As the Dog spoke the Destroyer’s name, the column of fire roared higher still and punched through the remnants of the storm clouds. It was more than a mile high now, and dominated all the western sky, its red light defeating the yellow of the sun.
Lirael wanted to say something, but the words were choked by incipient tears. She did not know whether they were of relief or sadness. Whatever was to come, she knew nothing would ever be the same with her and the Disreputable Dog.
Instead of speaking, she scratched the Dog’s head. Just twice, running her fingers through the soft dog hair. Then she quickly recited the binding spell, showing everyone the marks and words they would have to use.
“Sam is making the sword that I will use to break the Destroyer once It is bound,” Lirael finished. At least she hoped he was. As if to reinforce her hope, she added, “He is a true inheritor of the Wallmaker’s powers.”
She gestured to where Sam was bent over Nehima, his hands moving in complex gestures, the names of Charter marks tumbling from his mouth as his hands wove the glowing symbols into a complex thread that tumbled out of the air and spilled down upon the naked blade.
“How long will it take?” asked Ellimere.
“I don’t know,” whispered Lirael. Then she repeated herself more loudly. “I don’t know.”
They stood and waited, anxious seconds stretching out awfully into minutes as Sam called forth his Charter marks and Orannis rumbled beyond the ridge, both of them building very different spells. Lirael found herself looking down into the valley every few seconds, where it looked like Major Greene might be having some success at making the Southerlings lie down; then she would look at Sam; then at the Destroyer’s fire; and then start all over again, full of different anxieties and fears everywhere she looked.
The Southerlings were still too close, Lirael knew, though they were considerably lower in the valley than they had been. Sam did not seem to be getting any nearer to finishing. The Destroyer was growing taller and stronger, and any minute Lirael knew it would assume its second manifestation, the one for which it was named.
The Destroyer.
Everyone jumped as Sam suddenly stood. They jumped again as he spoke seven master marks, one after the other. A river of molten gold and silver flame fell from his outstretched hands down upon Lirael’s bloody sword and the panpipes, which he’d separated into individual tubes and laid along the length of the silvered blade.
Moments later, the Destroyer flashed brighter and the ground rumbled beneath their feet.
“Look away and close your eyes!” screamed Lirael. She threw one arm across her face and crouched, facing down towards the valley. Behind her a shining silver globe—the joined hemispheres—ascended to the sky atop the column of fire. As it rose, the sphere grew brighter and brighter till it was more brilliant than the sun had ever been. It hovered high in the air for a few seconds, as if surveying the ground, then sank back out of sight.
For nine very long seconds, Lirael waited, her eyes screwed shut, her face pushed into her very dirty sleeve. She knew what was to come, but it did not help her.
The explosion came as she counted nine, a blast of white-hot fury that annihilated everything in the loch valley. The mill and the railway were vaporized in the first flash. The loch boiled dry an instant later, sending a vast cloud of superheated steam roaring to the sky. Rocks melted, trees became ash, the birds and fishes simply disappeared. The lightning rods flashed into molten metal that was hurled high into the air, to fall back as deadly rain.
The blast sheared the top of the ridge completely off, destroying earth, rocks, lightning rods, trees, and everything else. Anything left that could burn did, till it was extinguished seconds later by the wind and the steam.
The outermost diamond of protection took what was left of the blast after it destroyed the protective earth of the hill. The magical defense flared for an instant, then was gone.
The second diamond had the hot wind and the steam that could strip flesh from bone. It lasted only seconds till it too gave way.
The third and final diamond held for more than a minute, repelling a hail of stones, molten metal, and debris. Then it also failed, but not until the worst had passed. A hot—but bearable—wind rushed in as the diamond fell and washed around the Seven as they crouched on the ground, their eyes still shut, shaken in body and mind.
Above them, a huge cloud of dust, ash, steam, and destruction rose, climbing thousands of feet till it spread out like a toadstool top, to cover all in shadow.
Lirael was the first to recover. She opened her eyes to see ash falling all around like blackened snow, and their little diamond-shaped patch of unharmed dirt an island in a wasteland where all color had drained away under a sky that was like a cloudy night, with no hint of sun. But it was not the shock it could have been. She had seen it already in the past, and her mind was fully occupied, racing ahead to what they must do. To what she would have to do.
“Protect yourselves against the heat!” she shouted, as the others slowly stood and looked around, shock and horror in their eyes. Quickly, she called the marks of protection into being, letting them flow out of her mind and across her skin and clothing. Then she looked for the weapon she hoped Sam had made.
Sam held it by the blade and looked puzzled, as if uncertain what he’d wrought. He offered it to Lirael, and she took the hilt, not without a stab of fear. It was not Nehima anymore, and it was not the same sword. It was longer than it had been, with a much broader blade, and the green stone was gone from the pommel. Charter marks ran everywhere through the metal, which had a silvery-red sheen, as if it had been washed in some strange oil. An executioner’s sword, Lirael thought. The inscription on the blade seemed the same. Or was it? She couldn’t recall exactly. Now it simply said, “Remember Nehima.”
“Is that it?” asked Sam. He was white-faced with shock. He looked past her to the valley, but he could not see anything of the Southerlings or Major Greene and his men. There was too much dust and there was little light. But he couldn’t hear anything either. No screams or shouts for help, and he feared the worst. “I did what you said.”
“Yes,” croaked Lirael, her throat dry. The sword was heavy in her hand, and even heavier on her heart. When . . . if . . . they bound Orannis, this was what she would use to break It in two, for no binding could long contain the Destroyer if It was left entire. This weapon could break Orannis, but only at the cost of the wielder’s life.
Her life.
“Does everyone have a bell?” she asked quickly, to distract herself. “Sabriel, please give Belgaer to Sam, and tell him the binding spell.”
She didn’t wait for an answer but led the way across the blasted ridge, down through the fires and the broken hillside, the pools of ash and the cooling metal. Down to the shores of the dry loch, where the Destroyer momentarily rested before its third manifestation, which would unleash even greater powers of destruction.
A grim party followed her, each holding a bell, the binding spell Lirael had taught them repeated over and over in every head.
As they got closer, the stench of Free Magic overcame the smoke, till its acid reek cut at their lungs and waves of nausea struck. It seemed to eat at their very bones, but Lirael would not slow her pace for pain or sickness, and the others followed her lead, fighting against the bile in their throats and the cramps that bit inside.
The steam had fallen back as fog, and the cloud above brought a darkness close to night, so Lirael had little to guide her but instinct. She chose the way by what felt worst, sure that this would lead them to the sphere that was the core of the Destroyer. She knew that if they slowed to try to pick a path by more conventional means, they would soon see a new column of flame, a beacon that would only signal failure.
Then, quite suddenly, Lirael saw the sphere of liquid fire that was the current manifestation of the Destroyer. It hung in the air ahead of her, dark currents alternating with tongues of fire upon its smooth and lustrous surface.
“Form a ring around It,” commanded Lirael, her voice weak and small in this abyss of destruction, amidst the darkness and the fog. She drew Astarael in her left hand, wincing at the pain. In all the rush, she’d forgotten about Hedge’s blow. There was still no time to do anything for it, but then the thought flashed through her mind that soon it wouldn’t matter. The sword she rested on her right shoulder, ready to strike.
Silently, her companions—her family, old and new, Lirael realized with a pang—spread out to form a ring around the sphere of fire and darkness. Only then did Lirael realize that she had not seen Mogget since the destruction, though he had been inside the diamonds of protection. She could not see him now, and another little fear flowered in her heart.
The ring was complete. Everyone looked to Lirael. She took a deep breath and coughed, the corrosive Free Magic eating at her throat. Before she could recover and begin the spell, the sphere began to expand, and red flames leapt out from it, towards the ring of Seven, like a thousand long tongues that sought to taste their flesh.
As the flames writhed, Orannis spoke.
Chapter Twenty-nine
The Choice of Yrael
“SO HEDGE HAS failed me, as such servants do,” said Orannis, its voice low like a whisper but harsh and penetrating. “As all living things must fail, till silence rings me in eternal calm, across a sea of dust.
“And now another Seven comes, all a-clamor to lock Orannis once more in metal, deep under earth. But can a Seven of such watered blood and thinner power prevail against the Destroyer, last and mightiest of the Nine?”