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aking away to soggy ash as the mordaut sucked all the life out of him in one voracious instant。 newly fed and strengthened; the dead slid out from the falling cloak; a pool of squelching darkness。 it took shape as it moved; being a large; disgustingly elongated sort of rat。 quicker than any natural rat; it scuttled towards a hole in the wall and escape! sabriel lunged; her blade striking chips from the floor planks; missing the shadowy form by a scant instant。
touchstone didn’t miss。 his right…hand sword sheared through the creature just behind the head; the left…wielded blade impaling its sinuous midsection。
pinned to the floor; the creature writhed and arched; its shadow…stuff working away from the blades。 it was remaking its body; escaping the trap。
quickly; sabriel stood over it; ranna sounding in her hand; sweet; lazy tone echoing out into the shed。
before the echoes died; the mordaut ceased to writhe。 form half…lost by its shifting from the swords; it lay like a lump of charred liver; quivering on the floor; still impaled。
sabriel replaced ranna; and drew the eager saraneth。 its forceful voice snapped out; sound weaving a net of domination over the foul creature。 the mordaut made no effort to resist; even to make a mouth to whine its cause。 sabriel felt it succumb to her will; via the medium of saraneth。
she put the bell back; but hesitated as her hand fell on kibeth。 sleeper and master had spoken well; but walker sometimes had its own ideas; and it was stirring suspiciously under her hand。
best to wait a moment; to calm herself; sabriel thought; taking her hand away from the bandolier。
she sheathed her sword; and looked around the shed。 to her surprise; everyone except touchstone and mogget was asleep。 they had only caught the echoes of ranna; which shouldn’t have been enough。 of course; ranna could be tricksome too; but its trickery was far less troublesome。
“this is a mordaut;” she said to touchstone; who was stifling a half…born yawn。 “a weak spirit; catalogued as one of the lesser dead。 they like to ride with the living—cohabiting the body to some extent; directing it; and slowly sipping the spirit away。 it makes them hard to find。”
“what do we do with it now?” asked touchstone; eyeing the quivering lump of shadow with distaste。 it clearly couldn’t be cut up; consumed by fire; or anything else he could think of。
“i will banish it; send it back to die a true death;” replied sabriel。 slowly; she drew kibeth; using both hands。 she still felt uneasy; for the bell was twisting in her grasp; trying to sound of its own accord; a sound that would make her walk in death。
she gripped it harder and rang the orthodox backwards; forwards and figure eight her father had taught her。 kibeth’s voice rang out; singing a merry tune; a capering jig that almost had sabriel’s feet jumping too; till she forced herself to be absolutely still。
the mordaut had no such free will。 for a moment; touchstone thought it was getting away; the shadow form suddenly leaping upwards; unreal flesh slipping up his blades almost to the cross…hilts。 then; it slid back down again—and vanished。 back into death; to bob and spin in the current; howling and screaming with whatever voice it had there; all the way through to the final gate。
“thanks;” sabriel said to touchstone。 she looked down at his two swords; still deeply embedded in the wooden floor。 they were no longer burning with silver flames; but she could see the charter marks moving on the blades。
“i didn’t realize your swords were ensorcelled;”
she continued。 “though i’m glad they are。”
surprise crossed touchstone’s face; and confusion。
“i thought you knew;” he said。 “i took them from the queen’s ship。 they were a royal champion’s swords。 i didn’t want to take them; but mogget said you—”
he stopped in mid…sentence; as sabriel let out a heartfelt sigh。
“well; anyway;” he continued。 “legend has it that the wallmaker made them; at the same time he—or she; i suppose—made your sword。”
“mine?” asked sabriel; her hand lightly touching the worn bronze of the guard。 she’d never thought about who’d made the sword—it just was。 “i was made for abhorsen; to slay those already dead;” the inscription said; when it said anything lucid at all。 so it probably was forged long ago; back in the distant past when the wall was made。 mogget would know; she thought。
mogget probably wouldn’t; or couldn’t; tell her—but he would know。
“i suppose we’d better wake everybody up;”
she said; dismissing speculation about swords for the immediate present。
“are there more dead?” asked touchstone; grunting as he pulled his swords free of the floor。
“i don’t think so;” replied sabriel。 “that mordaut was very clever; for it had hardly sapped the spirit of poor 。 。 。 patar 。 。 。 so its presence was masked by his life。 it would have e to the island in that box of grave dirt; having impressed the poor man with instructions before they left the mainland。 i doubt whether any others would have done the same。 i can’t sense any here; at least。 i guess i should check the other buildings; and walk around the island; just to be sure。”
“now?” asked touchstone。
“now;” confirmed sabriel。 “but let’s wake everyone up first; and organize some people to carry lights for us。 we’d also better talk to the elder about a boat for the morning。”
“and a good supply of fish;” added mogget; who’d slunk back to the half…eaten whiting; his voice sharp above the heavy drone of snoring fisher…folk。
there were no dead on the island; though the archers reported seeing strange lights moving in the village; during brief lulls in the rain。 they’d heard movement on the breakwater too; and shot fire arrows onto the stones; but saw nothing before the crude; oily rag–wrapped shafts guttered out。
sabriel advanced out on the breakwater; and stood near the sea gap; her oilskin coat loosely draped over her shoulders; shedding rain to the ground and down her neck。 she couldn’t see anything through the rain and dark; but she could feel the dead。 there were more than she had sensed earlier; or they had grown much stron