed petulantly. He laid himself back down again, rustling against the rushes.

Lirael watched him, thoughts churning in her head. She hoped Ellimere had received Sam’s message, and at this moment there might be a strong force of Guards riding to the rescue. Sabriel and Touchstone might also be rushing north from Corvere. They could even be about to cross the Wall.

But all of them would be heading for Edge, while the hemispheres that held the bound thing slipped away—into Ancelstierre, where the ancient spirit of destruction could gain its freedom, free from interference by the only people who understood the danger.

Nick was watching her, too, she realized, as those thoughts clamored in her mind. But not with puzzlement or enmity. He was just looking, tilting his head on the side, with one eye partly closed.

“Pardon me,” he said. “I was wondering how you knew Sam. Are you a . . . um . . . a princess? Only, if you’re his fiancée or something, I thought I should know. To . . . ah . . . offer my congratulations, as it were. And I don’t even know your name.”

“Lirael,” Lirael replied shortly. “I’m Sam’s aunt. I’m the Ab— Well, let’s say I sort of work with Sam’s mother, and I also . . . was . . . a Second Assistant Librarian and a Daughter of the Clayr, though I don’t expect you know what those titles mean. I’m not at all sure myself at the moment.”

“His aunt!” exclaimed Nick, a flush of embarrassment rather than fever coloring his face. “How can you be—I mean, I had no idea. I apologize, ma’am.”

“And I’m . . . I’m much older than I look,” Lirael added. “In case you were going to ask.”

She was a little embarrassed herself, though she couldn’t think why. She still didn’t know how to talk about her mother. In some ways it was more painful thinking about her now that she knew about her father and how she had come to be conceived. One day, she thought, she would find out exactly what had happened to Arielle, and why she had chosen to go away.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” replied Nick. “You know, this sounds stupid, but I feel much better here than I have for weeks. Never would have thought a swamp could be a tonic. I haven’t even fainted today.”

“You did once,” said Lirael. “When we first took you from the tent.”

“Did I?” asked Nick. “How embarrassing. I seem to be fainting a lot. Fortunately it tends to be when Hedge is there to catch me.”

“Can you tell when you’re about to faint?” asked Lirael. She hadn’t forgotten the Dog’s warning about how long the fragment would be subdued, and she was fairly certain she could not quell it again by herself.

“Usually,” said Nick. “I get nauseous first and my eyesight goes peculiar—everything goes red. And something happens to my sense of smell, so I get the sensation of something burning, like an electric motor fusing. But I do feel much better now. Perhaps the fever’s broken.”

“It isn’t a fever,” Lirael said wearily. “Though I hope it is better, for both our sakes. Sit still now—I’m going to paddle us out a bit farther. We’ll stay in the reeds, but I want to see what’s happening on the lake. And please keep quiet.”

“Sure,” said Nick. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

Lirael almost apologized, but she held it back. She did feel sorry for Nick. It wasn’t his fault he had been chosen by an ancient spirit of evil to be its avatar. She even felt sort of maternal to him. He needed to be tucked in bed and fed willow-bark tea. That thought led to the idle speculation of what he might look like if he were well. He could be quite handsome, Lirael thought, and then instantly banished the notion. He might be an unwitting enemy, but he was still an enemy.

The reed boat was light, but even so it was hard work paddling with just her hands. Particularly since she also had to keep an eye on Nicholas in case of trouble. But he seemed content to lie back on the high prow of the reed boat. Lirael did catch him looking at her surreptitiously, but he didn’t try to escape or call out.

After about twenty minutes of difficult paddling, the reeds began to thin out, the red water paled into pink, and Lirael could see the muddy lake bottom. The sun was well and truly up, so Lirael chanced pushing the boat to the very fringe of the reed marsh so she could look out on the lake but keep hidden.

They were still covered overhead because of the way the reeds leaned into one another. Even so, Lirael was relieved to discover that she couldn’t sense any Gore Crows about. Probably because there was a strong current beyond the reedy shores, combined with the bright sun of morning.

Though there were no Gore Crows in sight, there was something moving out on the surface of the lake. For a second Lirael’s heart lifted as she thought it might be Sam, or a force of Guards. Then she realized what it was, just as Nick spoke.

“Look—my barges!” he called, sitting up and waving. “Hedge must have got the other one—and loaded already!”

“Quiet!” hissed Lirael, reaching out to drag him down.

He offered no resistance but suddenly frowned and clutched his chest. “I think . . . I think I was counting my chickens before—”

“Fight it!” interrupted Lirael urgently. “Nick—you have to fight it!”

“I’ll try—” Nick began, but he didn’t finish his sentence, his head falling back with a dull, reedy thud. His eyes showed white, and Lirael saw a thin tendril of smoke begin to trickle from his nose and mouth.

She slapped him hard across the face.

“Fight it! You’re Nicholas Sayre! Tell me who you are!”

Nick’s eyes rolled back, though smoke still trickled from his nose.

“I’m . . . I’m Nicholas John Andrew Sayre,” he whispered. “I’m Nicholas . . . Nicholas . . .”

“Yes!” urged Lirael. She put her sword down by her side and took his hands, shuddering as she felt the Free Magic coursing in the blood under his cold skin. “Tell me more about yourself, Nicholas John Andrew Sayre! Where were you born?”

“I was born at Amberne, my family home,” whispered Nick. His voice grew stronger and the smoke receded. “In the billiard room. No, that’s a joke. Mother would kill me for that. I was born all proper for a Sayre, doctor and midwives in attendance. Two midwives, no less, and the society doctor . . .”

Nick closed his eyes, and Lirael gripped his hands tighter.

“Tell me . . . anything!” she demanded.

“The specific gravity of orbilite suspended in quicksilver is . . . I don’t know what it is. . . . The snow in Korrovia is confined to the southern Alps, and the major passes are Kriskadt, Jorstschi, and Korbuk. . . . The average blue-tailed plover lays twenty-six eggs in the course of its fifty-four-year lifespan. . . . More than a hundred thousand Southerlings landed illegally in the last year. . . . The chocolate tree is an invention of—”

He stopped suddenly, took a deep breath, and opened his eyes. Lirael kept holding his hands for a moment, but when she saw no sign of smoke or strangeness in his gaze, she dropped them and took up her sword again, resting the blade across her thighs.

“I’m in trouble, aren’t I?” said Nick. His voice was unsteady. He looked down at the bottom of the boat, hiding his face, taking very controlled breaths.

“Yes,” said Lirael. “But Sameth and I, and the . . . our friends . . . will do the best we can to save you.”

“But you don’t think you can,” said Nicholas softly. “This . . . thing . . . inside me. What is it?”

“I don’t know,” replied Lirael. “But it is part of some great and ancient evil, and you are helping it to be free. To wreak destruction.”

Nick nodded slowly. Then he looked up and met Lirael’s gaze.

“It’s been like a dream,” he said simply. “Most of the time I don’t really know whether I’m awake or not. I can’t remember things from one minute to the next. I can’t think of anything except the hemi—”

He stopped talking. Fear flashed in his eyes and he reached out for Lirael. She took his left hand but kept hold of her sword. If the thing inside him took over and wouldn’t let her go, she knew she would have to cut her way free.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Nick repeated to himself, rocking backwards and forwards as he spoke. “I’ve got it under control. Tell me what I have to do.”

“Keep fighting,” Lirael instructed, but she didn’t know what else to tell him. “If we can’t keep you, then when the time comes, you must do whatever you can to stop . . . to stop it. Promise me you will!”

“I promise,” groaned Nick through clenched teeth. “Word of a Sayre. I’ll stop it! I will! Talk to me, please, Lirael. I have to think about something else. Tell me . . . tell me . . . where were you born?”

“In the Clayr’s Glacier,” said Lirael nervously. Nick’s grip was tightening, and she didn’t like it. “In the Birthing Rooms of the Infirmary. Though some Clayr have their babies in their own rooms, most of us . . . them . . . have their children in the Birthing Rooms because everyone’s there and it’s more communal and fun.”

“Your parents,” gasped Nick. He shuddered and started to speak very quickly. “Tell me about them. Nothing to tell about mine. Father’s a bad politician, though enthusiastic with it. His older brother is the success. Mother goes to parties and drinks too much. How is it you are Sameth’s aunt? I don’t understand how you could be Touchstone’s or Sabriel’s sister. I’ve met them. Much older than you. Ancient. Must be forty, if a day. . . . Speak to me, please, speak to me—”

“I’m Sabriel’s sister,” said Lirael, though the words felt strange on her tongue. “Sabriel’s sister. But not by the same mother. Her . . . my father was . . . . um . . . with my mother only for a little while, before he died. I didn’t even know who he was till quite recently. My mother . . . my mother went away when I was five. So I didn’t know my father was the Abhorsen— Oh no!”