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The walk to Barhedrin took Nick and Lirael the better part of the night. It wasn't far, perhaps three or four miles, but Lirael set a slow, deliberate pace. Nick suspected that she would be moving much faster if he weren't there, but he didn't have it in him to object. His whole body still felt wrung out and faint from losing all that blood in an effort to stop the Hrule... an effort that would have backfired completely without Lirael. If she hadn't shown up, Nick knew, the Hrule would have gained tremendous power from him, and he'd be responsible for unleashing a second Free Magic creature with murderous intent.
Lirael didn't mention it, though, and Nick was grateful for that. They walked along the road in silence, punctuated by the crunch of Lirael's boots in the fresh-fallen snow and the occasional screech of an owl in search of its dinner. Nick knew he ought to be freezing; he could feel the wet slush soaking through his slippers. There was no chill, though, just a mildly unpleasant squelch. Must be something to do with the healing spells that Lirael had cast, he thought. Although the moon had been setting on the other side of the Wall, it still hung three or four finger-widths above the horizon in the Old Kingdom sky, the color of champagne in a crystal flute.
The road began to incline, slowly but with quickening steepness. Nick stumbled on an unseen rock and lost his footing, but before he could hit the ground there was an arm wrapped around his back.
"Are you all right?" Lirael said. Her face was somehow quite close to his own. The worry in her gaze made him go dizzy again.
"Tripped," Nick said. He looked down at his feet. There was a tear in his right slipper; he could see the woven pattern of his socks. Hardly the proper footwear for this sort of thing. "Clumsy of me."
Lirael went to let go, but to Nick's embarrassment, his knees wavered and he almost went down again. Lirael's arm tightened back around him, her hand flashing gold against his chest. He could see the Charter marks move across it, liquid in the moonlight. He felt the press of each of her fingers through the fabric of his dressing jacket.
"We're almost to the Guard Post," Lirael said. "It's just at the top of this hill."
Nick nodded. "I'll be fine."
Lirael looked doubtful, but Nick stepped away, forestalling her protest. (His legs gave a protest of their own, but he ignored them.) A flash of what could have been hurt crossed Lirael's face, but before Nick could fix it she had turned back to the road.
They reached the Guard Post in another half hour. Torches lay sunk into the ground, illuminating the path to the top of the hill and forming an enfilade of light along the ridge. To one side, the Guardhouse stood low and unassuming, although Nick could see the window slits for archers...and the Charter marks that swarmed over the walls. Two Royal Guards stood posted at the head of the lit path, their swords held outstretched and ready. Lirael called out some kind of magic password that hovered in the air above them, a shining circle that melted the falling snow.
"I am the Abhorsen-in-Waiting," she said. Her voice sounded much older, now -- closer to the way he remembered it from that day at Forwin Mill. "The creature has been slain at the Perimeter."
More or less slain, Nick thought.
One of the guards, a tall woman with a long-healed broken nose, cast up a mark in response -- a second circle that joined with the first like links in a chain, glowing brighter before dissolving in a burst of sparks.
"Welcome back, Milady," she said, approaching them. "Made it back just in time." She raised her hand to Lirael's and Nick's foreheads in turn, feeling their Charter marks for any corruption. When her fingers alighted on Nick's skin, a feeling of falling rushed up in him again, only this time it wasn't not the earth he tumbled towards but the Charter, an endless sea of glowing white lights, each pinprick a mark whose name and purpose he couldn't begin to know, but whose power cradled him and carried him aloft.
The guard removed her hand, and Nick staggered back. Distantly, he heard Lirael's voice.
" -- pure," she was saying, to what was now a small crowd of guards, all staring at Nick warily, hands on the pommels of their swords. "He is a friend of the Abhorsen, and the Royal Family."
"Milady," the guard said, "I have never felt a Charter mark like his. The Free Magic I sensed -- "
"Is no more than a remnant of his part in chaining the Destroyer. Tonight, he brought down a Free Magic being of great power, saving many lives." Her words bristled with authority. "I vouch for him in the name of the Seven."
Another guard stepped forward -- older, Nick saw, lines of care etched into his strong face. The Lieutenant in charge of this posting, Nick guessed, based on the adornment of bars across his breast. "Hanak speaks only in concern for your well-being, milady. You and your companion seem very tired, and there is a storm coming in from the east, off the sea. We would be honored to have you both as our guests until it passes."
"Thank you," Lirael said, her posture relaxing slightly. "But we must be on our way home."
The Lieutenant looked up at the sky. Nick saw that the moon has vanished, tucked away behind the dark indistinct masses of clouds. "Belisaere's nearly a full day's travel -- you won't make it much past Qyrre before the storm."
"Luckily," Lirael said, "I know somewhere closer we can stay. But we will still need all the time we can get."
"As you wish." With a shout, the Lieutenant launched the unit into motion, and Nick was relieved to find himself no longer the center of attention.
"I'm sorry about that," Lirael murmured to him, as they stood to one side. "I hope you didn't feel -- "
"No, of course not," Nick said. In reality, Nick didn't feel much of anything at all at the moment, besides the weight of exhaustion.
In the months he had spent trapped in Ancelstierre, Nick had often thought back to the moments after the Dog had returned him to Life. The sight of six figures walking across the blasted landscape towards him, their voices carrying joy and surprise across the wasteland. The way they'd each embraced him in turn, even Sam's father and those two strange twins....Nick had felt more welcome in those strange first hours than at any of the family reunions and jubilant homecoming parties in Corvere.
Half of the people he had met in the capital seemed convinced, as the Times had reported, that he had been working on a petroleum rig in the north, which had exploded and sent up fire and ash as far south as Saventine. Others, those more given to conspiracies and nefarious plots, implied that he had been kidnapped by Corolini's Our Country thugs, spirited away and only released on the condition of leniency for the traitors who had tried to overthrow the government. No one, Nick had quickly come to learn, was particularly interested in the truth. Even if they were, he doubted they'd be able to understand. His parents certainly hadn't. His mother still cast glances at him, as if she thought that the story he'd told them was the result of an extended opiatic stupor in some seedy dockside parlor, his brain lulled by the sweet smoke of the Iskerrian Red Lotus.
And now here, amongst people who knew what had happened at Forwin Mill, who knew of Orannis and the true nature of his destructive powers, who recognized the faint mark on Nick's brow as a sign of the Charter -- even amongst these people, he was still an outsider. Still mistrusted, still considered strange. It hurt, Nick realized, in a dull, distant way. He could feel that much.
Lirael was speaking to him. Nick shook his head, like a dog shaking off water.
"Are you afraid of heights?" she repeated.
"No," Nick said. "Why?"
"It's just -- " but before she had finished, Nick saw why she had asked. Four of the guards were wheeling a contraption across the snow-covered ground, grunting with effort. It looked like a hollowed-out log, with wings and a tail and two seats in the center. In the torchlight, Nick could just make out a falcon eye, painted at the prow.
"Is this -- some kind of plane?"
"A what?" Lirael's nose crinkled in confusion. "It's a Paperwing -- like a ship, only it flies."
Nick looked at the contraption, dubious. "I thought technology like this stopped working north of the Wall."
"It's Charter-spelled," Lirael said. "It rides on the wind currents." From one of the pockets of her surcoat, she pulled out two sets of goggles, handing one to Nick. Turning them over in his hands, Nick was struck by the curious sense that his friend Sam had made them, although he couldn't say how he knew. Certainly Sam had always been tinkering with any number of broken watches, radios and other gadgets in the dormitories at Somersby. If he'd made Lirael her new hand, a pair of goggles would be little more than a diversion. He tucked them over his forehead, like a motorist.
At some point during the walk, Lirael's hair had fallen loose from its long braid. Nick watched as she pulled it back into a simple bun. Even with her hair up, she didn't look like any librarian Nick had ever met.
The guards positioned the Paperwing at the edge of the torches' path -- a runway, Nick realized. The snow was coming down heavier now, fat flakes that settled in Lirael's dark hair like small flower blossoms. She walked around the craft, inspecting it, her unharmed hand skimming its surface. The Paperwing seemed to vibrate under her touch, like an animal seeking approval.
"We should get going," Lirael said. "The Paperwing doesn't like to fly at night, but I think she'll make an exception."
Nick approached cautiously. The Paperwing's motionless eye tracked his movements.
"Say hello," Lirael said. She took Nick's hand in her golden one, twining their fingers together and guiding their clasped hands down. She laid Nick's palm against the Paperwing's side, and covered it with her own.
"A Paperwing," Nick repeated. He could feel the sheets of paper that gave the craft its name. He wondered how something so delicate could hold the weight of two people, but when he pressed harder, the paper didn't give.
A gust of wind blew through the Paperwing's tail, making a reedy whispering sound.
"She likes you," Lirael murmured. Her breath tickled against Nick's ear.
"The Hrule liked me too," Nick said. "My blood -- she seemed to think that we were alike."
Lirael's fingers clenched against his hand as she turned him around to face her.
"Nicholas Sayre," she said, her words slow and clear, "I have only been Abhorsen-in-Waiting for half a year now, but I have walked through all Nine Precincts of Death, and faced monsters that would make a Hrule turn tail and flee. You are not a monster."
"Then what am I?" Nick asked quietly.
Lirael looked down at their hands, still clasped together. In the flickering light of the torches, Nick thought he saw a flush spill over her cheeks. "You're my friend," she said, quieter. "We can figure the rest out together. That is, if you want."
"I do," Nick said. He stroked his thumb over the back of her palm, felt the smoothness of the metal and the warm flush of Charter Magic beneath, thrumming like blood. "I want that very much."
Lirael smiled. Her other hand moved to his face, as if to cradle his cheek, but she only slid his goggles down over his eyes. The world jumped into clear color, as if it were daylight.
"Sam's work," Lirael said, seeing his expression. "He's waiting at the House, by the way. I told him not to wait up for me, but he never sleeps when he's on one of his projects." She pulled on her own goggles, and tied her scarf around her neck.
"Lieutenant," she called out. The man was standing some twenty yards back, studiously avoiding them. "You may want to send your people back inside -- I'll need to call up a strong wind to fight this storm."
"Yes'm," the lieutenant replied. "May the Chater preserve you!"
Lirael swung herself over the edge of the Paperwing and into the pilot's seat. She turned to Nick. He couldn't tell for sure under her goggles, but he thought he saw a glint of excitement in her eyes.
"Climb in," she said.
And Nick did.