At the center of the little village there was an open space next to the jetty,
where boats had been drawn up, mounds under the snow. The noise of the dogs was
deafening, and just as Lyra thought it must have wakened everyone, a door opened
and a man came out holding a rifle. His wolverine daemon leaped onto the woodstack
beside the door, scattering snow.
Lyra slipped down at once and stood between him and Iorek Byrnison, conscious
that she had told the bear there was no need for his armor.
The man spoke in words she couldn't understand. Iorek Byrnison replied in the
same language, and the man gave a little moan of fear.
"He thinks we are devils," Iorek told Lyra. "What shall I say?"
"Tell him we're not devils, but we've got friends who are. And we're looking
for...Just a child. A strange child. Tell him that."
As soon as the bear had said that, the man pointed to the right, indicating some
place further off, and spoke quickly.
Iorek Byrnison said, "He asks if we have come to take the child away. They are
afraid of it. They have tried to drive it away, but it keeps coming back."
"Tell him we'll take it away with us, but they were very bad to treat it like
that. Where is it?"
The man explained, gesticulating fearfully. Lyra was afraid he'd fire his rifle
by mistake, but as soon as he'd spoken he hastened inside his house and shut the
door. Lyra could see faces at every window.
"Where is the child?" she said.
"In the fish house," the bear told her, and turned to pad down toward the jetty.
Lyra followed. She was horribly nervous. The bear was making for a narrow wooden
shed, raising his head to sniff this way and that, and when he reached the door he
stopped and said: "In there."
Lyra's heart was beating so fast she could hardly breathe. She raised her hand to
knock at the door and then, feeling that that was ridiculous, took a deep breath to
call out, but realized that she didn't know what to say. Oh, it was so dark now!
She should have brought a lantern....
There was no choice, and anyway, she didn't want the bear to see her being
afraid. He had spoken of mastering his fear: that was what she'd have to do. She
lifted the strap of reindeer hide holding the latch in place, and tugged hard
against the frost binding the door shut. It opened with a snap. She had to kick
aside the snow piled against the foot of the door before she could pull it open,
and Pantalaimon was no help, running back and forth in his ermine shape, a white
shadow over the white ground, uttering little frightened sounds.
"Pan, for God's sake!" she said. "Be a bat. Go and look for me...."
But he wouldn't, and he wouldn't speak either. She had never seen him like this
except once, when she and Roger in the crypt at Jordan had moved the daemon-coins
into the wrong skulls. He was even more frightened than she was. As for Iorek
Byrnison, he was lying in the snow nearby, watching in silence.
"Come out," Lyra said as loud as she dared. "Come out!"
Not a sound came in answer. She pulled the door a little wider, and Pantalaimon
leaped up into her arms, pushing and pushing at her in his cat form, and said, "Go
away! Don't stay here! Oh, Lyra, go now! Turn back!"
[...]
She lifted the lantern high and took a step into the shed, and then she saw what
it was that the Oblation Board was doing, and what was the nature of the sacrifice
the children were having to make.
The little boy was huddled against the wood drying rack where hung row upon row
of gutted fish, all as stiff as boards. He was clutching a piece of fish to him as
Lyra was clutching Pantalaimon, with her left hand, hard, against her heart; but
that was all he had, a piece of dried fish; because he had no daemon at all. The
Gobblers had cut it away. That was intercision, and this was a severed child.
[...]
Her first impulse was to turn and run, or to be sick. A human being with no daemon
was like someone without a face, or with their ribs laid open and their heart torn
out: something unnatural and uncanny that belonged to the world of night-ghasts,
not the waking world of sense.
So Lyra clung to Pantalaimon and her head swam and her gorge rose, and cold
as the night was, a sickly sweat moistened her flesh with something colder still.
"Ratter," said the boy. "You got my Ratter?"
Lyra was in no doubt what he meant.
"No," she said in a voice as frail and frightened as she felt. Then, "What's your name?"
"Tony Makarios," he said. "Where's Ratter?"
"I don't know..." she began, and swallowed hard to govern her nausea. "The Gobblers..."
But she couldn't finish. She had to go out of the shed and sit down by herself in the
snow, except that of course she wasn't by herself, she was never by herself, because
Pantalaimon was always there. Oh, to be cut from him as this little boy had been parted
from his Ratter! The worst thing in the world! She found herself sobbing, and
Pantalaimon was whimpering too, and in both of them there was a passionate
pity and sorrow for the half-boy.
[...]
In Lyra's heart, revulsion struggled with compassion, and compassion won. She
put her arms around the skinny little form to hold him safe.
[...]
"He's called Tony," she mumbled through frozen lips. "And they cut his daemon away.
That's what the Gobblers do."
The men held back, fearful; but the bear spoke, to Lyra's weary amazement, chiding them.
"Shame on you! Think what this child has done! You might not have more courage,
but you should be ashamed to show less."
[...]
"Lyra, I'm afraid to tell you this after what you done, but that little boy died an hour ago.
He couldn't settle, he couldn't stay in one place; he kept asking after his daemon, where she
was, was she a coming soon, and all; and he kept such a tight hold on that bare old piece of
fish as if...Oh, I can't speak of it, child; but he closed his eyes finally and fell still, and that
was the first time he looked peaceful, for he was like any other dead person then, with their
daemon gone in the course of nature. They've been a trying to dig a grave for him, but the
earth's bound like iron. So John Faa ordered a fire built, and they're a going to cremate him,
so as not to have him despoiled by carrion eaters.
"Child, you did a brave thing and a good thing, and I'm proud of you. Now we know what
terrible wickedness those people are capable of, we can see our duty plainer than ever.
What you must do is rest and eat, because you fell asleep too soon to restore yourself
last night, and you have to eat in these temperatures to stop yourself getting weak...."
He was fussing around, tucking the furs into place, tightening the tension rope across the
body of the sledge, running the traces through his hands to untangle them.
"Farder Coram, where is the little boy now? Have they burned him yet?"
"No, Lyra, he's a lying back there."
"I want to go and see him."
He couldn't refuse her that, for she'd seen worse than a dead body, and it might calm
her. So with Pantalaimon as a white hare bounding delicately at her side, she trudged along
the line of sledges to where some men were piling brushwood.
The boy's body lay under a checkered blanket beside the path. She knelt and lifted the
blanket in her mittened hands. One man was about to stop her, but the others shook their heads.
Pantalaimon crept close as Lyra looked down on the poor wasted face. She slipped her hand
out of the mitten and touched his eyes. They were marble-cold, and Farder Coram had been
right; poor little Tony Makarios was no different from any other human whose daemon had
departed in death. Oh, if they took Pantalaimon from her! She swept him up and hugged
him as if she meant to press him right into her heart. And all little Tony had was his pitiful
piece of fish....
Where was it?
She pulled the blanket down. It was gone.
She was on her feet in a moment, and her eyes flashed fury at the men nearby.
"Where's his fish?"
They stopped, puzzled, unsure what she meant; though some of their daemons knew,
and looked at one another. One of the men began to grin uncertainly.
"Don't you dare laugh! I'll tear your lungs out if you laugh at him! That's all he had to cling
onto, just an old dried fish, that's all he had for a daemon to love and be kind to! Who's
took it from him? Where's it gone?"
Pantalaimon was a snarling snow leopard, just like Lord Asriel's daemon, but she didn't
see that; all she saw was right and wrong.
[...]
Then an idea came to her, and she fumbled inside her furs. The cold air struck through
as she opened her anorak, but in a few seconds she had what she wanted, and took a
gold coin from her purse before wrapping herself close again.
"I want to borrow your knife," she said to the man who'd taken the fish, and when he'd
let her have it, she said to Pantalaimon: "What was her name?"
He understood, of course, and said, "Ratter."
She held the coin tight in her left mittened hand and, holding the knife like a pencil,
scratched the lost daemon's name deeply into the gold.