Sabriel (Abhorsen, #1)

by Garth Nix

An intensely dark shape stood there, as if someone had cut a man-shaped figure out of the night, carefully choosing a piece devoid of stars. It had no features at all, but the head quested from side to side, as if whatever senses it did possess worked in a narrow range. Curiously, it carried an absolutely mundane sack in one four-fingered hand, the rough-woven cloth in stark contrast to its own surreal flesh.

. . . A year ago, I turned the final page of The Book of the Dead. I don’t feel young anymore.” “I am sorry for that,” said the Colonel, then, almost as if he had surprised himself, he added, “Ah, I mean that I wish you some of the foolish joys my daughter has—some of the lightness, the lack of responsibility that goes with youth. But I don’t wish it if it will weaken you in the times ahead. You have chosen a difficult path.” “‘Does the walker choose the path, or the path the walker?’” Sabriel quoted, the words, redolent with echoes of Charter Magic, twining around her tongue like some lingering spice. Those words were the dedication in the front of her almanac. They were also the very last words, all alone on the last page, of The Book of the Dead. “I’ve heard that before,” remarked Horyse. “What does it mean?” “I don’t know,” said Sabriel.

‘Traveler, embrace the morning light, but do not take the hand of night.’ I must be on my way.”

“You don’t have to come, you know,” Sabriel suddenly burst out, as they stood in front of the cave, candles flickering foolishly in the sunshine. She suddenly felt awfully responsible for him. He looked scared, much whiter than he should, almost as pale as a Death-leeched necromancer. He’d seen terrible things in the reservoir, things that had once driven him mad, and despite his self-accusation, Sabriel didn’t believe it was his fault. It wasn’t his father down there. He wasn’t an Abhorsen. “I do have to,” Touchstone replied. He bit his lower lip nervously. “I have to. I’ll never be free of my memories, otherwise. I have to do something, make new memories, better ones. I need to . . . seek redemption. Besides, I am still a member of the Royal Guard. It is my duty.” “So be it,” said Sabriel. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re here.” “I am too—in a strange sort of way,” said Touchstone, and he almost, but not quite, smiled. “I’m not,” interrupted Mogget, decidedly. “Let’s get on with it. We’re wasting sunlight.”

“I love you,” he whispered. “I hope you don’t mind.”