I‘ve just finished reading Lirael, a fantasy novel in the Old Kingdom book series by Garth Nix.
In the realm of the Old Kingdom, it is the practice of the so-called Abhorsen to move in out of the world of life and the world of death. For the Abhorsen, the boundary between the two worlds is like a membrane one can feel and touch. Interestingly there is no change in breathing while going into death, only changes in temperature and mobility. The Abhorsen seems to have two bodies in one, one body that stays in the world of life, still breathing, while the other body, also breathing, goes into the world of death to fight necromancers and other dead creatures.
In the chapter Into Death, there is a fantastic scene in which Prince Sameth, the Abhorsen‘s son, goes into the world of death and meets a host of breath challenges in the face of a terrifying necromancer.
„….There was still no sign of the necromancer, and Sam began to worry that his enemy might not be in Death at all. Perhaps he was out there in Life even now, directing the Dead to attack. Nick and the sergeant would do their best to protect his body, Sam knew, but they would be defenseless against the Free Magic of the necromancer.
For a moment, Sam thought about going back—then a slight sound returned all his attention to Death. He heard a distant, pure note that seemed far away at first but was moving rapidly towards him. Then he saw the ripples that accompanied the sound, ripples that ran at a right angle to the flow of the river—straight towards him!
Sam clapped his hands to his ears, grinding his palms into his head. He knew that long, clear call. It came from Kibeth, the third of the seven bells. Kibeth, the Walker.
The single note slid between Sam’s fingers and into his ears, filling his mind with its strength and purity. Then the note changed and became a whole series of sounds that were almost the same, but not. Together they formed a rhythm that shot through Sam’s limbs, tweaking a muscle here and a muscle there, rocking him forward, whether he liked it or not.
Desperately, Sam tried to purse his lips, to whistle a counter-spell or even just a random noise that might disrupt the bell’s call. But his cheeks wouldn’t move, and his legs were already stumping through the water, carrying him quickly towards the source of the sound, towards the wielder of the bell. Too quickly, for the river found its chance in Sam’s sudden clumsiness. The current surged and wove itself between Sam’s feet. Caught on one leg, he teetered for a moment, then went over like a bowling pin, crashing into the river. The cold stabbed into him like a thousand thin knives, all over his body. Kibeth’s call was cut off in that moment, but it still held him, as if he were a fish on a line. Kibeth tried to walk him back, even as the current tried to keep him in its grip. Sam himself fought only to get his head clear, to get a breath of air before he was forced to take a breath of water. But the effects of the bell and the current were too much, locking him in a struggle in which he could not control his body. And while he could no longer hear Kibeth, his whole body trembled, shot through with the tremendous power of the First Gate, the waterfall that was sucking him deeper and closer with every second.
Desperately, Sam thrust his face towards the surface, and for a moment he broke free to snatch a breath. But at that instant, he heard the roar of the Gate rise to a crescendo. He was too close, he knew, and at any moment he would be swept through the Gate. Without bells, he would be easy prey for any denizen of the Second Precinct. Even if he escaped them, he was probably already too weak to resist the pull of the river. It would take him on, all the way through to the Ninth Gate and the ultimate death that lay beyond.
Then something grabbed his right wrist and he came to a sudden stop, the river raging and frothing impotently about him. Sam almost struggled against his rescuer, for fear of what it might be, but his fear of the river was greater and he needed to breathe so desperately that he could think of nothing else. So he simply fought to get a proper footing, and cough up at least some of the water that had managed to get into his throat and lungs.
Then he realized that steam was billowing from his sleeve, and his wrist was burning. He cried out. Fear of his captor rose in him again, and he was almost too afraid to look and see who—or what—it might be.
Slowly Sam raised his head. He was being held by the necromancer he’d hoped to surprise. A thin, balding man, who wore leather armor with red-enameled plates for reinforcement—and a bandolier of bells across his chest.
Here in Death, Free Magic magnified his stature, cloaking him with a great shadow of fire and darkness that moved as he moved, transforming his presence into something truly terrible and cruel. The touch of his hand blistered Sam’s wrist, and flames burnt where the whites of his eyes should be.
In his left hand he held a sword level with Sam’s neck, the sharp edge a few inches from his throat. Dark flames ran slowly down the blade like mercury and fell to the surface of the river, where they continued to burn as the current carried them away.
Sam coughed again, not because he needed to, but to cover an attempt to reach into the Charter. He had hardly begun when the sword swung even closer, the acrid fumes of the ensorceled blade making him cough for real.
“No,” said the necromancer, his voice redolent with Free Magic, his breath carrying the reek of drying blood. Desperately, Sam tried to think of what he could do. He couldn’t reach the Charter, and he couldn’t fight barehanded against that sword. He couldn’t even move, for that matter, as his sword-arm was held impossibly still in the necromancer’s burning grasp.
“You will return to Life and seek me out,” ordered the necromancer, his voice low and hard, supremely confident. It wasn’t just words either, Sam realized. He felt a compulsion to do exactly what the necromancer said. It was a Free Magic spell—but one that Sam knew would not be complete till it was sealed with the power of Saraneth, the sixth bell. And there was his chance, because the necromancer would have to let go of Sam or sheathe his sword in order to wield the bell.
Let me go, Sam wished fervently, trying not to tense his muscles too much and give his intentions away. Let me go. But the necromancer chose to sheathe his sword instead, and draw the second-largest of the bells with his right hand. Saraneth, the Binder. With it he would bind Sam to his will, though it was strange that he wanted Sam to return to Life. Necromancers did not normally care for living servants.
His grip on Sam’s wrist did not slacken. The pain there was intense, so bad that it had gone beyond bearing, and his mind had decided to shut it out. If he hadn’t still been able to see his fingers he would have believed that his hand had been burnt off at the wrist.
The necromancer carefully opened the pouch that held Saraneth. But before he could transfer his grip to grasp the bell by its clapper and pull it out, Sam threw himself backwards and scissored his legs around the necromancer’s waist.
Both of them plunged into the icy water, the necromancer sending up a huge plume of steam as he hit. Sam was underneath, the water instantly filling his mouth and nose, beating at the last breath in his lungs. He could feel the flesh of his thighs burning, even through the cold, but he did not let go. He felt the necromancer twisting and turning to get free, and through half-closed eyes he saw that under the river, the necromancer was a shape of fire and darkness, more monstrous and much less human than he had seemed before.”
Source: Lirael, Garth Nix, Haper Collins Publishing, 2021