Chapter Text
Her sister's summons was part lessons, part sociable, but Lirael had been much too distracted to focus upon either of those concepts.
It was not that she did not have things she wished to say to Sabriel, or that Sabriel had nothing to teach her – indeed, she valued Sabriel's wisdom and practicality, a different kind of instruction than simply reading about the art in which their bloodline had perfected…
To read words was one thing, but to see it in a well versed hand was another. It was a type of teaching Lirael had never had in the Glacier, denied the Sight and any sort of lesson that went along with it, and much of what she had learned of the Charter and its secrets, she had taught herself. True, to suddenly gain an instructor had made Lirael somewhat overeager to prove herself and sometimes equally as impatient, but her sister never seemed wearied by it. If anything, Sabriel seemed glad that it was something she was finally able to fully share with another, and, as unorthodox as it was, a means in which they could bond.
Lirael's distraction today was not from impatience, and neither was it from the desire to see Nick, which never really went away (he was always distracting, even if he did not mean to be. To love someone was very strange).
It wasn't due to her niece and nephew either, the prior keen to have a tea party or somesuch with her (which Lirael had put off, several times; she liked Ellimere well enough, but her presence was overbearing and big enough for the both of them), and as for the latter, Lirael would have to find some excuse to intrude upon his tower, as she had not seen him in the palace in at least two weeks or more (was Sam more adept at solitude than she was, or did he now just have an excuse to microfocus on Wallmaker creations? Probably a little of both).
And neither was it her lessons in swordmanship with the Belisaere guard and occasionally Touchstone himself, or her archery training, or things someone or anyone piped up with thinking that the newfound Abhorsen-in-Waiting should know, and neither was it anything or anyone else in the palace.
No. Her distraction was here with her now, in front of her; Sabriel herself.
It was spring, and that had brought with it Sabriel's birthday. Lirael knew this not from her sister having said so, but from the fact everyone else had. Belisaere did not celebrate their Abhorsen Queen's birthday per say, but they knew; the palace staff and officials certainly knew, as highlighted by the lavish confectionary and baked goods that were her sister's favourites appearing more frequently in the kitchens, coupled with gifts and messages arriving aplenty – even from beyond the Wall in Ancelstierre! – and least of all Sam, who had surfaced briefly in a panic thinking he had missed it, only to be a day or so early and for Ellimere to laugh and simultaneously scold him that he had better put in an appearance at their mother's birthday dinner, whenever that was, as her Abhorsen duties did not always fit to timetable, or else.
That final sentiment had not been directed at her… but even so, Lirael had felt a little guilty. She had prepared no present – and not because she didn't want to. Lirael really, really wanted to, in a way she didn't yet know how to quantify.
It wasn't even something she had felt inclined towards doing until recently, not even when her path in life was first revealed and forever changed. It was a strange ache, a distant melancholy. A birthday for her had always been such a lonely, solitary affair – another year without the Sight. No father, no mother, no Sight. And now? No father, no mother, no Sight, but a newfound family and birthright. She knew all her newfound family's birthdays and she could do things, could give things, but she… didn't.
Hadn't.
Baubles and knick-knacks were not things she gave. Gifts themselves were not things she gave, and neither had she been the receiver of many for much of her life. To be a librarian was secondary, but at least it was reason. What did you give Clayr who had received the greatest gift, the highest honour? She didn't know. What did you give royalty? What did you give an elder sister who was your mentor who was simultaneously the Abhorsen and a Queen? Together it was an even greater impossibility to know, and Lirael had ruminated upon it for months until the date had come and gone and swiftly passed her by.
And it was worse, somehow, that Ellimere had not asked her what her gift would be, that none of her new family seemed to mind that she was not a part of the exchange. Not just for her sister's birthday; but for theirs, too.
That morning, Lirael was still not sure about a to-be, belated gift when she went to meet Sabriel for brunch, and had elected instead to put it out of her mind. During, they'd agreed to take her lessons in Death later in the day – there was a hamlet to attend to first several hours away, and upon their return to Belisaere, a recently unearthed channel offshooting from the reservoir before the palace that Sabriel had wished to look into for herself, what with the guard too spooked and the Charter there all but unpredictable, and with Touchstone away, had concluded upon asking her second to join her, and between the two of them, time could be spared before returning for a brief lesson or two… but their conversation had not been all business. And as they left for the Paperwing hangar, Sabriel had touched upon a subject that had unintentionally given Lirael an idea for a gift at last.
The idea was the real distraction, in truth. It was a gift that was… it would be more meaningful than a trinket that would only ever be looked upon with minor gratification, whilst also much more sentimental than just her continued company which Sabriel appeared happy enough to have. And yet—
Was it her place? Would it be unwanted? It was something only she, Lirael, Abhorsen-in-Waiting and Daughter of the Clayr could do, but to do so would not be entirely selfless. It would serve herself too, at least a little, with a singular curiosity that was something she had only recently begun to entertain.
"Lirael," Sabriel said, intercepting her thoughts. Lirael realised Sabriel had, some time ago, prompted her to speak the words that would open the First Gate, and she had not. Well… she had intended to, raised her hands, opened her mouth, and then – nothing. Distracted. Death was not the most apt place to be carried away by thought.
And yet really it was unsurprising. The gift she wished to give was something she could only do here in Death, and with it, the person she wished to remember.
Sabriel had told her about what her father – their father – had left for her, drawing and message both, and that Mogget had at last reunited them. But it was only a voice, a relic, and although her own offering would be not much different… Sabriel would be able to see him again, if only briefly.
And Lirael had to wonder. She had not had the time to question Terciel… hadn't really cared to after knowing his identity and having the daydreamed circumstances as to her parents' meeting and courtship dashed.
But that was only a moment, a brief window to his life. And the curiosity had stirred. Something she idly thought about every now and then when she read accounts in his hand, when she spent any time at all in the House, and always an undercurrent in Sabriel's presence.
And now there was a way, a possibility and gift together, that had garnered all her considerations.
"Did you ever do this?" Lirael at last asked, quite out of nowhere. "With your – our – Terciel, I mean."
Sabriel did not seem perturbed by the unanticipated question, or even surprised by it: her father had been on her mind much as of late. To some degree he always lingered, but the portrait, and his final story for her to hear about her mother… it had stirred up feelings from long ago, emotions she had never laid to rest with him taken from her after she had spent so much of herself fighting so that he would not. They had shared in their identity and duty so briefly in the end, their paths only intersecting long enough for him to pass the torch unto her.
Her exhale was not quite a sigh, and nor was it a dismissal; Sabriel cast her eyes downward at the river in thought as she moved away from the waterfall that was the First Gate, doubling back towards life. Just a little… but enough.
"Not like this," she answered in the direction of life, turning with practiced footwork to face her sister. "When I was much younger, on my first visits to Death… yes. The experience was… not as serious as it ought, or could have been. Not that it was not a serious undertaking, but it was something to learn and time to share, and never in his teachings did he make me feel pressured, as the last of the line."
This time Sabriel did sigh, and she smiled, a brief fondness amidst missed memories. "He was very good at that. Being at Wyverly and the distance from it all helped, for certain. But what I mean to say is… though we walked Death together as Abhorsen and in-Waiting, that was not how it felt. It was as father and daughter. Only once did we travel the river together in that way."
She did not elaborate, but Lirael knew. Of all the questions she had not asked aloud, to any of them, this had been one answered indirectly, having learned when Sabriel had risen to her station at a similar age as to what she was now. Younger, even. Younger than Ellimere and Sam.
Lirael hesitated. She was feeling a different sort of guilt now, for prying where she should not, even if Sabriel had offered the information. Private affairs were that, private; she did not have much experience with other people's. And yet...
Her current guilt was not so much for having asked, but that she did not want to stop, now she had started. Now she had an in… and if she did not offer it to Sabriel now, today, when would she ever work up the nerve to do it again?
But Lirael was also not without feeling; she was not without her own painful memories of those that had raised her.
Lirael resisted the temptation to lower her head, to hide behind a familiar curtain of hair. "I should not have asked."
Sabriel shook her head, lightly. "I did bring him to mind, this morning," she acquiesced. "And I suppose I— expected for you to ask about him. Eventually."
Lirael pulled her lips together, taught. That was as much permission as any, to ask, even if that was not where her thoughts were headed at the end of it. Sabriel could tell her much about when Terciel was her father, but there was more that could be known, that only she could access. Could See.
"Here?"
"Not here, no," Sabriel mused, smiling. "But if there is any place all Abhorsens share, it is Death. As good a place as any, I suppose."
Despite her words, Sabriel did not over-relax her stance, even as she moved – with some deliberation – to sheathe her sword, signifying an end to any lesson (not that Lirael could remember what that lesson was to be about, only that it was not in the First Precinct if she had been meant to open the First Gate). Saraneth remained in Sabriel's hand, however, the bell turned over to still the clapper with nimble fingers, still easily reached. Just because Death was quiet at present and they were in the First Precinct, and that there being two Abhorsens here today would dissuade anything from causing trouble, it did not make it safe.
Lirael's own hands had this whole time been empty, she realised. Perhaps she should follow her sister's lead and take a bell. Hers would always be Kibeth, if so. But she knew Kibeth by heart, could bring her in an instant, so she did not. Instead she only absently patted a pocket, to ensure the Dark Mirror was still there. She could lead to that.
Settled, her sister's smile had never faded, always encouraging. "Ask away."
Lirael opened her mouth and closed it, and again, words dying in her throat each time. How? How could she go anywhere with that? Leaping right in was probably for the best, yet… she still didn't know how much Sabriel knew of Terciel before. Much like the Clayr's Sight, to See something of Terciel in the past… she would need to narrow it down.
There were too many plans in her head, and on top of that, the not quite a curiosity had been coaxed. Her, no, their father… what did she want to know?
"I've only seen him closer in age to you than to me," Lirael said, growing sheepish as the words tumbled out, her point very successfully mangled… and, retrospectively, a poor way to put it.
Fortunately for Lirael's reddening face, Sabriel laughed. Any comment as to her age did not phase her, yet that was only part of it – this was the third time she was effectively introducing her father to a family member from what she remembered, and the prior two times she had reasonably predicted what those questions would be. Lirael was clearly thinking ahead to something else.
"That is just as well. You can say it," she said, smile retained to prove she did not mind. "My view of him is something of the same. Older, never young. Wise and never foolish, only ever looking forward, never back. As a father, I remember him as indomitable… a fortress I did not consider to be weathered, for he was good at hiding it. For my sake."
"And… before that? Before he was a feather, during the interregnum?"
Sabriel mused for a moment, pulling her lips taught in a familiar motion, as Lirael had. "He never did say much about himself," she decided. "Not in detail. To me, he was always 'Abhorsen'. For the longest time I thought that was his name, not a title. It was some time after I – took it myself, I suppose, even unknowingly – that I learned otherwise.
"It was not that he meant to be secretive. The interregnum is a sad story, and much of my father's life was troubled. He planned for the end and the restoration, made waves to ensure it would happen… but he never saw it for himself. All that and after was not… easy, but at least there was reward. For him it was never progress, only ever being able to react… only waiting for the time when what he and my mother had started could be finished, when Touchstone and I could begin."
She trailed off, lost to memory. The restoration had taken its toll on her, on her and Touchstone both: they had given more of themselves than was perhaps wise in their efforts. Likewise she had also missed a great deal of time as a mother, as a wife, time spent chasing the Dead and overworking, to shielding them, to wondering when would be the right time to pull Sam into it all, and the guilt her father had in no doubt felt from the very beginning…
"But that is all circumspect, I suppose," she finished, with another sigh, this one far heavier. "I don't know for certain. Perhaps I am not the best person to tell you."
Lirael shook her head. "No," she said quietly. "No. That's given me… more than I knew of him already, as a person." There was one undercurrent in Sabriel's words that stuck with her, that resonated with a sympathy, an understanding almost – that Terciel had known what it was to be alone. And to do all that he did, without reward? That took a strength that Lirael was not so certain she could persevere with.
Her thoughts wandered. Maybe this was right, the right time to extend what she could do, to fill the cracks that neither of them would ever know, would never learn of otherwise, only ever left able to wonder at the emotion buried far beneath finely scripted words – save if they asked Mogget, perhaps, but there was no telling when his next visit would be and if he would ever be willing.
She had to do this. She had to.
"Sabriel," Lirael said, attaching no title or moniker, with only a slight reticence at the informality, even with her sister's repeated insistence she could address her as such. "I wanted – there was something else I wanted to ask. About father, but also, for you, and—"
For me. She stopped, struggling to get the words exactly right. To be direct with as little words as possible was one thing, and something she had long learned and mastered, but this was different. This was not about books belonging in their proper places.
Regardless, Sabriel did not seem to mind waiting for her to work her way there mentally, and neither did she interrupt. It was not a chiding look she gave her, but a patient one… a look that Lirael had seen her give her family before, but also entirely different, new. Sabriel looked at everyone she loved a little differently, now that Lirael thought about it, and she kept the distinction between her and her children well, despite their closeness in age. Sabriel looked at her as an equal, a sister, friend, apprentice… as family.
It was strange, really, that in a Glacier filled with cousins and relatives, it was not until now that Lirael felt she had a true family… there had been the Disreputable Dog of course, but back then she had thought the Dog of her own making, and it was not quite the same. Maybe it was better to say she had not understood, or believed it, that she was loved by those linked by blood or otherwise. That she belonged.
Perhaps that was the heart of it – why giving a gift was so important. Her sister's family, however small and fragile, had wordlessly accepted and embraced her as one of their own without question in a way that still surprised her. Where there had been so little, now there was so much: a family with her sister and her nephew and niece, and in Touchstone too; in Nick; Sanar and Ryelle, who had watched out for her in their way; and no longer yearning for the impossible, for being markedly different, there was the librarians, her family too.
"Your birthday," Lirael managed at last. "I wanted to give you something."
Simple. All along, the right way.
A solitary eyebrow raise was her response, with it was a hint of surprise… and a flicker of affection in that smile, perhaps placed there by her imagination. "You do not have to give me anything, Lirael."
"I know," Lirael said quickly, chasing away the doubt, the intrusive thought that no one had ever expected that of her for her whole life, and would not start now. That was not what Sabriel meant. "I know, but I— I want to. But you're a Queen, and I've never been a present giver. I never wanted to be, I wanted my birthdays to be forgotten, and then I thought about it and what was best, and then this morning, I finally had an idea, and now…"
She didn't think Sabriel would say no, but… this? To remember their father as he had been, when he was young and without care? She herself likely never would have considered it had it not struck her as a plausible gift, had Sabriel not mentioned his message, and well…
It was never easy to close a door again, once you opened it. You had to follow that path to the end, wherever it led.
That settled her, gave her the confidence to reveal what she had hurried back to her room for to find, gaining a stitch and a gurgling sensation in the stomach for her efforts, all so that she would arrive at the Paperwing hangar at the agreed time.
Lirael reached into her pocket, and pulled out the Dark Mirror. Here in Death, its surface was murky, clouded over. A drop of blood and it would reveal what she wished to see.
"As Remembrancer, you can see him again," Lirael said, to the mirror. Whatever look was to cross Sabriel's face at such an idea – speechlessness or stupor, or otherwise – was not for her to see. She did not offer reunion, but it was more than what Mogget had brought her, although it did build upon it. Mogget had brought his voice, not his visage: not his past, something that had been truly lost. "And I— I have seen him before, this way. It would be easy for me to do."
Unbeknownst to Lirael, Sabriel's face was blank at her offer as she processed each word, one by one. And again, one more time, as she re-evaluated them for certainty she had heard them right. Not much rattled her these days, but this… Sabriel could feel that distant ache again, ghosts of her past and her line.
Her mother who she had never known save her father's stories… and his final story of her, all the details he had never shared, kept safe with Mogget all these years… she knew more of Nerysiel now than she had ever dared to hope. And then there was her father, whom she had known, but only what he wished for her to know. Terciel was still a mystery.
But not anymore, according to Lirael. She could know, could find some solace, some understanding, some—
Combined, the two would be gifts like no other.
The silence stretched. Time passed, indiscernible in Death. Lirael kept her eyes glued downward to the mirror, thumbs lightly pressed against its edge, waiting for Sabriel to decide.
Movement, not threatening, breached her view – her sister's hands, now both empty, coupled with a lax grip against her wrists. Lirael looked at them, and then up, to Sabriel's face.
Her expression was resolute and calm, yet somehow, entirely emotional. Her decision made.
"It would be nice to know him," she said.