The paper was printed on both sides, in several languages. It was headed “Land for the Southerling People” and then went on to promise ten acres of prime farmland for every piece of paper that was presented to the “land office” at Forwin Mill. There was an official-looking crest, and the paper supposedly came from the “Government of Ancelstierre Resettlement Office”.

“This is a fake,” Sam protested. “There is no Ancelstierre Resettlement Office, and even if there were, why would they want you to go to somewhere like Forwin Mill?”

“That is where the land is,” replied the young translator smoothly. “And there must be a Resettlement Office. Why else would the police let us leave the camps?”

“Look at what’s happening over there!” screamed Sam, pointing at the thunderclouds and the constant forks of lightning, all of which were now easily visible, even from the valley floor. “If you go there, you will be killed! That is why they let you out! It solves a problem for them if you all get killed and they can say it wasn’t their fault!”

The matriarch straightened her head and looked at the lightning playing along the ridge. Then she looked at the blue sky to the north, south and east. She touched the interpreter’s arm and said three words.

“You promise us on your blood?” asked the interpreter. He pulled out a knife made from the ground-down end of a spoon. “You will give us land in your country?”

“Yes, I promise on my blood,” said Sam quickly. “I will give you land and all the help we can so you can live there.”

The matriarch held out her palm, which was marked with hundreds of tiny dotted scars that formed a complex whorl. The interpreter pricked her skin with the knife and twisted it around a few times, to form a new dot.

Sam held out his hand. He didn’t feel the knife. All his concentration was behind him, his ears straining to hear any sound of an attack.

The matriarch spoke quickly and held her palm out. The interpreter gestured for Sam to hold his palm against hers. He did so and she gripped his hand with surprising strength from her bony old fingers.

“Good, excellent,” babbled Sam. “Have your people go back to the other side of the stream and wait there. As soon as I can, we will... I will arrange for you to be given your land.”

“Why do we not wait here?” asked the interpreter.

“Because there’s going to be a battle,” said Sam anxiously. “Oh, Charter help me! Please go back beyond the stream! Running water will be the only protection you have!”

He turned and ran away before any more questions could be asked. The interpreter called after him, but Sam did not answer. He could feel the Dead coming down this side of the ridge and he was terribly afraid he had been away from Lirael too long. She was up there on the spur and he was her main protector. There was only so much Ancelstierrans could do, even those who had some slight mastery of Charter Magic.

Sam did not see because he was sprinting for all he was worth, but behind him the interpreter and the matriarch spoke heatedly. Then the interpreter gestured back towards the centre of the valley and the stream. The matriarch looked once more towards the lightning, then tore up the paper she held, threw it to the ground and spat on it. Her action was mimicked by those around her, and then by others, and a great paper tearing and spitting slowly spread throughout the vast crowd. Then the matriarch turned and began to walk east, to the middle of the valley and the stream. Like a flock following its bellwether, all the other Southerlings turned as well.

Sam was panting up the spur, three quarters of the way back, when he heard shouts ahead.

“Halt! Halt!”

Sam couldn’t sense the Dead so close, but he found extra speed from somewhere and his sword leapt into his hand. Startled soldiers stepped aside as he ran past them and up to Lirael. She was still standing frozen in the ring of stones. Greene and two soldiers were in front of her. About ten feet in front of them, two more soldiers were standing over a young man with their bayonets to his throat. The youth was lying still on the ground and was shrieking. His clothes and skin were blackened, and he had lost most of his hair. But he was not a Dead Hand. In fact, Sam saw that this scorched fugitive was not much older than he was.

“It’s not me, it’s not me, I’m not them, they’re behind me,” he shrieked. “You have to help me!”

“Who are you?” asked Major Greene. “What is happening over there?”

“I’m Timothy Wallach,” gasped the young man. “I don’t know what’s happening! It’s a nightmare! That... I don’t know what he is... Hedge. He killed my workmen! All of them. He pointed at them and they died.”

“Who’s behind you?” asked Sam.

“I don’t know,” sobbed Tim. “They were my men. I don’t know what they are now. I saw Krontas struck directly by lightning. His head was on fire, but he didn’t stop. They are—”

“The Dead,” said Sam. “What were you doing at Forwin Mill?”

“I’m from the University of Corvere,” whispered Tim. He made a visible effort to get himself under control. “I built the Lightning Farm for Nicholas Sayre. I didn’t... I don’t know what it’s for, but it’s nothing good. We have to stop it being used! Nick said he’ll try, but—”

“Nicholas is there?” snapped Sam.

Tim nodded. “But he’s in bad shape. He hardly knew who I was. I don’t think there’s much chance of him doing anything. And there was white smoke coming out of his nose—”

Sam listened with a sinking heart. He knew from Lirael that the white smoke was the sign of the Destroyer taking control. Any faint hope he’d had that Nick might escape was dashed. His friend was lost.

“What can be done?” asked Sam. “Is there any way to disable the Lightning Farm?”

“There are circuit breakers in each of the nine junction boxes,” whispered Tim. “If they were opened... But I don’t know how many circuits are actually needed. Or... or you could cut the cables from the lightning rods. There are a thousand and one lightning rods, and since they’re already being struck by lightning... you’d need very special gear.”

Sam didn’t hear Tim’s last few words. All thoughts of Nick’s plight and the Lightning Farm were swept away as a cold sensation froze the hair on the back of his neck. His head snapped up and he pushed past Tim. The first wave of Dead were almost upon them and any question of doing something to any junction boxes was academic.

“Here they come!” he shouted and jumped up on a rock, already reaching into the Charter to prepare destructive spells. He was surprised by how easy it was. The wind was still blowing from the west and it should have been harder this far from the Wall. But he could feel the Charter strongly, almost as clear and present as it was in the Old Kingdom, though it was somehow inside him as much as it was outside.

“Stand ready!” shouted Greene, his warning repeated by sergeants and corporals in the ring of soldiers around Lirael’s frozen form. “Remember, nothing must get through to the Abhorsen! Nothing!”

“The Abhorsen.” Sam closed his eyes for a second, willing that pain away. There was no time to grieve or think about the world without his parents. He could see the Dead Hands lumbering down the slope, gathering speed as they sensed the Life ahead.

Sam readied a spell and quickly looked around. All the bowmen had arrows nocked and they were teamed with pairs of bayonet men. Greene and Tindall were next to Sam, both ready with Charter-spells. Lirael was several paces behind them, secure with soldiers all around her.

But where was Mogget? The little white cat was nowhere to be seen.

chapter twenty - three

lathal the abomination

The Fifth Gate was a reverse waterfall: a waterclimb. The river hit an unseen wall and kept on flowing up it. The dark ribbon path that crossed the Fifth Precinct ended short of this waterclimb, leaving a gap. Lirael and the Dog stared up from the end of the path, their stomachs crowding their throats. It was very disorienting to see water rising where it should fall, though fortunately it blurred into grey fuzziness before it went too far up. Even so, Lirael had the unpleasant feeling that she was no longer subject to normal gravity and might fall upwards too.