“His aunt!” exclaimed Nick, a flush of embarrassment rather than fever coloring his face. “How can you be—I mean, I had no idea. I apologize, ma’am.”

“And I’m . . . I’m much older than I look,” Lirael added. “In case you were going to ask.”

She was a little embarrassed herself, though she couldn’t think why. She still didn’t know how to talk about her mother. In some ways it was more painful thinking about her now that she knew about her father and how she had come to be conceived. One day, she thought, she would find out exactly what had happened to Arielle, and why she had chosen to go away.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” replied Nick. “You know, this sounds stupid, but I feel much better here than I have for weeks. Never would have thought a swamp could be a tonic. I haven’t even fainted today.”

“You did once,” said Lirael. “When we first took you from the tent.”

“Did I?” asked Nick. “How embarrassing. I seem to be fainting a lot. Fortunately it tends to be when Hedge is there to catch me.”

“Can you tell when you’re about to faint?” asked Lirael. She hadn’t forgotten the Dog’s warning about how long the fragment would be subdued, and she was fairly certain she could not quell it again by herself.

“Usually,” said Nick. “I get nauseous first and my eyesight goes peculiar—everything goes red. And something happens to my sense of smell, so I get the sensation of something burning, like an electric motor fusing. But I do feel much better now. Perhaps the fever’s broken.”

“It isn’t a fever,” Lirael said wearily. “Though I hope it is better, for both our sakes. Sit still now—I’m going to paddle us out a bit farther. We’ll stay in the reeds, but I want to see what’s happening on the lake. And please keep quiet.”

“Sure,” said Nick. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

Lirael almost apologized, but she held it back. She did feel sorry for Nick. It wasn’t his fault he had been chosen by an ancient spirit of evil to be its avatar. She even felt sort of maternal to him. He needed to be tucked in bed and fed willow-bark tea. That thought led to the idle speculation of what he might look like if he were well. He could be quite handsome, Lirael thought, and then instantly banished the notion. He might be an unwitting enemy, but he was still an enemy.

The reed boat was light, but even so it was hard work paddling with just her hands. Particularly since she also had to keep an eye on Nicholas in case of trouble. But he seemed content to lie back on the high prow of the reed boat. Lirael did catch him looking at her surreptitiously, but he didn’t try to escape or call out.

After about twenty minutes of difficult paddling, the reeds began to thin out, the red water paled into pink, and Lirael could see the muddy lake bottom. The sun was well and truly up, so Lirael chanced pushing the boat to the very fringe of the reed marsh so she could look out on the lake but keep hidden.

They were still covered overhead because of the way the reeds leaned into one another. Even so, Lirael was relieved to discover that she couldn’t sense any Gore Crows about. Probably because there was a strong current beyond the reedy shores, combined with the bright sun of morning.

Though there were no Gore Crows in sight, there was something moving out on the surface of the lake. For a second Lirael’s heart lifted as she thought it might be Sam, or a force of Guards. Then she realized what it was, just as Nick spoke.

“Look—my barges!” he called, sitting up and waving. “Hedge must have got the other one—and loaded already!”

“Quiet!” hissed Lirael, reaching out to drag him down.

He offered no resistance but suddenly frowned and clutched his chest. “I think . . . I think I was counting my chickens before—”

“Fight it!” interrupted Lirael urgently. “Nick—you have to fight it!”

“I’ll try—” Nick began, but he didn’t finish his sentence, his head falling back with a dull, reedy thud. His eyes showed white, and Lirael saw a thin tendril of smoke begin to trickle from his nose and mouth.

She slapped him hard across the face.

“Fight it! You’re Nicholas Sayre! Tell me who you are!”

Nick’s eyes rolled back, though smoke still trickled from his nose.

“I’m . . . I’m Nicholas John Andrew Sayre,” he whispered. “I’m Nicholas . . . Nicholas . . .”

“Yes!” urged Lirael. She put her sword down by her side and took his hands, shuddering as she felt the Free Magic coursing in the blood under his cold skin. “Tell me more about yourself, Nicholas John Andrew Sayre! Where were you born?”

“I was born at Amberne, my family home,” whispered Nick. His voice grew stronger and the smoke receded. “In the billiard room. No, that’s a joke. Mother would kill me for that. I was born all proper for a Sayre, doctor and midwives in attendance. Two midwives, no less, and the society doctor . . .”

Nick closed his eyes, and Lirael gripped his hands tighter.

“Tell me . . . anything!” she demanded.

“The specific gravity of orbilite suspended in quicksilver is . . . I don’t know what it is. . . . The snow in Korrovia is confined to the southern Alps, and the major passes are Kriskadt, Jorstschi, and Korbuk. . . . The average blue-tailed plover lays twenty-six eggs in the course of its fifty-four-year lifespan. . . . More than a hundred thousand Southerlings landed illegally in the last year. . . . The chocolate tree is an invention of—”

He stopped suddenly, took a deep breath, and opened his eyes. Lirael kept holding his hands for a moment, but when she saw no sign of smoke or strangeness in his gaze, she dropped them and took up her sword again, resting the blade across her thighs.

“I’m in trouble, aren’t I?” said Nick. His voice was unsteady. He looked down at the bottom of the boat, hiding his face, taking very controlled breaths.

“Yes,” said Lirael. “But Sameth and I, and the . . . our friends . . . will do the best we can to save you.”

“But you don’t think you can,” said Nicholas softly. “This . . . thing . . . inside me. What is it?”

“I don’t know,” replied Lirael. “But it is part of some great and ancient evil, and you are helping it to be free. To wreak destruction.”

Nick nodded slowly. Then he looked up and met Lirael’s gaze.

“It’s been like a dream,” he said simply. “Most of the time I don’t really know whether I’m awake or not. I can’t remember things from one minute to the next. I can’t think of anything except the hemi—”

He stopped talking. Fear flashed in his eyes and he reached out for Lirael. She took his left hand but kept hold of her sword. If the thing inside him took over and wouldn’t let her go, she knew she would have to cut her way free.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Nick repeated to himself, rocking backwards and forwards as he spoke. “I’ve got it under control. Tell me what I have to do.”

“Keep fighting,” Lirael instructed, but she didn’t know what else to tell him. “If we can’t keep you, then when the time comes, you must do whatever you can to stop . . . to stop it. Promise me you will!”

“I promise,” groaned Nick through clenched teeth. “Word of a Sayre. I’ll stop it! I will! Talk to me, please, Lirael. I have to think about something else. Tell me . . . tell me . . . where were you born?”

“In the Clayr’s Glacier,” said Lirael nervously. Nick’s grip was tightening, and she didn’t like it. “In the Birthing Rooms of the Infirmary. Though some Clayr have their babies in their own rooms, most of us . . . them . . . have their children in the Birthing Rooms because everyone’s there and it’s more communal and fun.”

“Your parents,” gasped Nick. He shuddered and started to speak very quickly. “Tell me about them. Nothing to tell about mine. Father’s a bad politician, though enthusiastic with it. His older brother is the success. Mother goes to parties and drinks too much. How is it you are Sameth’s aunt? I don’t understand how you could be Touchstone’s or Sabriel’s sister. I’ve met them. Much older than you. Ancient. Must be forty, if a day. . . . Speak to me, please, speak to me—”

“I’m Sabriel’s sister,” said Lirael, though the words felt strange on her tongue. “Sabriel’s sister. But not by the same mother. Her . . . my father was . . . . um . . . with my mother only for a little while, before he died. I didn’t even know who he was till quite recently. My mother . . . my mother went away when I was five. So I didn’t know my father was the Abhorsen— Oh no!”

“Abhorsen!” cried Nick. His body convulsed, and Lirael felt his skin suddenly grow even colder. She hurriedly wrenched her hand free and backed as far away as she could, cursing herself for saying “Abhorsen” aloud when Nicholas was already on the edge of losing control. Of course it would set off the Free Magic inside him.

White smoke began to pour out of Nick’s nose and mouth. White sparks flickered behind his tongue as he desperately tried to speak. He mouthed it, but only smoke came out, and it took a moment for Lirael to work out what it was he was trying to say.

“No!” Or perhaps “Go!”

Chapter Twelve

The Destroyer in Nicholas

FOR A MOMENT, Lirael was caught in indecision, unable to decide whether to simply jump overboard and flee, or to reach for her bells. Then she acted, drawing Ranna and Saraneth, a difficult operation while sitting with a sword across her thighs.

Nick still hadn’t moved, but the white smoke was billowing out in slow, deliberate tendrils that reached this way and that, as if they had a life of their own. The nauseating stench of Free Magic came with them, biting at Lirael’s nose, bile rising in her throat in response.

She didn’t wait to see more but rang the bells together, focusing her will into a sharp command directed at the figure in front of her and the drifting smoke.

Sleep, Lirael thought, her whole body tense with the effort of concentrating the power of the two bells. She could feel Ranna’s lullaby and Saraneth’s compulsion, loud as they echoed across the water. Together they wreathed Nicholas with magic and sound, sending the Free Magic spirit inside him back into its parasitic sleep.

Or not, Lirael saw, as the white smoke only recoiled, and the bells began to glow with a strange red heat, their voices losing pitch and clarity. Then Nick sat up, his eyes still rolled back and unseeing, and the Destroyer spoke through his mouth.

Its words struck at Lirael with physical force, the marrow in her bones suddenly burning and her ears pierced with a sudden, sharp ache.

“Fool! Your powers are thin hand-me-downs to pit against me! I almost sorrow that Saraneth and Ranna live on only in you and your trinkets. Be still!”

The last two words were spoken with such force that Lirael screamed with sudden pain. But the scream became a choking gurgle as she ran out of air. The thing inside Nick—the fragment—had bound her so fast that even her lungs were frozen. Desperately she tried to breathe, but it was no use. Her entire body was paralyzed, inside and out, held by a force she could not even begin to combat.

“Farewell,” said the Destroyer. Then it stood Nick’s body up, carefully balancing as the reed boat swayed, and waved at the barges. At the same time, it shouted a name that echoed through the whole lake valley.

“Hedge!”

Panicking, Lirael tried to breathe again and again. But her chest remained frozen, and the bells lay lifeless in her still hands. Wildly, she ran through Charter marks in her head, trying to think of something that might free her before she died of asphyxiation.

Nothing came to her, nothing at all, till she suddenly noticed she did have some sensation. In her thighs, where Nehima lay across her legs. She could only just see it there—being unable to move her eyes—but Charter marks were burning on the blade and flowing from there into her, fighting the Free Magic spell that held her in its deathly grip.

But the marks were only slowly defeating the spell. She would have do something herself, because at this rate, she would asphyxiate before her lungs were freed.

Desperate to do anything, she found she could twist her calves from side to side, trying to rock the boat. It wasn’t very stable, so perhaps if it went over and distracted the Free Magic spirit . . . it might break the spell.

She rocked again, and water slopped into the craft, soaking into the tightly corded reeds. Still Nick’s body didn’t turn, his legs unconsciously adapting to the swaying motion. The thing inside him was clearly intent on the approaching barges and the hemispheres that held its greater self.

Then Lirael blacked out, her body starving for air. She came to in an instant, more panicked adrenalin flooding through her veins, and rocked again as hard as she could.

The reed boat rolled—but it didn’t go over. Lirael screamed inside and rocked for what she knew would be the last time, using every muscle that had been freed by her sword.

Water sloshed in like a tide, and for a brief moment, the boat seemed about to capsize. But the lakefolk had woven it too well, and it righted. Nick’s body, surprised by the violence of the roll, didn’t. He swayed one way, made a grab at the prow, swung back the other—and fell into the lake.

Instantly, Lirael took a breath. Her lungs stayed frozen for a moment, then inflated with a shudder she felt through her entire body. The spell had broken with Nick’s fall. Sobbing and panting, she thrust the bells back into their pouches and grabbed her sword, the Charter marks in the hilt pulsing with warmth and encouragement.