Darkened Waters

"I swear that she's as bad as Sabriel," grumbled Mogget to himself, watching Lirael get into armor. "Any sensible person would be running madly in the opposite direction." He yowled as Lirael's 17-year old daughter, Arielle, swatted him on the head; he lightly leapt onto the bed, scowling. "You're not much better either, but I suppose it helps that you're not like your father. He refuses to be in the same room as me."

"Since when?" said Nick Sayre, strolling out of the bathroom and giving his wife a peck on the cheek. Nonetheless, he gave Mogget a wide berth as he stepped in front of the mirror. "Lirael...how do you do these damn things up?" he grumbled in annoyance, pulling at his armor. She laughed and rolled her eyes at him.

"The sendings didn't help?" Her eyes danced with amusement as Nick scowled.

"Yep...guess it comes from being born in Anceltierre...no respect at all."

"Serves you right," purred Mogget. "Made a right mess of things back there, didn't you? So much for modern politics."

"Shut up, Mogget," said Arielle, "or you get to go with Mother." The cat rolled onto his back lazily and closed his eyes, apparently asleep. Lirael laughed as she fixed Nick's armor, throwing Mogget an amused look.

"You'd think that he'd be more mature now, wouldn't you?" She secured the straps on Nick's sword and arrow quiver and straightened his helmet before standing up. "I would also think that you'd learn to wear armor after all these years." The two adults turned to their daughter, who was sitting on the bed with her arms crossed.

Lirael cut her off before she even opened her mouth. "We've been through this. You're not coming with us."

Arielle assumed a hurt expression as best she could. "I wasn't going to ask about that!"

"Indeed," said Nick with an uncharacteristically stern look at his daughter.

"I wasn't! I was going to ask if Uncle Sameth's going with you." The adults looked at each other briefly.

"No. Sam is busy fixing and raising new Charter Stones around Belisaere...the number of broken Stones since Sabriel's death have been rather alarming, although not unprecedented." Lirael and Nick each took turns to gently hug their daughter, taking care not to poke her with their armor. Lirael paused for a moment before leaving the room, gently brushing her daughter's errant bangs out of her eyes.

"Bye, Mum. Make them wish they'd stayed Dead."

Lirael smiled. "I will. You look after Mogget and the House. Sam or maybe even Queen Ellimere might come to pay you a visit." With that, Lirael followed Nick out of the House and onto the grounds.

Arielle slumped back onto her bed, looking up at the ceiling. After a few minutes, she heard the fierce whistling of a Paperwing in flight. She didn't even bother to get up to watch it fly north, and Mogget made an impatient sound through his teeth.

"Thought you were sleeping," Arielle said with a hint of amusement. The cat rolled onto his tummy and yawned widely, not bothering to open his eyes.

"Thought you were moping. Lirael spoils you," he said dryly.

"Mum doesn't spoil me!"

"She does. Her father wouldn't have let you walk that man to the Ninth Gate." Arielle sat up and looked at him with surprise.

"How do you know about that?" Mogget opened one green eye and made a rather rude face at her.

"I have better hearing than Lirael reckons." The other eye opened. "Might I add that that was one of the more foolish things you've ever talked her into?"

Arielle scowled and rolled off the bed. "It was two years ago, Mogget. Big deal."

"You'll never be a proper Abhorsen if you don't think of consequences before you do something incredibly stupid," said Mogget pointedly. She cringed at the jab, pale cheeks burning; he knew exactly how to hit where it hurt most, and the bitter truth was that he was totally right. She said nothing and left the room, going up the tower's spiral staircase and into the study. The smell of books comforted her slightly. She walked over to one of the tables, which was covered with thick, heavy spell books. Absently, she ran her fingers over the books, feeling the magic bound into each of them.

Her fingers caught on cold, cold metal, and she froze. The Book of the Dead still lay on the table, left from when she'd been reading it last night. Carefully, she picked it up and placed it on an empty shelf. It looked completely harmless, until one saw the Charter and Free Magic bound into the book. Marks to blind and bind, to destroy, marks for flame, fear, and warding. Only a person with a talent for Free Magic and necromancy could open it, and only an uncorrupted Charter Mage could close it. Only one of Abhorsen blood could ever hope to use it.

Arielle looked at the book for several moments before returning to her book-cluttered table. Most of the books were typical of books in any library; dictionaries of Charter marks, books on sendings, the spelling of arrows, Charter battle magic, etc. But three of the books belonged to a collection of ten...ten books on Free Magic. Ten books on the summoning of elementals, the use of Free Magic spells...ten books for an aspiring Free Magic Adept.

She returned the first two books to their shelf and opened the third. This was the last book of basic Free Magic spells. The rest dealt with the summoning of elementals, and advanced Free Magic. She flipped to the eleventh chapter and began to read.

"So that's where you've been learning all those Free Magic spells," said Mogget about two hours later, wrapping himself around the legs of the table. "I didn't think that your mother and father would approve."

Arielle started at the voice, let out a sigh of relief, and rolled her eyes at the cat. "They don't," she replied shortly. "Even though Uncle Sam said I should start learning."

"Yes, and Sameth knows best," said the cat dryly. "Haven't you learned not to trust his judgment?"

"Then whose do I trust? Yours?" asked Arielle with equal dry sarcasm. Mogget refused to reply, electing instead to clean his little paws. She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes at him yet again. "It's not as if I can actually use them."

"Can't you?" said Mogget. She gave him a suspicious look, but his little cat face was quite expressionless.

"Exactly how am I supposed to do Free Magic here in the House?"

"I have no idea." Arielle resisted the urge to give the cat a well-placed kick. Although Mogget still served the Abhorsen, he no longer had any binding to his service. Now, after Yrael had been freed of his bondage, he was more advisor than servant. Mogget insisted that he simply stayed in the cat form out of habit, but she suspected that he felt a sense of duty toward Lirael and Sameth for rebinding Orannis, and releasing him from his servitude.

A low gong sounded somewhere in the house. Mogget dashed out of the study with a yowl that sounded vaguely like "Lunch!" Arielle followed more sedately down the tower trapdoor and stairs, into the dining hall. She was about to walk in when the cat suddenly appeared in the doorway; he was much bigger that usual, and his white fur shone with a strange light.

"What's wrong?" Mogget showed his teeth; the hair on his back was raised in tension, and his claws were extended to their full length. "What's happened?"

"Get your bells. And the sword. This is not good," said the cat shortly. When she simply stood there, staring at him, he made an impatient swipe at her arm, one that she barely dodged. "Move, Abhorsen-in-Waiting!"

The title frightened her more than his tone did; Mogget never called an Abhorsen-in-Waiting by title...not unless something very, very bad had happened. She dashed up the stairs and into the armory. The room was filled with racks upon racks of armor and weapons, but she was only interested in the set closest to the door. She hastily shrugged into the armored coat and pulled the blue surcoat of the Abhorsens over it. The sword went around her waist, and she slipped the bandolier over her head. After quickly making sure that none of her bells could sound, Arielle ran back down the stairs.

"In there," said Mogget, pointing his paw into the hall. Arielle cautiously drew her sword; after a moment's hesitation, she also drew Ranna. Sleeper was the only bell that would work normally within the magically guarded House. She peeked her head around the corner, expecting some Dead or Free Magic creature that had somehow breached the House's defenses.

But as she felt for the defenses, she realized that they were no longer there. With a rush of fear, she felt that something was disrupting the magical defenses that kept the House safe haven against the Dead. She backed out of the doorway and nearly tripped over Mogget.

"What are you waiting for?" hissed Mogget. "Get a move on!"

"Something's breached the spells...or someone's disrupting them," she said quietly. "How'm I supposed to fight something like that?"

"Dear Charter help us," growled Mogget. "The defenses aren't gone, you idiot. They're just...different. Trying to compensate, I suppose."

She hated to admit it, but she realized that Mogget was right; the spells defending Abhorsen's House were now entirely turned inward, focusing all their energies on one specific spot in the hall; the space closest to the Abhorsen's dining chair. Arielle took a deep breath and stepped into the room.

At first, she wondered if fear had made her silly. A door-shaped...thing stood next to Abhorsen's chair. It looked as though it was a shimmering, glittering veil made of endless stars. Stars that overlapped one another and shed a soft glow into the room...stars that reminded her horribly of the Ninth Gate. Arielle moved closer so that she was facing the...thing head-on and gave a cry of surprise.

The stars faded into a room, a strangely beautiful, curiously circular room that held many funny instruments. But the room wasn't as strange as the two people standing in it. One was clearly ancient in years, a tall, silver-bearded man wearing strange robes embroidered with moons and stars. The other was a woman, dressed in robes of emerald velvet. Both of them wore strange hats on their heads and carried wooden wands at their sides. They were regarding her with a mix of fear, hope, and apprehension.

Arielle took a deep breath. "Who are you?" She meant the words to be forceful, but they only came out as an apprehensive whisper. She moved her head a little, but as soon as she changed her vantage point, the room faded away and the stars reappeared. She directly faced the door again; the man was speaking, and she heard his voice as though it came from over an impassible gulf, although she could hear his words quite clearly.

"We meant no trespass, Abhorsen," said the man quietly. The title caught her by surprise, and she nearly lost her vision again. "We are mages from a different world than yours. Albus Dumbledore is my name, and this is Minerva McGonagall." The woman inclined her head slightly. "One of your predecessors left us a bell, which was used to create this portal between our worlds. We have opened the portal because we request your help."

Arielle sheathed her sword, but she switched Ranna to a double-handed grip. Sleeper could easily quell these two if they tried to come through. "Request my help?" She had to tighten her grip on Sleeper; her hands were shaking, and the bell was quivering in her grasp.

"An Abhorsen once traveled to our world and aided us against a Dark wizard. He left behind a gift so that we could call upon his successors should we ever need any help. Ours is a world in which necromancy has been banned for millennia, all its secrets lost. Consequently, we have never developed magic with which to counter it. We ask your help in countering a Dark wizard who had rediscovered this dark art, Abhorsen, as you bind the Dead and lay them to rest."

She gave him a skeptical glance; she was half-tempted to use Dyrim, but she knew that any bell other than Ranna was deadly when she was this unstrung. "This isn't a one-way trip, is it?"

"No. This is designed to work twice; once to take you to our world, and once to lead you back to yours." She looked at him suspiciously; none of her spells could possibly work through this passageway, but she had no idea how to dispel it. She carefully felt around the portal; at least the man's words about the portal were true. It would work only twice, no more. If she had to, she could find a way back and make a break for it.

"Alright...I'll need to ask my...er...advisor for a little counsel." The mages both nodded, and she left the room, heading up to the library in a complete daze. What the hell had she just seen? More importantly, what had she just gotten herself into?

"A good deal of trouble," said Mogget dryly. Arielle jumped and swore; the cat was lying on top of a pile of books, back to his normal self. "Very clever of you."

She repressed the urge to swear again. "Well, what else can I do? I can't dispel the portal; I've got no idea how, and it's messing with the House's spells. I don't fancy using any magic while the spells are still warped."

Mogget remained silent for a few moments. "You do have a point for once. I suppose we don't have any choice, do we?"

"We?" she asked incredulously. "We?"

"Yes, we. Someone has to make sure you don't get killed. I'm coming with you."

"Oh, no, you aren't, Mogget. Someone has to stay and keep watch. What if Mum and Dad come back and I'm gone?"

"What do you think the smarter sendings are for?" said the cat. "Still...you are stubborn enough to hold your own against most idiots..."

"So what am I supposed to do? Did you hear them? What if they trap me there?"

Mogget yawned. "Why should I care?" He looked at her sideways for a moment. "Wait...we don't have another Abhorsen-in-Waiting, so I suppose I should care. Mmm...do some packing, and get back to me later." With that, he padded back into the dining hall.

Arielle didn't listen to any more. She went up the staircase to her room, planning on packing a few things in the special backpack Uncle Sameth had made for her.

The backpack was already sitting on her bed, packed and ready, probably on Mogget's impossible orders. Two sendings stood beside it, their Charter spell-flesh buzzing softly. Arielle gave them both quick thank-yous and walked back downstairs into the study. She sighed and turned to the books. She very carefully removed The Book of the Dead from its shelf and slipped it into her bag. She also added a book on advanced Charter Magic; as an afterthought, she also added the third through sixth books from the ten-part series on Free Magic. Despite its load, the backpack was much lighter than it should've been. It carried her clothing and herbal essentials, as well as her books. Thanks to Uncle Sameth's clever magic, the pack could carry three times as much as a normal pack, and it weighed six times less.

She walked back down to the armory and rearranged her armor more neatly. Her longbow and a quiver of spelled arrows joined the backpack across her back. She also added a pair of long, silvery fighting knives to her belt, also spelled for destruction of Dead and Free Magic creatures; they were not nearly as powerful as her sword, but they were much faster, easier to draw, and had saved her life on more than one occasion.

She walked back down the stairs and into the hall. Mogget was nowhere to be seen. Arielle considered calling for him, but decided against it. She approached the portal, uncomfortably aware of how vulnerable the House was. With all its defenses turned inward, the House's only defense was the Ratterlin...and even the mighty river's protection could be breached.

"I see that you actually took my advice for once," said Mogget's voice; she looked down to see the little cat padding toward her from the kitchens. "I'll catch up with you, after I finish my fish. No hurry." She was about to ask him what he meant before he unceremoniously shoved her into the portal.

It felt like falling through a curtain of warm, buzzing Charter Marks...no vertigo, no spinning...nothing. Her feet met water...warm, sparkling water. She immediately drew her sword, recognizing where she was. She stood in the Ninth Precinct, the endless sky of stars stretching above her. She swore to herself, wondering if this had all been a plot to lure her into Death.

Then she noticed that one shimmering patch of water slightly off to her right seemed...different from the rest. There was nothing that she could see that was wrong, but her senses twitched whenever she looked at it. As she watched, a doorway of stars, identical to the one in Abhorsen's chamber, rose out of the water. She faced it head-on, and she again saw the strange, circular room with the two wizards.

"Charter help me," she muttered to herself. She was definitely of half a mind to just turn around and walk back into Life, but she dismissed that thought as soon as it came. Her physical body was apparently here in Death as well, and she would die if she stepped into that cold, sapping river. Even here, in the Ninth Precinct's warm waters, she could feel some of her strength being leeched away. She sheathed her sword and walked through the doorway.

Again...a feeling of walking through a veil of Charter Marks...but she could taste the acrid, corrosive tang of Free Magic at the back of her throat. The stars wheeled before her eyes for a split second before disappearing...she grabbed onto the edge of something hard for support--

"Abhorsen?"

*************************************************************************************************

"Albus..." whispered Minerva as Dumbledore unlocked the cabinet. "Is this...is this the only way?"

Dumbledore heaved a great sigh, looking as though every second of his one hundred and fifty years had just come crashing on his shoulders. "It is the only way. Abhorsen is the only one who can help us now." He very carefully removed the bell from the cabinet, being exquisitely careful not to touch the cold, biting metal. Although the office was quite comfortable, the dark, hard wood felt like ice under his fingers.

He had cleared away a space in the middle of his office. Very carefully, Minerva removed the leather sheath; he held it with both hands so it could not sound. Minerva stepped back, and Dumbledore stood alone in the center of the room. He willed himself to focus; Abhorsen had warned of the consequences of a bell gone awry, and he had no intention of walking into Death. He swung the bell in a smooth, even, reverse figure eight.

The bell sounded true and clear, a dancing, energetic jig that nearly had Dumbledore's feet jumping before he mastered himself. The sound echoed long after he had stopped ringing the bell; as the bell's music echoed, a doorway of stars began to appear in front of him. As the final peals of the bell died out, the stars rolled back and a long, well-lit dining hall came into view, as though he were seeing it from beyond an immeasurable distance.

As he watched, a little white cat ambled into view. He stared at Dumbledore, muttered something under his breath, and took off in a streak of white. Dumbledore and McGonagall exchanged looks as footsteps began sounding, running, panicked footsteps.

After what seemed like an eternity, a young woman walked into view. The instant she saw them, she held up a sword in her right hand, and what looked like an Abhorsen's bell in the left. "Who are you?" Her tone was soft, frightened, almost like a child's.

"We meant no trespass, Abhorsen," he said quietly. The young woman's eyes widened, but she said nothing. "We are mages from a different world than yours. Albus Dumbledore is my name, and this is Minerva McGonagall. One of your predecessors left us a bell, which was used to create this portal between our worlds. We have opened the portal because we request your help."

The girl paused for a moment before sheathing her sword. Dumbledore noted with a mix of fear and hope that she carried the seven bells of the Abhorsen across her chest. "Request my help?"

He explained their situation, and the previous Abhorsen's actions; the young woman seemed to waver for a few moments before asking for a few minutes to consider. She walked away to speak to an advisor, and Dumbledore and McGonagall looked at each other for a long moment.

"So she is Abhorsen's daughter, then?" asked Minerva quietly. Dumbledore shook his head.

"If time has passed there the way it has here, she should be a granddaughter...but if the time does not match up...we could be generations from the Abhorsen." The minutes crept by. Suddenly, the little white cat from before came into view.

"Well, well, what have we here? Trespassers on the Abhorsen's House?" Before Albus could reply, the cat shook its head. "Or perhaps Free Magic sorcerers, seeking to capture the inexperienced?" He took a step forward and ever so gently touched his tongue to the portal, which rippled and shimmered; the cat frowned a little, as if expecting something more. "Fine. You really do have the little one in a fix, but I suppose she has to help you now." He ran away, bolting out of sight.

Moments later, the young woman appeared again, this time carrying a backpack on her shoulders, as well as a bow and arrows and a pair of knives in her belt. She and the cat conversed for a few moments, in tones too low for them to hear. Minerva let out an involuntary gasp as the portal suddenly went black.

Suddenly, the doorway was filled with stars again. The stars whirled around with dizzying speed, and the young woman fell out of the doorway, gasping. She clutched at the edge of the nearest table, gasping for breath. He moved forward, gently helping her up. "Abhorsen?"

She steadied herself and straightened. Now that he could see her clearly, he knew she was of the Abhorsen's blood. She wore a blue surcoat, dusted with silver keys, and the seven bells were strapped across her shoulder. She was tall and slim, with deathly pale skin and long, black hair; a baptismal Charter mark glowed softly on her forehead. She looked around the room with a mix of fear, puzzlement, and curiosity.

"Welcome, Abhorsen. My name is Albus Dumbledore," he said, offering a hand. She shook it with some wariness, eying his forehead. Her dark eyes flicked to Minerva, then back to Dumbledore.

"Neither of you have Charter Marks," she said quietly, her eyes widening with fear. "And yet I sense magic..."

"Our magic is slightly different; we work it with wands." He held up his wand for her to see. When she saw it, she gave a gasp of recognition and surprise. That was the very same thing that Sirius Black had used in Death...two years ago...

"You...neither of you happened to know a man named Sirius Black, did you?" Dumbledore stepped back from her, shocked. He and Minerva exchanged a long, uncertain look before either of them said anything.

"How do you know Sirius Black?" he said calmly, regaining his composure.

"I met him once...in Death. Mother and I walked him to the Ninth Gate." She recounted the story of Sirius's journey through Death to the two of them, who were listening with rapt attention. After she was done, she paused, looking at the aged wizard.

"But I don't understand...if you tried to summon the Abhorsen, you should've summoned my mother. She's the Abhorsen, not me."

Albus felt his heart plummet with a mixture of disappointment and guilt. "You are not the Abhorsen, then." Looking at her more carefully, he saw that despite the bells and sword that she carried, she looked barely older than Harry...perhaps only eighteen years old at most. He let out a heavy sigh; he had not wanted to entangle another person in this war, but this person was merely a girl.

"That's right, thank the Charter," said a sarcastic, dry, faintly annoyed voice. Dumbledore and McGonagall looked around in surprise for the speaker. The girl rolled her eyes and looked down at the little cat that had curled itself around her feet.

"Hello, Mogget," she said wearily. The cat yawned and looked around the room with a supremely bored expression on his face. "Why am I not surprised to see you here?"

"That's me, alright. The Abhorsen-in-Waiting's babysitter," said Mogget grumpily. He uncurled himself from her feet and leapt up into Dumbledore's desk. "I don't suppose you have fish in this world?" he asked Dumbledore.

"Of course we do," said Dumbledore politely. "Minerva, would you mind asking the house elves to bring some fish to my office?" McGonagall stared for a few moments before slowly walking toward the spiral staircase, still staring at Mogget, the girl, and Dumbledore.

"Raw and ungarnished. Whiting, if you have it. If not, then those...mm, what-do-you-call-ems...sardines," Mogget called after her. She nodded and hurried down the stairs, as if in a hurry to get away from Mogget, who was now smiling happily in anticipation of his fish.

"So you are the Abhorsen-in-Waiting, then?" asked Dumbledore when McGonagall had left the room. Arielle nodded. "Are you trained in the same arts as the Abhorsen?"

"Well... I finished my initial studies several months ago...so in theory, I am."

"In theory," said Mogget dryly. "You barely have what I would call practical experience."

"Mogget, shut up." The little white cat smirked and curled up into a ball next to Dumbledore's quills and ink. She watched him for a few minutes with a strange expression on her face. "I suppose he's right...I don't have nearly as much practical experience as a proper Abhorsen does."

"Yet you know how to bind the Dead?" insisted Dumbledore.

"Yes. I've been helping my mother ever since I started reading The Book of the Dead." Arielle slowly walked toward the window, looking out over the strange landscape. She could see a lake, trees and mountains in the distance, glowing in the early morning sunrise...nothing that was familiar at all. "My mother Lirael is the Abhorsen. I think it was her father, Terciel, who probably left you the bell."

"Terciel..." mused Dumbledore. "Yes, that was he. May I ask your name?"

"I'm Arielle," she replied. "I was named after my grandmother." She turned back to Dumbledore. "What did you need Abhorsen's help for?"

The old man began pacing up and down behind his desk. "I should not have brought you into this conflict...I did not wish to have the Abhorsen involved in the first place, but you are far too young to be dragged into such a war. I apologize...but I had no other choice, so I must ask you to help us."

Arielle bit her lip. "Sir, I know that I'm not experienced." He stopped pacing, looking at her with an incomprehensible look in his bright blue eyes. "I'm only seventeen, and I wish my mother were here, but neither of us have a choice. I'll still help to the best of my ability."

Dumbledore looked her straight in the eyes. "I hope your best is enough," he said quietly.