Disclaimer: The book 'Sabriel' belongs to Garth Nix and the publishing company. No profit is made off this piece of fanfiction.
Warning: Character death.
Twilight
Sabriel lay sprawled on the small hilltop, eyes staring up at the sky, eyes that grew darker as each moment passed. She observed the rapidly darkening skies idly, watching the deep blue gradually fade to a drab grey, then bursting out into a blazing red sunset afterwards.
She had never seen such a blood red sunset. Blood…Sabriel shivered and was reminded of the wound in her side and the gaping slash on her left leg. Gathering strength, she propped herself up. The side wound she had dealt with but her leg…the necromancer she had fought had been quite skilled with a sword, and she just did not have enough strength left to summon the Charter marks for healing. Now her hastily ripped surcoat was wrapped tightly around it to stem the flow of blood that was pumping out with every precious heartbeat.
The necromancer was gone, banished into Death by both Sabriel and Lirael only moments earlier. Lirael…where was Lirael? The Abhorsen-in-Waiting had been fighting the remaining Hands and the last fiery Mordicant, which refused to leave Life behind. Sabriel tried to struggle to her feet, using her sword as a crutch, but her legs collapsed under her with a fresh wave of pain.
"Lirael…?" she called, but her voice came out as a croak. She fell back down, her muscles protesting, her tired bones creaking. She tried to send a simple spell-message, something that she could've done easily before. But she was younger then, fitter, not so tired…
The sun set, slowly sinking behind distant hills. Twilight.
For the first time, Sabriel wondered if she might die.
She was, after all, turning sixty-four this year, and few Abhorsens had managed to live that long. She was lucky, lucky to live long enough to be able to hold her grandchildren.
She had never permitted herself the thought of dying. There had been too much work to do, too many things she still had to put right, and too many things she would miss if she went. Now, though, the Old Kingdom was at peace; it had been for the last ten years or so, until this year, when trouble began again. Ellimere had married well, and had a boy of nine years and another of six. Along with a dark haired, dark eyed little girl just like her mother and grandmother, the Royal line was assured. Sameth was still in contented bachelorhood, despite his parent's efforts to get the prince married. Touchstone…
The only person Sabriel worried about leaving behind was Touchstone. How would he get on? Who would offer him truly direct, honest answers? Who would whisper with him at night over hopes and plans and dreams? Who would find his hunting gloves—he could never seem to find those gloves—for him? Who would—?
I'm not going to die! I can't!
Death for her was nothing to fear. She only regretted what—or who—she would leave behind. Lirael was more than competent enough to assume the title of Abhorsen. No worries about that…only about Touchstone.
Maybe that was why she was still hanging on to Life. She could hear the First Gate, now, the deep boom of the waterfall echoing…
I am not going to—
Die.
The dim light was waning. A cool breeze stirred the grass and leaves, but Sabriel was too numb to even shiver. Where was Lirael? Sabriel felt a twinge of fear. Did something happen to her?
Her mind wandered. Touchstone, holding her as they slept, holding her that night years ago in the hospital. Their first kiss. Elli's wedding. Sam's first game of cricket. Elli, crying, because Sam had taken apart her doll to see how it worked. Joking and lounging in chairs by a fire. Rebuilding Belisaere, the Stones, and the country. The arrival of Lirael. Sabriel's first day of school, holding her buddy's hand. Making friends. Sabriel holding the hand of Jacinth, who in the other hand held Bunny. Sabriel being held by Father, as they drifted from place to place with the Travelers. And fighting, always fighting, with the Dead, as she fought now to stay awake.
Father…
His voice came to her, gentle but firm.
"Everyone and everything has a time to die, Sabriel…"
Was it her time?
Sabriel blinked, and was surprised to find her eyes had filled with tears. She gazed up into the dark night sky. The clouds parted, and overhead she saw Uallus, the red star. The star for travelers, pointing the way north, guiding them along the right path.
"Everyone and everything has a time to die …"
No! She would not. She could not.
"When it is time," Father said, eyes dark and kind, "you will know."
What about her family? Her duty?
That is done, and done well. Rest, now.
Sabriel had felt the chillness of Death gradually come over her. And suddenly Death did not seem so cold anymore. She opened her eyes to look at the sky one last time, the stars just coming out, bright glimmers of light that comforted her.
Touchstone. Ellimere. Sameth. Lirael. Sulyn. Father. Mogget…she smiled. It was time to go.
She could hear laughter, and she was a child once more, running towards the open school gates to Father, quickly slipping away, crossing the First Gate and all the other gates after the first. She heard only the sweet call of final rest, even as Lirael ran up the hill and cried her name, her fingers fumbling with mark after mark of healing and life, only to watch the marks waver and fade.
"Everyone and everything has a time to die …"
So passed Sabriel, the fifty-third Abhorsen.
"Your Highness, we bring sorrowful tidings. The Queen Abhorsen is dead."
The funeral was held in the Belisaere town square. Every man, woman and child, regardless of wealth or rank, crammed together to see the Queen's face for the last time. Bells tolled in honour of the former Abhorsen, just as she wielded the bells in both Life and Death.
King Touchstone stood by the body, bent and grey. He took one long, final look at her pale face, cold to the touch, but with a faint smile. There was no smile on his face.
Sabriel had made him promise only one thing concerning her funeral.
"I do not want to be buried, Touchstone. Trapped in a coffin under the earth, left to rot…not even in a funeral ship," she added, voice teasing. "No figureheads, either."
He laughed, and promised.
He had promised her. He would keep that promise.
He placed a worn hand on the body, and whispered the Charter marks for peace and rest. The marks faltered and flickered out. Touchstone could not do it. His head bowed and his back slumped. So he could not even keep that one promise, made long ago.
The crowd was silent.
Touchstone felt a hand grip his shoulder. Sam had walked up to him, tears streaming down his cheeks. Ellimere placed a trembling hand on his, and Lirael rest her slender fingers on his arm. He felt their combined power surged through him, the Five Great Charters: King, Queen, Wallmaker, Abhorsen, Remembrancer and Clayr. Finding strength, Touchstone lifted his hand and sketched the marks, his voice a low soothing murmur along with the others.
A tiny spark darted down Sabriel's body, and even as it blazed up with a brilliant flash of Charter fire, leaving only fine grey ash, so Sabriel's spirit passed the Ninth Gate and soared willingly up to the stars.
So passed Sabriel, the fifty-third Abhorsen…and may the Charter bless Lirael, the fifty-fourth.
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