Clariel has a minion!

Astarael the Naphal

As Clariel entered the forest clearing, the memory came back with the force of a heavily-swung cudgel.

Get away. Must get away. Run. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop.

A young girl crashed into the forest clearing, catching a leg in some underbrush that had been too thick to leap over. She fell down in the circle of grass, sides heaving, soaked with sweat. Too spent to even stand again, she lay where she had fallen, eyes popping and legs quivering.

Unable to run any longer, her mind tortured her. Her father's emotionless face couldn't be pushed away. And what he had just done to her. NO! She wouldn't think on it! Couldn't think on it.

Where would she go now? She had no one to turn to. Her mother had died with Clariel's birth. She'd had no other family except for her father. Not that he was family in any way but blood. Especially after what had just happened. What he had done... no, no, no, NO!

Clariel felt a swelling of nausea with the memory of that day. She fought it down coldly. To calm herself, she ran her fingers over her bandolier and touched each of her seven bells in turn, filling her mind with their names. Ranna... Mosrael... Kibeth... Dyrim... Belgaer... Saraneth... Astarael.

Now she could focus on her task. She had been called here to rid the forest of a necromancer. She didn't expect this one to be particularly troublesome. Dead hands had been attacking local villagers for the last several weeks. A hand was nothing more than a dead body reanimated with a spirit brought back by a necromancer. They craved life and drew strength from killing, but they were the weakest of the dead and could be dealt with fairly easily, as long as their numbers were small. Since this particular necromancer had not raised more than a half dozen hands, Clariel suspected he was probably relatively unskilled and new to necromancy.

She began to cross the clearing when the sense of death came upon her. Something newly risen. Which meant the necromancer must be nearby. She slowed her pace, unsheathing her sword and loosening Saraneth's strap. Just as she made to draw Saraneth from its pouch, a deep voice cut through the silence.

"Clariel." She hadn't heard it in over 20 years, but Clariel instantly recognized her father's voice. Shaken, she cowed slightly. She heard his voice again, filling her head, "I knew you would come." Her hand pulled on Saraneth's handle, giving her a small measure of courage. She straightened and said in a loud, but quavering voice, "Clariel is gone. I am Abhorsen."

Laughter, deep, rumbling and unfriendly, filled the clearing. Terror... and shame... overcame Clariel. She was pierced by the same panic she had felt those many years ago. Must get away. Why had she come back here? Run. Run now.

Clariel began to stumble backwards, dropping her sword. As she did, she accidentally pulled Saraneth from the bandolier, never having lessened her grip on its handle. Free from its case, the clapper clanged sharply. Ringing without the control and direction of the Abhorsen's will, the sound was discordant, rattling Clariel and locking her legs in place.

Through the trees on the opposite side of the clearing, a dark cloaked figure was moving. Clariel took deep, shuddering breaths, as she realized she had been tricked. Hatred rose and crashed through the panic.

"Clariel." The figure moved into the clearing. Clariel struggled, trying to force her legs to her will, but Saraneth's discord had bound her to the spot. "Clariel," the voice repeated again. "Your face has been haunting me for many years, refusing to give me peace."

Her hatred spilled over. "You do not deserve peace!" screamed Clariel, tears streaming unbidden down her cheeks.

"But I shall have it," he replied. "I will rid my mind of your face." Then he roared, "YOUR... FACE! I will be free of it!" As he approached, Clariel saw the thin dagger he held in his right hand.

Get away. Must get away. Run. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop.

He was right next to her when Clariel began to sob. "Clariel," he said, almost soothing, bringing a hand up to brush a strand of hair from her brow.

Clariel retched at his touch. Between choking sobs, she gasped, "Clariel is gone. I am Abhorsen."

"Yes," he said. "Clariel is soon to be gone. No face. No Clariel. No face. I will have peace." With that, the dagger was brought up to her temple and pushed under the skin, where it began its slow circular path.

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Overlay by PiranhaPettingZoo.
Original profile by Yukimiko.
Profile adjustments by aesop and Ringo
Story written by Blythe, but inspired by Garth Nix and his Abhorsen trilogy.