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There was an unsettling wind that sent a chill even through the weighty surcoat belted over her body. Lirael held back a shiver as she straightened her back, the Abhorsen-in-Waiting looking over a cliff of the Old Kingdom, momentarily distracted from her thoughts by the chill. The cliff’s name didn’t come to mind immediately- although there was a small town she’d passed through to arrive at the height of it. Surely someone down there would know, she idly assured herself.
Lirael had to deal with some Dead who’d been making trouble not too far away, but instead of making her way back to the nearest Paperwing after putting them to rest beyond the Ninth Gate, she’d haltingly made her way up the steep, slanting grounds to look down over the cliff face. Looking into the sea and rocks, gnashing with an uncontrolled fury at the base, a familiar urge arose in her. To throw herself off, to be battered by the scree and finally broken against the sea stacks and let her body and soul be lost: sent to where she’d already ventured forth uncountably many times.
A quiet sigh left her lips, hefting her pack upon her shoulders, the quiet adjustment distracting her mind for only a pace. She’d long believed her impulses to be from a lack of belonging- her lack of Sight as a Clayr, her inability to be part of that community or family in any meaningful way. Yet even now, with family found, hand reforged, and a role bestowed- the thoughts remained. The impulses continued to sting at the back of her mind. Flying Paperwings, stepping into Death, hand brushing over that most solemn of the necromancer’s bells. Quiet nights camping, while alone in the House, and even rarely in the company of Sam or Sabriel. Her death preoccupied her more than her duties, the memories she peered through, and the books she tried to lose herself in.
She began to pace more steadily, walking a short distance back and forth at the very peak of the cliff. Her life was good. She was happy, usually. It felt good to do things, to work and to be needed for things no one else could do. Receiving secondhand information from the Clayr didn’t sting as much as it had in her first year of being an Abhorsen-in-Waiting, thoughts of the people she had no desire to see again no longer weighing her down. She was… adjusting. Finding peace with her lot in life. She missed the Library. She missed the Dog. But overall, Lirael believed she was feeling ‘good’.
And thoughts of suicide still filled her head at every opportunity. Was it that destined connection to Astarael, still echoing through her soul even with the Binding having long since quieted? Or was she simply unsuited for life, unsuited for happiness, and unsuited for the company of others? From her silence, a sudden sob forced its way from her throat, Lirael collapsing to her knees, looking into that abyss of sea beneath her. Was every minute of her life to be filled with that weight? Every venture into Death made her recall the Ninth Gate, the stars that had called for her so lovingly. She hadn’t ventured that deep again. Her desire for death was only ever matched by the fear of it. It was that same fear that had led to the end of the Dog. The end of her dearest and most loved companion.
Squeezing her hand tight, the warmth of the flowing Charter not helping with the chill she felt down to her bones. Her sobbing cry for the Dog had saved her life, to prolong her existence in Life despite the weariness in her. Her human hand shakily reached over her bells, Kibeth’s handle feeling familiar and comfortable in her grasp. She didn’t free it from her bandoleer, choosing instead to merely hold it, comforted. Several times before when Lirael had yearned for the unwavering peal of Astarael, she’d worked her way up the bells and the comfort of Kibeth in her palm had stopped her hand in its tracks. And it had done so once again. Her Dog continued to save and protect her.
Unsteady, ragged breaths slowly calming, Lirael braced herself enough to stand. And, with a great effort, stepping away from the cliff, turning and beginning to unsteadily and meanderingly follow the path, making her way back into town. She needed to sleep- an exhaustion she hadn’t felt an hour ago hung heavy over her body, the crunch of her boots through cold dirt heavy and plodding.
The silver keys of an Abhorsen were enough to draw eyes and keep most folk at a distance, but thankfully the innkeeper was warm and inviting enough. Perhaps she looked particularly haggard, or the promise of an Abhorsen’s coin was particularly inviting- either way, she’d barely sat down before food and a mug of something warm was placed before her, and a key granted not long after. She ate and drank slowly, and felt as though every bite and sip helped regain some fragment of humanity that she’d left atop that cliff. So absorbed was she in the careful, steady concentration of the meal in front of her that the plate was nearly cleared when she realized a woman- perhaps the innkeepers’ daughter- sat across from her, a gentle smile on her face.
“W-” Lirael’s voice cracked, her earlier cries leaving her throat tender, the awkward noise causing the woman’s smile to grow. She tried again.
“What is it you want?”
The girl tilted her head, eye-catching red hair shifting around her shoulders. The color was so bright it nearly distracted Lirael from the girl’s response, hurriedly refocusing her gaze.
“-that I’d be able to heat up water for you, should you like a bath, Abhorsen.”
“In-Waiting.” Lirael mumbled, a bit sullenly. But the prospect of a hot bath did a lot for her, giving a weary nod as she finished off the mug of the local cider. The girl across from her gave an even bigger smile as Lirael stood again, tucking in her chair as- to her surprise- she felt the soft fingers of the girl intertwine with the golden, shimmering fingertips of the Charter Magic hand that Sam had forged for her some time ago, taking the lead up a well-worn flight of stairs.
She wasn’t good with people on her best day, and today was far from it. Eye contact impossible to maintain, her tendency to mumble when forced to speak things other than Charter spells or commands for the Dead, all of it made interacting with people she was protecting difficult. Even with purpose and a job to do, her upbringing among the Clayr had left its mark upon her. So being hand in hand with a (rather attractive) woman her own age had left Lirael feeling a bit unsteady, standing awkwardly in the middle of her room.
She blinked, lifting her hand to look at the sprawling, forever moving and flowing Charter across her hand, feeling the thrumming warmth of the girl’s fingers as though they were burning hot. She was only distracted from this reverie by the return of the innkeeper’s daughter with a large, steaming bucket of water, poured quickly into a bath set in a corner of the room. Pulling off her pack, loosening the bandoleer of bells and setting both upon the bed, Lirael let out a soft sigh as a great weight left her shoulders- Astarael out of an impulsive reach. It took just a few more short trips for her bath to be filled, the warmth making Lirael aware of an ache in her body. The woman set down the bucket, turning to Lirael with that teasing smile on her face, hands reaching towards her belt.
“Shall I help you disrobe, Abhorsen?”
This jolted Lirael’s gaze away from the bath, a flush rising to her cheeks as she took an unsteady step back, bumping into the edge of the bed.
“N-no, no need for that! Um, I-I can do it myself, thank you.” Her voice cracked again, that fond look on the girl’s face not changing for a moment as she politely nodded, turning away and leaving the room.
Alone now, Lirael felt as if the entire room felt a bit colder and the bath a bit less inviting than it had been moments ago. Shaking her head and beginning to undo her belts, armor, and boots, it was only a few minutes later that she slid into the bath and her worries were forgotten in the heat of the water. Slumping down, curling into a ball and letting her head dip beneath, all thoughts of death were silenced in the comfortable warmth. Who knew how long the peace would last after leaving the tub, but she savored it- even as the water began to cool and she felt clean enough to pull herself out, dripping wet. She’d barely taken a step before the door to her room flew open, that redhead with an armful of towels flustered as she yelled out.
“I-I’m sorry, I forgot to bring- oh!” Her sentence stopped at the sight of Lirael’s body, pale, muscled, and scarred- the other girl hurriedly twisting away, arms shifting to hide herself as it felt as though her voice left her all over again.
“T-thank you! You can just leave them here!” Lirael’s voice came out shrill and hurried, eyes squeezed shut as she waited a few moments after the sound of the door closing- so surprised at the sudden sensation of a gentle hand against a shoulder blade she jumped.
“Abhorsen…”
“L-Lirael. My name’s Lirael…” Again the choked reply came out, her voices failings never hated more than in this moment.
“Lirael.” Her name sounded so different from the woman’s lips. So gentle and warm. Enough that she slowly opened her eyes, and with great hesitation turned round.
The desire to cover herself, to flee, to leap back into the water in an effort to hide away all left her mind as her eyes met the innkeeper’s daughters, that soft smile holding her gaze. Slowly those lovely, full lips parted, and once again Lirael found her attentions straying as she listened.
“I saw you when you first trekked through town this morning- I thought you rather handsome, at the time. I hadn’t expected to see you again- especially not so pallid and tired in our inn. So, I just wished… to keep you company. And warm your heart and spirits, if you’ll let me.”
She had a flush on her cheeks as she spoke, breaking eye contact herself. Lirael realized she was nervous too. And she felt her heart pounding in her chest, mouth failing to form coherent words or an answer- the heat in her body and skin from the bath leading her to answer as best she could. Pressing her lips to the redheaded girls, her first kiss awkward and unprepared, but the pair held each other there for a long moment of warmth. And Lirael became aware of tears staining her cheeks, her body shaking with a feeling she couldn’t even grasp as she pulled away.
“I-I’m sorry…. tired and… later…” Her throat felt constricted, stumbling over words, but desperate to get across her feelings. She wouldn’t leave. Not without seeing this girl again. Without sharing another kiss, at least. And this girl, whose name she still didn’t know, gave an understanding little smile, taking Lirael’s golden hand in her own for a moment.
“You know… I didn’t expect it to be so warm. But it’s comfortable. And nice, to hold.” She gave a little squeeze, then stepped away, leaving the room and closing the door behind her.
Lirael stood for a few more minutes, fingertips brushing over her lips as she looked at the door, at the sight of the red hair disappearing through the doorway. She remained standing for longer, towel clutched in her human hand as her gaze slowly drifting to the uniform of the Abhorsen and the heavy bandoleer laid out on the bed.
Dressed simply in her underclothes, she used precise care. Fingers pinched firmly around the base of the clapper of Astarael as the bell was removed from its pouch. Ever so carefully, Lirael set it atop the small bedside table before her, staring into it. The curve of the metal drew her eyes, and even in this moment, she felt an overwhelming urge to ring it, brutally and suddenly in a manner that would bring her life to an end. And she steeled herself with the thought of that red hair, of that warm sensation against her lips. Looking at that bell that had such hold on her, she made her peace.
“I’m going to live.” She spoke clearly, without faltering. “I’m going to live, and be happy, and keep fighting. You can keep calling for me, but… it’ll be a while, before my time to go. And sometimes I might forget that. But I’ll do my best.” She reached out a hand to grip the bells handle, the cold mahogany of it less… harrowing than it previously had been. Lirael sighed, shaking her head. This wasn’t an end to her connection to this bell. But no longer did it feel as much like a push-and-pull that risked sending her plunging over the edge. She would struggle with Astarael, her life, and her death for as long as she walked both Life and Death. But it was a struggle she felt capable of continuing.
Carefully, she returned the bell to its pouch, setting the bandoleer beneath the bed and shifting the pack off too. She stood, determined to follow this newfound confidence of hers before it ran out- she had a date. Leaving her room, Lirael had a gentle little smile on her face for the first time in weeks.
