There was only one thing he could do. Sam would have to attack Hedge in the stream and kill him before the Hands could cross. If he could kill Hedge, a little nagging voice said from deep inside his mind. Wouldn’t it be better to run away? Run away before you are burnt again, and your spirit ripped out of your flesh and taken by the necromancer...
Sam buried that thought away, sending the nagging voice so far into the recesses of his mind that it was just a meaningless squeak. Then he let the Charter marks he already held in his hand fall into nothingness, reached into the Charter again and drew out a whole new string of marks. As he summoned them, Sam hurriedly traced the marks on his legs with a finger. Marks of protection, of reflection, of diversion. They joined and shimmered there, wrapping his legs in Charter Magic armour that would resist the steam and boiling water.
He looked down for only ten, or perhaps fifteen seconds. But when he looked back up, Hedge was gone. The steam was dissipating and the water was flowing again. The Dead Hands were turning their backs to him and lumbering away, leaving the ground churned up and littered with pieces of rotting flesh and splintered bone.
“Either you were born to a different death, Prince,” remarked Mogget, who had appeared at Sam’s feet like a newly sprung plant, “or Hedge just found something more important to do.”
“Where were you?” asked Sam. He felt strangely deflated. He’d been all ready to plunge into the stream, to fight it out, and now all of a sudden it was just a quiet morning again. The sun was even up and the birds had resumed their singing. Though only on his side of the stream, Sam noticed.
“Hiding, like any sensible person would when confronted by a necromancer as powerful as Hedge,” replied Mogget.
“Is he that powerful?” asked Sam. “You must have encountered many necromancers, serving my mother and the other Abhorsens.”
“They didn’t have help from the Destroyer,” said Mogget. “I must say I’m impressed with what it can do, even bound as it is. A lesson for us all, that even trapped inside a lump of silver metal—”
“Where do you think Hedge went?” interrupted Sam, who wasn’t really listening.
“Back to those lumps of metal, of course,” yawned Mogget. “Or after Lirael. Time for me to have a nap, I think.”
Mogget yawned again, then yelped in surprise as Sam grabbed him and shook him, setting Ranna jangling on his collar.
“You have to track the Dog! We have to go and help Lirael!”
“That’s no way to ask me.” Mogget yawned again, as waves of sleep from Ranna washed over both of them. Sam suddenly found that he was sitting down, and the ground felt so comfortable. All he had to do was lie back and put his hands behind his head...
“No! No!” he protested. Staggering to his feet, he plunged into the stream and pushed his face into the water.
When he climbed out, Mogget was back in his pack. Fast asleep, a wicked grin on his little face.
Sam stared down at him and ran his hands through his dripping hair. The Dog had run off downstream. What had she said? “Lirael went into the reeds.”
So if Sam followed the stream to the Red Lake, there was a good chance he’d find Lirael. Or some sign of her, or the Dog. Or Mogget might wake up.
Or Hedge might come back...
Sam didn’t want to just sit where he was. Lirael might need his help. Nicholas might need his help. He had to find them. Together, they might survive long enough to do something about this Destroyer trapped in the silver hemispheres. Alone, they could only fail and fall.
Sam packed away Lirael’s bow and the dropped arrow. Then he balanced the two packs using a single strap on each shoulder, made sure Mogget would not fall out even though the cat deserved to, and started west, the stream burbling along beside him.
chapter eleven
hidden in the reeds
Lirael more than half expected to find a boat made of woven reeds, since the Clayr had Seen her and Nicholas in it on the Red Lake. Even so, she was very much relieved when she did stumble across the strange craft, because the water was now well above her thighs. If it had got any deeper, she would have had to turn back or risk Nick drowning, since she couldn’t carry him any other way than the fireman’s lift, which put his head about two feet lower than hers.
Carefully, she unloaded him into the centre of the canoe-like boat, quickly grabbing the sides as it tipped. The boat was about twice as long as she was tall, but very narrow apart from its midsection – so there would be only just enough room for both of them.
Nick was semiconscious, but he rallied as they sat quietly in the boat, and Lirael considered her options. The reeds leant over them, creating a secret bower, and small waterbirds called plaintively nearby, with the occasional splash as one dived after some fishy treat.
Lirael sat with her sword across her lap and a hand on the bell-bandoleer, listening. The marsh birds would be happily piping and fishing, then they would suddenly go silent and hide deeper in the reeds. Lirael knew it was because Gore Crows were flying low overhead. She could feel the cold spirit that inhabited them, single-mindedly following the orders of its necromancer master. Searching for her.
The boat was exactly as the Clayr had said it would be, but Lirael felt a strange new fear as she sat rocking in it. This was the limit of the Clayr’s vision. They had Seen her here with Nicholas, but no further, and they had not Seen what Nicholas was. Was their Sight limited because this was the end? Was Hedge about to appear through the reeds? Or would the Destroyer emerge from within the slight young man opposite her?
“What are you waiting for?” Nick asked suddenly, showing himself to be more recovered than she’d thought. Lirael jumped as he spoke, setting the boat rocking more violently. Nick’s voice was loud, strange in the quiet world of the reeds.
“Silence!” ordered Lirael in a stern whisper.
“Or what?” asked Nick with some bravado. But he spoke more softly and his eyes were on her sword.
A few seconds passed, then Lirael said, “We’re waiting for noon, when the sun is brightest and the Dead are weak. Then we’ll head along the lakeshore and, hopefully, make it to a meeting place where your friend Sameth will be.”
“The Dead,” said Nick with a superior smile. “Some local spirits to appease, I take it? And you mentioned Sam before.
What’s he got to do with this? Did you kidnap him too?”
“The Dead... are the Dead,” replied Lirael, frowning. Sam had mentioned that Nick didn’t understand, or even try to comprehend, the Old Kingdom, but this blindness to reality could not be natural. “You have them working in your pit. Hedge’s Dead Hands. And no, Sam is working with me to rescue you. You obviously don’t understand the danger.”
“Don’t tell me Sam has fallen back into all this superstition,” said Nick. “The Dead, as you call them, are simply poor unfortunates who suffer from something like leprosy. And far from rescuing me, you have taken me away from an important scientific experiment.”
“You saw me as an owl,” said Lirael, curious to find exactly how blinkered he was. “With the winged dog.”
“Hypnosis... or hallucinations,” replied Nick. “As you can see, I’m not well. Which is another reason I shouldn’t be in this... this compost heap of a craft.”
“Curious,” said Lirael thoughtfully. “It must be the thing inside you that has closed your mind. I wonder what purpose that serves.”
Nick didn’t reply, but he rolled his eyes eloquently enough, obviously dismissing whatever Lirael had to say.
“Hedge will rescue me, you know,” he said. “He’s a very resourceful chap, and he’s just as keen to stay on schedule as I am. So whatever mad belief has seized you, you should give it up and go home. In fact, I’m sure there would be some sort of reward if you returned me.”