Текст книги "Abhorsen"

Автор книги: Garth Nix

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chapter twenty – eight

the seven

Sameth, what have you done now!” were the first words out of Ellimere’s mouth. But she belied her speech with an attempt to hug him, which Sam had to shrug away.

“No time to explain!” he exclaimed as he held out the bloodied Nehima. “I need some of your blood on the blade; then you have to go and help Aunt Lirael.”

Ellimere immediately complied. In earlier times, Sam would have been surprised by his sister’s instant cooperation. But Ellimere was no fool, and the towering column of fire beyond the ridge was clearly only the beginning of something terrible and strange.

“Mother! Father! I’m... I’m so glad you’re not dead!” Sam cried as Ellimere ran past, her cut palm still dripping blood, and Sabriel and Touchstone clambered up.

“Likewise,” said Touchstone, but he wasted no time either, holding out his hand so Sam could make the cut. Sabriel put hers out at the same time, but she ruffled Sam’s head with her other hand.

“I have a sister, or so the Clayr tell me, and a new Abhorsen-in-Waiting,” said Sabriel as they wiped their palms on the steel, the marks glowing as they felt the kinship of Blood to Charter. “And you have found a different path but one no less important. I trust you have been helpful to your aunt?”

“Yes, I suppose,” replied Sam. He was trying to keep all the spell for the forging in his head and he didn’t have time to talk. “She needs help now. Three diamonds of protection!”

Sabriel and Touchstone were gone before Sam finished speaking. The two Clayr stood in front of him, holding out their hands. Wordlessly, Sam cut gently into their palms and they also marked the blade with blood. Sam hardly saw them do it, so many Charter marks were whirling around in his head. He didn’t feel them take his elbows, either, and lead him back up the hill. He couldn’t think of such mundanities as walking. He was lost in the Charter, dredging up marks he hardly knew. Thousands and thousands of Charter marks that filled his head with light, spreading inwards and outwards, ordering themselves into a spell that would join with Nehima and the seven pipes to replicate a weapon that was as deadly to its wielder as to its target.

There was no time for greetings further up the ridge, either. Lirael simply snapped out orders as Ellimere, Sabriel and Touchstone arrived. She sent them to help make the first three marks of each diamond of protection, saving the last mark till everyone was inside and the diamonds could be completed. For a moment, Lirael had stumbled over her instructions, fearing that they might protest, for who was she to give orders to the King and the Abhorsen? But they didn’t, quickly going to their tasks, building the diamonds jointly to save time, each taking a cardinal mark.

Major Greene hadn’t questioned her orders either, Lirael noticed with relief. What was left of his company was running pell-mell across the valley, the able-bodied carrying the wounded, with the Major’s shouts speeding them on the way. They were shouting at the Southerlings too, telling them to lie down and look away. Lirael hoped the Southerlings would listen, though the sight of the whirling column of fire had the power to entrance as well as terrify.

Sam staggered up between Sanar and Ryelle, who smiled at Lirael as they brought him to the centre of the incipient diamond. Lirael smiled back, a brief smile that took her back for a moment to the twins’ words the day she had left the Glacier. “You must remember that, Sighted or not, you are a Daughter of the Clayr.”

Lirael closed the outer diamond with a cardinal mark and stepped inside the next incomplete diamond. As she passed him, Touchstone let the Northmark flow down his sword to close the second diamond behind her. He smiled at Lirael as they stepped back inside the third and final diamond, and she saw the strong resemblance between him and his son.

Sabriel herself closed the inner diamond. In only a few minutes they had raised magical defences of triple strength. Lirael hoped it would be enough and they would survive to do what must be done. She had a momentary panic then, and had to quickly count on her fingers to make sure they had the necessary seven. Herself, Sameth, Ellimere, Sabriel, Touchstone, Sanar, Ryelle. That was seven, though she was not sure it was really the right seven.

The lines of the diamond shone golden but were pallid in comparison with the fierce light of the column of fire. Vast as that roaring column was, Lirael knew it was only the first and least of the nine manifestations of the Destroyer’s power. Worse was to come, and soon.

Sam knelt over sword and panpipes, weaving his spell. Lirael checked that the Dog and Mogget were safely inside the diamond, and noticed that Nick’s body was inside too, which somehow seemed right. There was also a large thistle bush, which was annoying and showed her haste. She hadn’t had time to think about where the diamonds should be.

Everyone within the diamonds, save Sam, was stiff and awkward for a moment, in that strange calm before impending disaster. Then Sabriel took Lirael into a loose embrace and kissed her lightly on the cheek.

“So you are the sister I never knew I had,” said Sabriel. “I would wish that we had met earlier, and on a more auspicious occasion. We have had many revelations thrust upon us, more than my tired mind can take in, I fear. We have gone by boat and van and aeroplane and Paperwing to come here, almost without rest, and the Clayr have Seen a great deal very suddenly. They tell me that we face a great spirit of the Beginning, and that you are not only heir to my office but a Remembrancer too, and you have Seen the past as other Clayr See the future. So please tell us – what must we do?”

“I’m so glad you’re all here now,” replied Lirael. It was terribly tempting to just fall apart during this brief lull, but she could not. Everything depended upon her. Everything.

She took a deep breath and continued, “The Destroyer is building up to Its second manifestation, which I hope... I hope the diamonds will save us from. Afterwards, It will diminish for a little time, and it is then we must go down to It, warding ourselves against the fires that the second manifestation will leave behind. The binding spell we will use ourselves is simple, and I will teach it to you now. But first, everyone must take a bell from me... or from the Abhorsen.”

“Call me Sabriel,” said Sabriel firmly. “Does it matter which bell?”

“There will be one that feels right, one that will speak to your blood. Each of us will be standing for one of the original Seven, as they live on in our bloodline and in the bells,” stammered Lirael, nervous about instructing her elders. Sabriel was quite frightening up close and it was hard to remember that she was her own sister, not just the near-legendary binder of the Dead. But Lirael did know what she was doing. She had seen in the Dark Mirror how the binding had been done and how it must be done again, and she could feel the affinities between the bells and the people.

Though there was something strange about Sanar and Ryelle. Lirael looked at them, and her heart almost stopped as she realised that as twins, their spirits were intertwined. They could wield only one bell between them. There would only be six of the needed seven.

She stood frozen and horrified as the others stepped forward and took their bells from Sabriel.

“Saraneth for me, I think,” said Sabriel, but she left the bell in the bandoleer. “Touchstone?”

“Ranna for me,” replied Touchstone. “The Sleeper seems very appropriate, given my past.”

“I will take a bell from my aunt, if I may,” said Ellimere. “Dyrim, I think.”

Lirael mechanically handed the bell to her niece. Ellimere looked very like Sabriel, with the same sort of contained force inside her. But she had her father’s smile, Lirael saw, even through her panic.

“We will hold Mosrael together,” said Sanar and Ryelle in unison.

Lirael shut her eyes. Maybe she hadn’t counted right, she thought. But she could feel who should have which bell. She opened her eyes again and with shaking hands started to undo a strap on her bandoleer.

“Sam will have Belgaer, and... and I will wield both Astarael and... and Kibeth, to make the seven.”

She spoke as confidently as she could, but there was a quaver in her voice. She could not wield two bells. Not for this binding. There had to be seven wielders, not just seven bells.

“Hmmph,” woofed the Dog, standing up and wriggling her hindquarters in a somewhat embarrassed fashion. “Not Kibeth. I shall stand for myself.”

Lirael’s hand fumbled on the strap that held Astarael silent, and she only just managed to prevent the bell’s mournful call, which would send all who heard it into Death.

“But you said you weren’t one of the Seven!” Lirael protested, though she had long suspected the truth about the Dog. She just hadn’t wanted to admit it, even to herself, for the Dog was her best and oldest friend, long her only friend. Lirael could not imagine Kibeth as her friend.

“I lied,” said the Dog cheerily. “That’s one of the reasons I’m the Disreputable Dog. Besides, I’m only what’s left of Kibeth, in a roundabout, hand-me-down sort of way. Not quite the same. But I’ll stand against the Destroyer. Against Orannis, as one of your Seven.”

As the Dog spoke the Destroyer’s name, the column of fire roared higher still and punched through the remnants of the storm clouds. It was more than a mile high now, and dominated all the western sky, its red light defeating the yellow of the sun.

Lirael wanted to say something, but the words were choked by incipient tears. She did not know whether they were of relief or sadness. Whatever was to come, she knew nothing would ever be the same with her and the Disreputable Dog.

Instead of speaking, she scratched the Dog’s head. Just twice, running her fingers through the soft dog hair. Then she quickly recited the binding spell, showing everyone the marks and words they would have to use.

“Sam is making the sword that I will use to break the Destroyer once It is bound,” Lirael finished. At least she hoped he was. As if to reinforce her hope, she added, “He is a true inheritor of the Wallmaker’s powers.”

She gestured to where Sam was bent over Nehima, his hands moving in complex gestures, the names of Charter marks tumbling from his mouth as his hands wove the glowing symbols into a complex thread that tumbled out of the air and spilled down upon the naked blade.

“How long will it take?” asked Ellimere.

“I don’t know,” whispered Lirael. Then she repeated herself more loudly. “I don’t know.”

They stood and waited, anxious seconds stretching out awfully into minutes as Sam called forth his Charter marks and Orannis rumbled beyond the ridge, both of them building very different spells. Lirael found herself looking down into the valley every few seconds, where it looked like Major Greene might be having some success at making the Southerlings lie down; then she would look at Sam; then at the Destroyer’s fire; and then start all over again, full of different anxieties and fears everywhere she looked.

The Southerlings were still too close, Lirael knew, though they were considerably lower in the valley than they had been. Sam did not seem to be getting any nearer to finishing. The Destroyer was growing taller and stronger, and any minute Lirael knew it would assume its second manifestation, the one for which it was named.

The Destroyer.

Everyone jumped as Sam suddenly stood. They jumped again as he spoke seven master marks, one after the other. A river of molten gold and silver flame fell from his outstretched hands down upon Lirael’s bloody sword and the panpipes, which he’d separated into individual tubes and laid along the length of the silvered blade.

Moments later, the Destroyer flashed brighter and the ground rumbled beneath their feet.

“Look away and close your eyes!” screamed Lirael. She threw one arm across her face and crouched, facing down towards the valley. Behind her a shining silver globe – the joined hemispheres – ascended to the sky atop the column of fire. As it rose, the sphere grew brighter and brighter till it was more brilliant than the sun had ever been. It hovered high in the air for a few seconds, as if surveying the ground, then sank back out of sight.

For nine very long seconds, Lirael waited, her eyes screwed shut, her face pushed into her very dirty sleeve. She knew what was to come, but it did not help her.

The explosion came as she counted nine, a blast of white-hot fury that annihilated everything in the loch valley. The mill and the railway were vaporised in the first flash. The loch boiled dry an instant later, sending a vast cloud of superheated steam roaring to the sky. Rocks melted, trees became ash, the birds and fish simply disappeared. The lightning rods flashed into molten metal that was hurled high into the air, to fall back as deadly rain.

The blast sheared the top of the ridge completely off, destroying earth, rocks, lightning rods, trees and everything else. Anything left that could burn did, till it was extinguished seconds later by the wind and the steam.

The outermost diamond of protection took what was left of the blast after it destroyed the protective earth of the hill. The magical defence flared for an instant, then was gone.

The second diamond had the hot wind and the steam that could strip flesh from bone. It lasted only seconds till it too gave way.

The third and final diamond held for more than a minute, repelling a hail of stones, molten metal and debris. Then it also failed, but not until the worst had passed. A hot – but bearable – wind rushed in as the diamond fell and washed around the Seven as they crouched on the ground, their eyes still shut, shaken in body and mind.

Above them, a huge cloud of dust, ash, steam and destruction rose, climbing thousands of feet till it spread out like a toadstool top, to cover all in shadow.

Lirael was the first to recover. She opened her eyes to see ash falling all around like blackened snow, and their little diamond-shaped patch of unharmed dirt an island in a wasteland where all colour had drained away under a sky that was like a cloudy night, with no hint of sun. But it was not the shock it could have been. She had seen it already in the past and her mind was fully occupied, racing ahead to what they must do. To what she would have to do.

“Protect yourselves against the heat!” she shouted, as the others slowly stood and looked around, shock and horror in their eyes. Quickly, she called the marks of protection into being, letting them flow out of her mind and across her skin and clothing. Then she looked for the weapon she hoped Sam had made.

Sam held it by the blade and looked puzzled, as if uncertain what he’d wrought. He offered it to Lirael and she took the hilt, not without a stab of fear. It was not Nehima any more, and it was not the same sword. It was longer than it had been, with a much broader blade, and the green stone was gone from the pommel. Charter marks ran everywhere through the metal, which had a silvery-red sheen, as if it had been washed in some strange oil. An executioner’s sword, Lirael thought. The inscription on the blade seemed the same. Or was it? She couldn’t recall exactly. Now it simply said, Remember Nehima.

“Is that it?” asked Sam. He was white-faced with shock. He looked past her to the valley, but he could not see anything of the Southerlings or Major Greene and his men. There was too much dust and there was little light. But he couldn’t hear anything either. No screams or shouts for help, and he feared the worst. “I did what you said.”

“Yes,” croaked Lirael, her throat dry. The sword was heavy in her hand, and even heavier on her heart. When... if... they bound Orannis, this was what she would use to break It in two, for no binding could long contain the Destroyer if It was left entire. This weapon could break Orannis, but only at the cost of the wielder’s life.

Her life.

“Does everyone have a bell?” she asked quickly, to distract herself. “Sabriel, please give Belgaer to Sam and tell him the binding spell.”

She didn’t wait for an answer but led the way across the blasted ridge, down through the fires and the broken hillside, the pools of ash and the cooling metal. Down to the shores of the dry loch, where the Destroyer momentarily rested before its third manifestation, which would unleash even greater powers of destruction.

A grim party followed her, each holding a bell, the binding spell Lirael had taught them repeated over and over in every head.

As they got closer, the stench of Free Magic overcame the smoke, till its acid reek cut at their lungs and waves of nausea struck. It seemed to eat at their very bones, but Lirael would not slow her pace for pain or sickness and the others followed her lead, fighting against the bile in their throats and the cramps that bit inside.

The steam had fallen back as fog and the cloud above brought a darkness close to night, so Lirael had little to guide her but instinct. She chose the way by what felt worst, sure that this would lead them to the sphere that was the core of the Destroyer. She knew that if they slowed to try to pick a path by more conventional means, they would soon see a new column of flame, a beacon that would only signal failure.

Then, quite suddenly, Lirael saw the sphere of liquid fire that was the current manifestation of the Destroyer. It hung in the air ahead of her, dark currents alternating with tongues of fire upon its smooth and lustrous surface.

“Form a ring around It,” commanded Lirael, her voice weak and small in this abyss of destruction, amidst the darkness and the fog. She drew Astarael in her left hand, wincing at the pain. In all the rush, she’d forgotten about Hedge’s blow. There was still no time to do anything for it, but then the thought flashed through her mind that soon it wouldn’t matter. The sword she rested on her right shoulder, ready to strike.

Silently, her companions – her family, old and new, Lirael realised with a pang – spread out to form a ring around the sphere of fire and darkness. Only then did Lirael realise that she had not seen Mogget since the destruction, though he had been inside the diamonds of protection. She could not see him now and another little fear flowered in her heart.

The ring was complete. Everyone looked to Lirael. She took a deep breath and coughed, the corrosive Free Magic eating at her throat. Before she could recover and begin the spell, the sphere began to expand, and red flames leapt out from it, towards the ring of Seven, like a thousand long tongues that sought to taste their flesh.

As the flames writhed, Orannis spoke.

chapter twenty – nine

the choice of yrael

So Hedge has failed me, as such servants do,” said Orannis, its voice low like a whisper but harsh and penetrating. “As all living things must fail, till silence rings me in eternal calm, across a sea of dust.

“And now another Seven comes, all a-clamour to lock Orannis once more in metal, deep under earth. But can a Seven of such watered blood and thinner power prevail against the Destroyer, last and mightiest of the Nine?”

Orannis paused for a moment of terrible, absolute silence. Then it spoke three words that shook everyone around it, striking them like a harsh slap across the face.

“I think not.”

The words were said with such power that no one could move or speak. Lirael had to start the binding spell, but her throat was suddenly too dry for speech, her limbs too heavy to move. Desperately, she fought against the force that held her, drawing on the pain in her arm, the shock of seeing Nick’s dying face, and the awful and total destruction all around.

Her tongue moved then and she found a hint of moisture in her mouth, even as Orannis swelled towards the ring of Seven, its tongues of flame reaching out to wrap around the fools who sought to fight it.

“I stand for Astarael against you,” croaked Lirael, sketching a Charter mark with the tip of her sword. The mark hung there, glowing, and the fiery tongues recoiled from it – a little.

It was enough to free the others and begin the spell of binding. Sabriel drew a mark with her sword and said, “I stand for Saraneth against you.” Her voice was strong and confident, lending hope to all the others.

“I stand for Belgaer against you,” said Sam, his voice growing in strength and anger as he thought of Nick, his bloodless face looking up as he told him to “make it right.” Quickly, he drew his Charter mark, fingers almost flinging it in front of him.

“I stand for Dyrim against you,” Ellimere pronounced proudly, as if it were a challenge to a duel. Her mark was drawn deliberately, like a line in the sand.

“As I did then, so do I now,” said the Disreputable Dog. “I am Kibeth and I stand against you.”

Unlike the others, she didn’t draw a Charter mark, but her body rippled, brown dog skin giving way to a rainbow of marks that moved across her in strange patterns and conjunctions of shape and colour. One of these marks drifted in front of her snout and she blew on it, sending it out in front to hang in the air.

“We stand as one, for Mosrael, against you,” intoned Sanar and Ryelle in unison. They drew their mark together, in bold strokes with their clasped hands.

“I am Torrigan, called Touchstone, and I stand for Ranna against you,” declared Touchstone, and his voice was that of a king. He drew his mark, and as it flared, he was first to sound his bell. Then the Clayr added Mosrael’s voice, the Dog began a rhythmic bark, Ellimere swung Dyrim, Sam rang Belgaer, and Sabriel let Saraneth call deep and low over them all.

Finally, Lirael swung Astarael, and her mournful tone joined the ring of sound and magic that surrounded Orannis. Normally, Weeper would throw all who heard her into Death. Here, combined with the other six voices, her sound evoked a sorrow that could not be answered. Together, the bells and Dog sang a song that was more than sound and power. It was the song of the earth, the moon, the stars, the sea and the sky, of Life and Death and all that was and would be. It was the song of the Charter, the song that had bound Orannis in the long ago, the song that sought to bind the Destroyer once again.

On and on the bells went, till they seemed to echo everywhere inside Lirael. She was saturated with their power, like a sponge that can take no more. She could feel it inside her and in the others, a welling-up that filled them all and then had to go rushing out.

It did, flowing into the mark she’d drawn, which grew bright and spread sideways to become a strand of light that joined the next mark, and then the next, to form a glowing ring that closed around the globe of Orannis, a shining band in orbit around the dark and threatening sphere.

Lirael spoke the rest of the binding spell, the words flying out of her on a flood-tide of power. With the spell, the ring grew brighter still and began to tighten, forcing back the tongues of flame. It sent them writhing in retreat, back into the sphere of darkness that was Orannis.

Lirael took a step forward and all the seven did the same, closing the human ring behind the magic one of light. Then they took another step, and another, as the spell-ring tightened further, constricting the sphere itself. All around, the bells rang on in glory, the Dog’s bark a rhythm the bell-ringers followed without conscious thought. A great feeling of triumph and relief began to swell in Lirael, tempered with the dread of the sword on her shoulder. Soon she would wield it and, all too soon, would walk once more to the Ninth Gate, never to return.

Then the spell-ring stopped. The bells faltered as the ringers halted behind it in mid step. Lirael flinched, feeling a backlash of power, as if she’d suddenly walked into an unexpected wall.

“No,” Orannis said, its voice calm, devoid of all emotion.

The spell-ring shivered as Orannis spoke, and began to expand again, forced outwards by the growing sphere. The tongues of fire reappeared, more numerous than before.

The bells still rang, but the ringers were forced to step back, their faces showing emotions that ranged from grim despair to doomed determination. The spell-ring faded as it opened out, stretched too thin by the growing power of Orannis.

“Too long did I linger in my metal tomb,” spoke Orannis. “Too long have I borne the affront of living, crawling life. I am the Destroyer – and all will be destroyed!”

With the last word, the flames lashed out and gripped the spell-ring with a thousand tiny fingers of dark fire. They twisted and wrenched at it every way, hastening its destruction.

Lirael saw it happen as if she were far away. All was lost now. There was nothing else to do or try. She had seen the Beginning, and seen Orannis bound. Then, the Seven had prevailed. Here, they had failed. Lirael had known and accepted the certainty of her own death in this venture, and thought it a fair price for the defeat of Orannis and the saving of all she loved and knew.

Now, they would all merely be the first of a multitude to die, till Orannis brooded on a world of ash and cinders, kept company only by the Dead.

Then, in the midst of despair, Lirael heard Sam speak and saw a flash of brilliant light flow up next to him, to form a tall shape of white fire that was only vaguely human.

“Be free, Mogget!” shouted Sam, as he held a red collar high. “Choose well!”

The shape of fire grew taller. It turned away from Sam towards Sabriel, and its head descended as if it might suddenly bite. Sabriel looked up at it stoically, and it hesitated. Then it flowed over to Lirael and she felt the heat of it, and the shock of its own Free Magic that mixed with the lung-destroying impact of Orannis.

“Please, Mogget,” whispered Lirael, too soft to be heard by anyone at all.

But the white shape did hear. It stopped and turned inwards, to face Orannis, changing from a pillar of fire to a more human shape, but one with skin as bright as a burning star.

“I am Yrael,” it said, casting a hand out to throw a line of silver fire into the breaking spell-ring, its voice crackling with force. “I also stand against you.”

The spell-ring tightened again and everyone automatically stepped forward. This time it didn’t stop but contracted again. As the ring tightened, the tongues of flame blew out and the sphere grew darker. Then it began to glow with a silver sheen, the silver of the hemispheres that had bound Orannis for so long.

Lirael stepped forward again, her eyes fixed on the shrinking sphere. Dimly she was aware that Astarael still rang in her hand, as she was even more faintly aware that Yrael was singing now, singing over the bells and the barking, his voice weaving into the song.

The sphere contracted still further, the silver spreading through it like mercury spilt in water, travelling in slow coils. When it became fully silver, Lirael knew she must strike, in the few moments when Orannis was completely bound. Bound not by the Seven, but by the Eight, she realised, for Mogget – Yrael – could be nothing else but the Eighth Bright Shiner, who was himself bound by the Seven in the long ago.

Bells rang, Yrael sang, Kibeth barked, Astarael mourned. The silver spread, and Lirael moved in closer and raised the weapon Sam had made for her from blood and sword and the spirit of the Seven in the panpipes.

Orannis spoke then, in bitter, cutting tones.

“Why, Yrael?” it said, as the last of the dark gave way to silver and the shining sphere of metal sank slowly to the ground. “Why?”

Yrael’s answer seemed to travel across a great space, words trickling into Lirael’s consciousness as she raised her sword still higher, body arching back, preparing for the mighty blow that must cut through the entire sphere.

“Life,” said Yrael, who was more Mogget than it ever knew. “Fish and fowl, warm sun and shady trees, the field mice in the wheat, under the cool light of the moon. All the—”

Lirael didn’t hear any more. She gathered up all her courage and struck.

Sword met silver metal with a shriek that silenced everything, the blade cutting through in a blaze of blue-white sparks that fountained up into the ashen sky.

Even as it cut, the sword melted and red fire streaked up into Lirael’s hand. She screamed as it hit, but hung on, putting all her weight and strength and fury into the blow. She could feel Orannis in the fire, feel it in the heat. It was seeking its last revenge on her, filling her with its destructive power, a power that would burn her into ash.

Lirael screamed again as the flames engulfed the hilt, her hand now no more than a lump of pain. But still she held on, to complete the breaking.

The sword broke through, the sphere split asunder. Even knowing she would fail, Lirael tried to let go. But Orannis had her, its spirit kept momentarily whole by the thin bridge of her sword, the last remnants of the blade between the hemispheres. A bridge to her destruction.

“Dog!” screamed Lirael instinctively, not knowing what she said, pain and fear overwhelming her intention to simply die. Again she tried to open her hand, but her fingers were welded to the metal, and Orannis was in her blood, spreading through to consume her in its final fire.

Then the Dog’s teeth suddenly closed on Lirael’s wrist. There was a new pain, but a clean one, sharp and sudden. Orannis was gone from her, as was the fire that threatened to destroy her. A moment later, Lirael realised that the Dog had bitten off her hand.

All that remained free of Orannis’s vengeful power was directed at the Disreputable Dog. Red fire flowered about her as she spat out the hand, throwing it between the hemispheres, where it writhed and wriggled like a dreadful spider made from burnt and blackened flesh.

A great gout of flame erupted and engulfed the Dog, sending Lirael stumbling back, her eyebrows frizzled into nothing. Then, with a long, final scream of thwarted hope, the hemispheres hurtled apart. One narrowly missed Lirael, tumbling past her into the loch and the returning sea. The other flew up past Sabriel, to land behind her in a flurry of dust and ash.