Sabriel (The Abhorsen Trilogy) by Garth Nix

Author:Garth Nix [Nix, Garth]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, pdf
ISBN: 9780061975134
Publisher: HarperTeen
Published: 2009-10-05T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

ALL THE SURVIVORS of Nestowe were gathered in the largest of the fish-smoking sheds, save for the current shift of archers who watched the breakwater. There had been one hundred and twenty-six villagers the week before—now there were thirty-one.

“There were thirty-two until this morning,” the Elder said to Sabriel, as he passed her a cup of passable wine and a piece of dried fish atop a piece of very hard, very stale bread. “We thought we were safe when we got to the island, but Monjer Stowart’s boy was found just after dawn today, sucked dry like a husk. When we touched him, it was like…burnt paper, that still holds its shape…we touched him, and he crumbled into flakes of…something like ash.”

Sabriel looked around as the old man spoke, noting the many lanterns, candles and rush tapers that added both to the light and the smoky, fishy atmosphere of the shed. The survivors were a very mixed group—men, women and children, from very young to the Elder himself. Their only common characteristic was the fear pinching their faces, the fear showing in their nervous, staccato movement.

“We think one of them’s here,” said a woman, her voice long gone beyond fear to fatalism. She stood alone, accompanied by the clear space of tragedy. Sabriel guessed she had lost her family. Husband, children—perhaps parents and siblings too, for she wasn’t over forty.

“It’ll take us, one by one,” the woman continued, matter-of-fact, her voice filling the shed with dire certainty. Around her, people shuffled, twitchily, not looking at her, as if to meet her gaze would be to accept her words. Most looked at Sabriel and she saw hope in their eyes. Not blind faith, or complete confidence, but a gambler’s hope that a new horse might change a run of losses.

“The Abhorsen who came when I was young,” the Elder continued—and Sabriel saw that at his age, this would be his memory alone, of all the villagers—“this Abhorsen told me that it was his purpose to slay the Dead. He saved us from the haunts that came in the merchant’s caravan. Is it still the same, lady? Will Abhorsen save us from the Dead?”

Sabriel thought for a moment, her mind mentally flicking through the pages of The Book of the Dead, feeling it stir in the backpack that sat by her feet. Her thoughts strayed to her father; the forthcoming journey to Belisaere; the way in which Dead enemies seemed to be arrayed against her by some controlling mind.

“I will ensure this island is free of the Dead,” she said at last, speaking clearly so all could hear her. “But I cannot free the mainland village. There is a greater evil at work in the Kingdom—that same evil that has broken your Charter Stone—and I must find and defeat it as soon as I can. When that is done, I will return—I hope with other help—and both village and Charter Stone will be restored.”

“We understand,” replied the Elder. He seemed saddened, but philosophic.

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