[fic] Along the Midnight Edge 13/14
Dec. 31st, 2010 10:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
keire_keTitle: Along the Midnight Edge
Rating: 18
Genre: drama, romance
Pairings: Edmund/Caspian
Wordcount: 80k
Warnings: it is rated 18 for potentially disturbing themes
Summary: Narnia ended a mere two hundred years after Caspian’s reign, as though he was the climax of her 2,500 years’ history. He was. There were stories unfolding in Narnia of which none of her rulers were aware, and stories must run their natural course, even though their heroes are dead.
[CHAPTER THIRTEEN -- After the Sea-Ship]
Caspian stood and his eyes grew hard. He didn’t spare Edmund a glance, but one of the creatures stood apart from the fighting to circle him. He watched it fight against coming too close, but Caspian’s will was stronger than its misgivings and it would have destroyed itself at his command.
Edmund grinned into the frozen collar of his jacket.
“Mother!” Rilian screamed behind them, rushing forth without a care, even if he must have already known that it was true. “You’ve killed her!”
“She would have died anyway,” Caspian said. “If you were fooling yourself up until now, you have no one to blame but yourself.”
“You murdered her!” Rilian screamed. To attack now, when his head was filled with naught but anger and despair and his mother’s face, when his opponent was unmoved and ready for battle, was foolish, and he must have known it. He lunged nonetheless, to strike at his father in retaliation.
“Don’t you dare hurt him!” Edmund yelled, when Caspian easily avoided the first blow and moved to counter. “Caspian!”
It was well that Rilian was so distraught by emotion -- coupled with doubts and fears this made him an easy target for Caspian to disarm. “I wished her no ill,” he said, standing over Rilian. “I wish you no ill, either. I will spare you, as long as it is within my power. However, be warned. Come after Edmund, and your life is forfeit.”
“I am your son!”
Caspian’s lip twitched. “I don’t care.”
He turned then and strode to Edmund. As he walked a dragon descended to his side, matching its steps to Caspian’s. Edmund found himself gripped harshly by the arm and pulled onto the dragon’s back, which wasted not one moment before taking to the sky, leaving behind the dreadful melee of shine and darkness, of dragons tearing into stars and being torn apart by spears and knives themselves.
For a long moment, if he twisted his head as far as he could, he could see Rilian, a lone speck of genuine colour, cradling the dissolving body of his mother. He felt a pang of sorrow at that. “You shouldn’t have killed her,” he told Caspian.
“Don’t say a word,” he heard in reply. As calm as Caspian had been moments before, he was furious now. He said nothing more, but the creatures circling them roared and beat their wings, as though the very air offended.
Despite the silent anger, the cold and exhaustion, or perhaps because of it, Edmund found himself relaxing in Caspian’s hold. The stars whirled high in the sky, though that might have been the result of his body giving out under the strain he’d subjected it to.
They hadn’t travelled far, and if he were less tired Edmund would have screamed when the dragon pitched down suddenly, moving towards the ground at great speed. He was queasy when he half-fell, half-jumped off the dragon’s back, supported in no small part by Caspian’s iron grip on his upper arm.
“Edmund!” Peter called from a great distance, but when Edmund raised his head he saw his brother only a few yards away, held in place by a dark creature, whose head was turned to Caspian. “Edmund are you well?”
“Can’t complain,” he started saying, but Caspian wouldn’t deign to look back. Edmund didn’t resist when he was led to the entrance of the How and pulled into the darkness within.
“What were you thinking?” Caspian asked then, in a low, unsettling hiss, when the scant starlight disappeared in the distance. “Do you wish to die so badly?”
“Of course not,” Edmund wanted to say, but his throat was refusing to submit to his will. He was too cold.
“Because if that’s what you desire, I can give it to you,” Caspian said. There was the unmistakable sound of a sword being drawn and Edmund felt its tip against his neck.
“You would kill me?” Edmund asked, soundlessly.
“You are mine!” Caspian said in that disturbing hiss. “I shall not suffer anyone to touch you, do you understand?”
“Is that so.” Edmund straightened, mindless of the cold and the blade at his neck. “Is that what you think of me? Do you fancy me a toy to be possessed?”
The sword was gone, but Caspian stepped into its place, trapping Edmund thoroughly between himself and the wall. “You belong to me,” he said, and Edmund thought wryly that had there been any more heat in his voice, he would have been spitting fire like some of the dark creatures. “You belong to me whole, and I will suffer no harm to come to you, even if I must kill everything in my path to ensure it.”
“I will not be treated like a lapdog,” Edmund said. “I am not yours to possess. I’m no object. You will come to your senses, or I swear I will march right out of here and let them have their way!”
He felt Caspian’s lips curl into a grim smile against his mouth. “They have crossed a line,” he said. “They must suffer for it, all of them. And you, you will stay here and you will wait until I’m done.”
“I will not be ordered!” Edmund growled, but Caspian merely laughed, caught his wrists and held them high.
“But you will. You will stay here, because I say it will be so, and you will wait for my return.”
“I’m warning you,” Edmund started, but the rest of the words died in the heat of Caspian’s mouth.
When they broke apart Edmund found himself sliding to the floor.
“I will let nothing get in my way,” Caspian said. “Not even you.”
He strode out of the How. Edmund followed, when he was able to move, but no sooner had he seen a glimpse of the outside in the distance, than there was a roar and a thunder, and earth cascaded onto the exit, burying him in darkness.
Were he not so exhausted, he would be scared. He wasn’t claustrophobic -- he could crawl through the narrow caves beneath Cair Paravel without worry -- and the How had within it space enough to host an army. There was, however, a deep underground feel to it, and he was alone in complete blackness, surrounded by nothing but rock and earth in all directions, with no light and no compass to guide his way.
Given what he remembered from his previous stay, he would die of hunger before he reached the inner sanctum, around which the How was constructed.
Outside, he imagined, Caspian was terrorising the army of stars. He hadn’t been kidding, about this Edmund had no illusion. Caspian was perfectly capable of doing what he said what he would do, especially with the black poison of the creatures egging him on. He would fight until he either fell (unlikely, when the creatures were made of stuff that used itself for sustenance), or he killed everything in his path. Edmund had no idea why this thought seemed like such a joke all of sudden, but he couldn’t hold in a peal of laughter.
He didn’t know how long he stood there, laughing, but when he finally realised he might be done, his sides ached. Hilarious as Caspian’s idea of retribution was, it had to be stopped, and there was but one way to do it.
Edmund turned and, with his arms extended to spare himself the trouble of walking into a wall, he started towards the chamber of the Stone Table. He needed to hurry -- the stars were many and they were determined; there was a chance one of them would hurt Caspian, or that he would finish them. The latter would not be the ideal outcome, but the first Edmund couldn’t bear to even consider. He had enough faith in Caspian to know he would stand it, but it was not his nature to let things run their course.
He wasn’t sure how long he wandered in the darkness, but he thought the way was straightforward enough. When he first saw the pale glow, reflected on the walls, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him, but no -- he had reached the centre of the maze.
The magical vial that Coriakin had given them shone every bit as bright as the moment it was first ignited. Its light was blue, casting an unearthly, to his mortal eyes, radiance onto the Stone Table. Strange, but he couldn’t see the lettering upon it now. The surface of the table of was smooth and cold, lit only from without. Perhaps he needed to be dead to see it, he thought, trailing his fingers, numb with cold, over the stone.
He stood on the ledge between the broken slabs of stone, and shed his jacket along with the cast on his arm. The biting cold numbed him within moments, but that was to be expected. Edmund took up the knife he had stolen from Rilian and looked at its edge. He had to smile. In its smooth blade he saw -- or he though he saw -- the reflection of the Witch’s eyes, staring through him in contempt and righteous hunger.
Perhaps he ought to say something; certainly a story would require it. He refrained. The exact nature and limits of his bond with Caspian were uncertain -- though here, again, he may have been fooling himself. He knew what the bond was. As such, he uttered not a word, for so far in heaven the words either of them spoke were no secret to the other, regardless of the distance. If the same was true when Edmund was not yet dead, he was uncertain, but he didn’t dare to test the theory.
He sought out the arteries in his neck. There was a pang of guilt that coursed through him then, as the skin remembered the very same touch of Caspian’s hands and lips, and ached for it. Edmund shivered, but there was no abandoning his resolve. He would die and the promise would be kept. The traitor would be killed by the witch’s blade and Narnia would be saved.
The knife was wickedly sharp; he needed only to apply a fraction of the pressure a sword would require. Before his body could understand what was happening, he’d slashed the knife across his own throat, sending a spray of bright, red blood spattering onto the cold stone.
He’d managed to keep standing for a few seconds more, but soon his head started spinning and he half-fell half-lay on the table detailing Narnia’s history. Before his eyes the letters reappeared and filled with blood, which may have been his own imagining, as he sat before them, reading the new script as it was being appended.
“At long last,” the words proclaimed, “the Ancient Magic has been appeased, as the traitor’s blood spilled across the Stone Table by the hand of the evil, which a son of Adam brought into the world.”
The light started to dim. Edmund had enough understanding of biology, mostly gleaned from men dying on the battlefield, to know that his time trickled down to the last slowing beats of his heart. Already he found himself waiting for the next, which would force another wave of blood out of his throat, and found it late. Belatedly he wondered if perhaps he ought to have kept the jacket, as the cold was likely to slow down the process, but it was too late. His limbs would no longer move.
It could have been minutes; he did not count the beats of his heart explicitly, but the estimate ranged in hundreds, so it had to be minutes. The cold and the wait for each beat drew out the wait to hours, but even those had to end, and Edmund found himself slipping into the darkness.
The last thing he saw was the solemn face of a lion, watching him dispassionately and into its face Edmund grinned.
*****
It should have been strange, watching himself die. It should have, but it wasn’t. Edmund leaned against the Stone Table, watching as the last gush of blood bubbled up on the cut of his neck.
“Edmund,” Aslan said and there was a terrible sadness, as well as anger, in his voice. “What have you done?”
“Is this a game we are going to play now?” Edmund answered. “I thought it would please you.”
“Your death would never please me. Certainly not when it came at your own hand.”
“Would you rather it had come at yours?”
Aslan withstood his gaze. “Your death was necessary, through your own choice,” he said at last, and Edmund smiled. At the very least he was not treated to denial, which would have made things so much harder.
“I was right, then. You planned it, from the start you’ve been planning this.”
“Nevertheless, you have done yourself a great wrong.”
“Perhaps.” Edmund looked at the body, then touched his own neck. There was a line across his throat and the mark the knife had left on his chest was there as well. “Is Caspian safe?”
For a moment he feared that Aslan would not answer, citing his unwillingness to share another’s story, but no. “He is far from safe. His deeds will haunt him for as long as he lives.”
“But his soul is safe,” Edmund said. “It shall remain with him.” He had been certain -- he rarely found it within him to gamble. The stakes here were so frighteningly high, however, so precariously balanced, that even certainty carried with it the implicit threat of failure so all-encompassing that Edmund knew he would never recover from it, that he wouldn’t want to recover.
“His soul is of no use, now.” Aslan sounded angry, but these were the sweetest words Edmund could have imagined. “You are far less contrite than a man in your position should be.”
“You want me to be sorry? For what? For not playing along, or for not realising the rules of the game?”
“You knew the rules and you have broken every last one.”
“Tell me something, if you will, because I find myself confused. What was my part in this? Why was I summoned at all, when he would have found the star all on his own? Or did you plan to show us what could be and then take it away?”
Aslan said nothing, but Edmund continued to speak, knowing that his voice carried in that soundless way to Caspian. “I was to convince him of his duty, wasn’t I. You put me on that ship knowing what we could be together, because you knew he would listen when I told him to remain and do what was expected of him. You put me there to betray him.” His voice shook at the word, because to betray Narnia when he was an ignorant child was one thing, but to deliberately set Caspian on the path that would end in his destruction would have overshadowed all wrong done to the universe since its conception, and there would have been no hell deep enough for him.
“Betray?” Aslan said, and there was a roar in his voice. “His sacrifice would have been great, but there were many who would have won their eternal reward through it; such numbers, such vastness, you have no hope of comprehending.”
“Let them have it! I wish to know the fate you had planned for me!”
“It would be no worse than that awarded to your brother.”
“No worse?” How foolish he must have looked, drawn to his full, unassuming height, in the face of a lion who’d dwarf mountains, should he care to. “My brother earned his place in your heaven! He is just and kind and loyal. He had done his duty to you and to Narnia!
“You would have had me betray Caspian and then doom me to an eternal land where there was nothing to fill the hollow in my heart! You may well have had me murder Caspian with my own hands! Or not murdered -- murder I could understand, I could commit it to spare him, but I don’t think there’s a word foul enough for what you had in store for him.”
“That is his own tale, Edmund. Yours would have had a happy ending. It still could have a happy ending, but for the foolhardy ways you choose.”
“Call it foolishness, if you will, but never again dare to call it happy. I am telling you: I will refuse any fate that doesn’t have Caspian in it.”
Aslan growled. Edmund was not as adept as Lucy at reading his face, but he thought it was sad more than it was angry. “Mind your place, son of Adam. You have no understanding of just how little you are.”
“I’m starting to have an idea, and I don’t care for it. I won’t let you even try to separate us again.”
“Do you have so little faith?” Aslan said then, quietly. “Do you think I would intend to cause you so much pain, that I would let you both be destroyed?”
“I don’t know what you intended,” Edmund said. He had thought about it. He’d considered all the stories he heard, he’d considered the plans, considered each word spoken on the subject that he knew of, and the chance that Lilliandil might have succeeded on her first try still seemed too great. That Caspian was saved by words dictated by passion and hurt, it was so unlikely it was a miracle, and Edmund didn’t trust miracles. “I see what you planned and don’t think I don’t admire you for it. Either way, the stars get what they want, and if it comes at the price of one man or one world, what is it to you?”
Aslan said nothing.
“You don’t have anything to say?”
“You speak enough for us both.”
“Why me?” Edmund asked, after a moment of silence. “Why did it have to be me? Lucy would have been a sounder choice; she would have told Caspian to have faith in you and she would have believed it. I could have never again returned to Narnia and I would have been content, too.”
Aslan looked into him then, waited until the angry buzz in Edmund’s head quieted and then, softly, he whispered, “Because you asked.”
Edmund froze. “What?”
“It was because you asked, over and over, to be given another chance. That you would do it right this time.” Aslan looked and Edmund heard the prayers he uttered throughout his life, throughout his lives, both in Narnia and in England. After the Dawn Treader he only prayed to see Caspian again. Before he’d always prayed for forgiveness.
Edmund swayed where he stood and gripped the edge of the Stone Table to right himself. “That was my second chance?” he said, not caring if his voice was high-pitched and breaking. “Giving Caspian away?”
Whatever he had imagined Aslan would say, this was worse. He stared at the blood on the stone, at the knife, still in his body’s grip, and wondered at the utmost cruelty of his hopes. “I had prayed all my life for the chance to betray Caspian,” he said softly. “And you still put me there, knowing what he was to me, knowing what we could be!
“And if I didn’t fail,” Edmund said, quietly. “If I had doomed him. What then?”
“Then he would have died to give his son the soul he required.”
Edmund closed his eyes and let the knowledge soothe the howl in his heart. “Then I was right,” he said. “Then I have no reason to regret anything I’ve done.”
Aslan growled at him. “You have every reason to regret it. What you did, what was done because of you -- that cannot be undone. Caspian had chosen the corruption for your sake, he committed murder for your sake. You have committed a great sin, and for what, child of Adam? What did you hope to accomplish?”
“I want to leave, me and Caspian,” Edmund said. “I want for us to leave your land and never return, and I want to never be bothered by you again.”
“Are you threatening me?” Aslan gave Edmund a look that bordered on incredulous, an expression most ridiculous on a lion. “Do you really think I can be bartered with?”
“It is not a barter. It is the knowledge that Lucy’s heart will surely break when she is told of the plan you had for Caspian and me. I don’t think you would want that.”
“Do you presume to understand what it is you dared to meddle in? Do you presume to understand the threats you make?”
Edmund clenched his fists. “Oh, I understand all too well. It was a game -- it’s all a game. The stakes were great and the risks even more so and you knew how it would end, and you must have at least suspected I would understand. You taught me how to play yourself, did you not?” Edmund forced himself to smile. “We must all play by the rules, but there are some that are written on the surface, and some that are written underneath and some that aren’t written at all. Is it not true?”
The great lion growled, though Edmund took it for a derisive laugh. Oh, how he hoped Lucy had never seen that face. “You dare to accuse me?”
“Then deny it. Tell me I am wrong and this plot was of Lilliandil’s making, or even that it was concocted by the stars! I will believe it, perhaps not without difficulty, for the scope seems to me so grand I can’t imagine even the stars could manage on their own.”
Aslan did not look away. He didn’t flinch, nor did his gaze flicker. “You are not wrong,” he said at last. “They have come begging for the chance to share in the grace given to your kind, and I let them have the chance.”
“Why in this manner? Why not simply grant their wish?”
“Have you not read enough? A soul is such a precious thing, a whole world had to be forfeit for just one, and the stars are so many. Now Narnia and the world will be reborn, to serve her original purpose, but it will take aeons before she is ready to bear fruit, as she had withered before her time, and it will be a harrowing journey for them all.”
“I’m glad, then, that they shall be able to have their chance,” Edmund said, surprising even himself with his honesty.
“Come,” Aslan said after a moment. “It is your triumph and you will see it to the end.”
Edmund cast one last look at his own remains. “Will you make sure Susan comes to no harm because of this?”
“You brought her to a world ripe with corruption, which would leap at the chance to feast on living flesh, and it is only now you are concerned with her well-being?”
“Now is as good a time as any,” Edmund said and the How dissolved around them. They were outside, under the starry skies, on the ice. A great battle was taking place before them, between the creatures of darkness and the stars, and in the centre there were Caspian and Rilian, locked in a duel that, judging by its ferocity, would end no other way but with a dead body on the ground.
“Will you do nothing?” Edmund asked after a moment.
“Do you think it is in my power, to stop them now? They both desire nothing more than to see the other dead, both with good reason. Not even I can change that.”
Yet, Edmund could see, something was changing. It was warmer, for one; it could have been that it seemed warmer to him, when he no longer had a body to worry about, but no, he was certain that there was more to it. Ever so slightly the texture of the snow was changing and there was light gathering all around; the darkness of the sky was changing, and though it was still too dark to see the colour, there was depth to it now, and for the first time since he came to the dead world Edmund felt the wind on his face.
“Caspian,” Edmund said before he could think about it. “Stop and look.” He spoke softly, without the slightest inflection, but even at a distance he could see Caspian hesitate and take a step back.
Something was happening to Rilian. Edmund smiled in barely concealed triumph. He had doubts, it was only natural, even though he had chosen to wager everything on the belief that he was right, but here was everything drawing to a conclusion, just as he thought it would. He scarcely even heard the joyous exclamation of Lucy and Jill, as the rest of them rushed to meet him and Aslan.
“Look,” he said instead, holding out his hand.
The battle ceased. All eyes turned to Rilian, who stood there with quite the silly expression on his face and his hand clasped to his chest. There was a light about him, growing stronger with each passing second.
They watched in reverent silence as the snow underneath their feet melted. No one worried about the measuring of time, and it could have been hours or it could have been seconds before the ice started breaking and, one by one, they fell into the endless, dark ocean, lit by the stars, but even then there was no cause for worry. The water, though cold at first touch, soon warmed and it ebbed away within minutes. Not long after he fell into it, Edmund found his feet touching the ground once more and the water disappeared, never to return.
Only Susan still shivered, but that was understandable, as she was wearing the most and was therefore the last to dry.
“Ed,” Peter started saying, just as Lucy ran forth to wrap her arms around Aslan in delight.
“I knew you’d come!” she cried joyously.
“Dearest,” the lion said, “You shall not be so glad to see me when you hear what I have come to say.”
“I don’t understand,” she started saying, but Edmund was already rushing forward, to intercept Caspian, who’d abandoned his quest to murder the rest of his family and was coming towards them in a cloud of dark creatures. A terrible strain was in them, as the closer they got to Aslan the more reluctant they were, but Caspian dragged them forward regardless. He could burn the world, Edmund thought in wonder. For him, Caspian could do anything.
They met on the blank turf, both determined not to let the other move one step forth. “Say not a word,” Edmund told Caspian, grasping his shoulders. “Swear to me, not a word of what you know, or heard.”
“You wish to let him get away with everything?” Caspian hissed and the creatures behind him started beating their wings furiously. Then, as though the tiniest spark of sanity returned to his darkened eyes, he said, “You are…” Lightly, as though he’d realised something, he brushed his fingertips against the fresh mark on Edmund’s throat. “Ed…” His eyes were brighter now; behind them both, the movements of the creatures was becoming more haphazard.
“It is done. It is over. We’re safe. Well, mostly.” Edmund allowed himself a small smile, when he saw that Caspian relaxed, even if it was only just a fraction. “I shall explain everything you desire me to say, I swear, but you must say nothing.”
“No!”
“Caspian,” there sounded a voice behind them and Edmund turned, to find Aslan approaching. “You have done a great wrong tonight.”
Caspian’s eyes narrowed. He cast a look at Edmund, full of mindless fury, but somewhere in his eyes there was control. “You ask me to repent? I shan’t. I did what I needed to do.”
“You let corruption and evil poison you. You let it flourish. You have ended the existence of countless of beings, who had come here seeking redemption.”
“Then by all means, strike me down.” Caspian flung his sword to the ground, undid the breastplate faster than its construction should have allowed, cast it aside along with the sword. “I am defenceless. I shall not fight. I might even turn my back and pretend not to see it coming.”
“No,” Aslan said slowly. Then, stronger, on the verge of a roar. “You have dared to allow corruption to rule you. I will not allow it to sully my country, or this new land. You are therefore banished.”
For a moment there was silence. Caspian seemed unmoved, but the rest, Lucy in particular, cried out. There was outrage and pain and even pleading, but Edmund only managed a thin smile.
“Aslan, please!” Lucy was saying, “Can’t something be done? Surely you don’t mean to cast Caspian out!”
“Don’t, Lucy,” Caspian said, staring the lion down. “I was aware this might be the cost.” As he spoke a strange expression came over his face. “You planned all this,” he murmured in a voice that would be overlooked by anyone but Edmund, even if the rest weren’t busy begging Aslan to reconsider. “You knew this would be the result.” Though his voice was still controlled, there were cracks in it, as though it was only the last of his strength holding him together.
“You are being absurd. To plan such a matter would require knowledge vastly broader than a mortal’s understanding.”
“Am I? It seems to me that ever since you returned from your world you knew more than you were saying. Do you mean to say that all that you did, all that you said, that was the full and honest truth?”
It was not beyond Edmund’s understanding that Caspian would be upset by matters presented in this way and the presence of a hand, tightly clasped around his arm, was no surprise.
“Edmund,” Caspian growled.
“No,” Edmund said simply, but so low that he knew only Caspian could hear him. “Insofar as the final events could be planned, I had a hand in how they played, starting from the moment of my return.”
“Why, then?” Caspian asked, and this time his voice broke, though what lay beneath was less hurt than it was fury. His grip on Edmund’s arm was tight enough to cause pain. The haze of battle and the corruption had not yet left him, and the pain was quickly set aflame.
Edmund raised his head and looked Caspian in the eye. “Because I cannot return to Aslan’s country and I didn’t want to leave here alone.”
Caspian gaped at him with the most foolish expression on his face, which would have been humorous, at any other time. “You--” he started, and then followed by an expletive usually reserved for Peter. “You needed only to ask!”
“To what end? To risk having you consent?”
There was a multitude of emotion on Caspian’s face as Edmund saw understanding dawn. There was anger, amusement, alarm and, buried underneath them all, a love so fierce it could scorch like an open flame. Edmund clung to the latter, for he was aware that the anger coursing through Caspian was justified and that he would no doubt be slow to forgive the subterfuge, but the love had not changed, and therein was his greatest hope.
High in the sky the stars were celebrating. There was such movement there, that Edmund thought there must have been fireworks. It was only when he looked longer that he realised it was just the stars, dancing upon the firmament. Some of them were falling to earth, presumably to join in the celebrations, and all of them danced.
The erstwhile army, now an ecstatic crowd, gathered around Rilian and it was to Rilian that Aslan was walking now. The stars parted before him in reverence, bowing to the ground when he passed and through their midst Edmund saw the man, a sole dark spot among the shining folk.
Caspian’s hold on his arm loosened, but didn’t fully go.
“What do you think Rilian will do now?” Peter asked.
“He is supposed to ferry the stars here,” Edmund said. “From all the worlds. I suppose he will travel there, now that he can.”
“Now that he can?”
“You need a soul to cross the border between worlds. The stars couldn’t do so, though I think they may have been able to communicate somehow, despite the barrier. Now they can all come here, to a place where they can earn themselves souls.”
“How do you know all this?” Eustace asked and his voice was light as he spoke.
“It was written on the Stone Table.”
“Then how come you didn’t say anything when you were reading?” Lucy asked, genuinely puzzled.
“It’s hard enough to translate, it’s worse when you have to do it as you read,” he said, shrugging. “I wanted to make sure I got it all in context, and then I was gone. There was no time.”
Susan sneezed and, as one, they all turned to her. “Are you okay?” Jill asked, helping her shed the soaked jacket. Then, “Edmund, what happened to your clothes?”
“What happened to you?” Peter asked slowly, though Edmund could see the idea was already forming in his mind. As usual when the growing idea seemed to great to handle, he chased it away with more questions. “You say that Rilian has a soul now, but how can this be, when Caspian is here…” A sudden realisation closed his mouth with an audible snap. “Did he lose it?” and it seemed like such a simple, obvious explanation for what had transpired, that everyone turned to stare at Caspian with horror and pity.
“No,” Edmund said. “I think it is too tarnished to do much good to anyone now.” Caspian looked at him with a dark frown.
“Then how! If this affair was precipitated by the stars to take his soul away, how come it’s over now?”
Edmund said nothing, he merely stood there and waited. Sure enough, after a minute Susan shuddered and cried out softly. “Edmund! You look like them!” she said, and it made very little sense, except of course to her it must have.
“Like us?” Peter looked between them, but surely he had already made the connection -- the High King was no fool. “Ed, what did you do?”
“It was written that the promise the king made, he couldn’t keep, and so Narnia died to keep it in his stead. You must know, Pete, that Narnia’s heart is tied to her king.”
“So Rilian did get a soul after all,” Lucy said clapping her hand together. “And neither of you had to die!” Edmund supposed the full implication would hit her before she left the reborn world. He didn’t envy her the upcoming realisation.
“That’s not strictly true,” Edmund said ruefully.
“What did you do?” Peter asked, this time with an air of menace.
“Really, do I need to draw you a picture? I wasn’t dead; the promise hinged somehow on my death, don’t ask me how. I dare say that required no genius to solve.”
“Suicide is a mortal sin!”
Edmund grinned darkly at that. “It is a good thing, then, that I cannot return to heaven anyway.”
“Edmund,” Peter said meanwhile, and his face was so much harder to look at, for the disappointment and shock. “What do you mean by ‘cannot return’?”
“Lilliandil said I was broken. She was right. I don’t think I can stand to be there, when there was nothing to force me to keep myself together. Inevitably I would break and then--” Edmund hesitated. The memory of the light beneath the bridges and mountains was strong and beckoning. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I cannot risk that happening.” It was only partly a lie, and yet it was still easier to voice than the truth.
Lucy was on the verge of crying. “But you cannot go, Ed! You cannot leave us!”
“It will be fine. You won’t even be troubled by my absence. There is nothing but joy and happiness there, and no place for sorrow,” he said, reaching out to embrace her.
She didn’t look convinced. “You’ll be gone!”
“Oh, Lu.”
“But if you died,” Susan started saying, “What shall I tell Jane? What shall I tell Aunt Alberta?”
Edmund was reluctant to look at her. “This I am most sorry for,” he said. “Su… I don’t know. I don’t even know if there will be anything to bury.”
“You would leave me all alone in England,” she said, rather coldly for her usual disposition.
“Susan, I shall beg for your forgiveness, when we meet again. I can only hope you will grant it.”
“You’d better!” She’d come forth to hold him, and if her fingers dug into his arms hard enough to cause pain, if her breath hitched and if there was moisture on the shoulder of his shirt, neither of them commented. “I will have you grovel before I forgive you, be prepared for that.”
“I am.” There was so much he would have to pay for, he expected.
“Is this a good bye?” Jill asked, opening her eyes wide. “Surely not!”
“I fear it must be.” Far behind them Aslan was finishing his talk with Rilian and surely that would mean their time here was ending.
“Don’t you dare even imply you won’t see us again,” Peter said. “I will not have it.”
“I know. I shan’t. Good bye.”
There were embraces and tears and, though Eustace and Emeth seemed wary of approaching Caspian more than necessary, good wishes for them both.
“I shall do unspeakable things to you,” Peter told Caspian as farewell, “if you dare to hurt my brother. If you hide in the least world in existence, I will find you and harm you.” Peter hesitated, then, with a long-suffering expression, half-turned to Edmund. “This is a courtesy I am extending to Caspian as well, so beware.”
Edmund wondered if there was a limit to the truths he could keep buried from his family, if perhaps he wouldn’t burst and exclaim what a sham this spectacle was. He didn’t have the heart to tell Peter he very much doubted the possibility of a reunion, or that there was sure to be hurt and mutual betrayal.
“Thank you,” he said and for a second -- when his face was thoroughly hidden by Peter’s shirt -- he allowed himself a grimace of pain. “Good-bye, brother.”
“Oh Aslan,” Lucy said meanwhile. “Cannot something be done? Surely there is a way for Edmund and Caspian to stay!”
“Dearest, I can no more change their fate, when it comes about by their own choice, than I can change what I am.” Aslan looked Edmund in the eye. “Have you made your farewells, sons of Adam?”
“Will you look after Susan?” Edmund asked. “She will have trouble on her hands, no matter what that world discovers of my fate.”
“Do not worry,” the lion said, and at least that was spoken softly. “Though do not delude yourself into thinking I can spare her more than the investigation of the authorities into your suicide.”
Susan jerked, then, as though the thought had never crossed her mind. Likely it hadn’t. She had, no doubt, considered none of the consequences, didn’t even think past the implications. She likely still didn’t realise that Uncle Harold’s frequent visits were less about seeing how they managed and more about seeing whether their mental state was acceptable.
“There’s a letter in my desk,” Edmund said. “If nothing else, it should be proof.”
“I’m sure this will be a great comfort to people,” Susan said bitterly. “It is of tremendous comfort to me, that you were contemplating such a deed in the first place!”
Edmund caught her eye and looked down. Fortunately, Aslan chose to spare them. “Susan,” he said softly. “You too must make your farewells. I shall send you to your world soon.”
She looked down and nodded. Her hands were clenched and tears trailed down her face.
“Rilian,” Aslan said loud enough for the ground to shake.
“Sire.”
There had been some change to his face, Edmund noted. There had always been a hint of light that clung to him like the light of the sun clings to the moon, but now Rilian was shining in his own right. Edmund dared not speculate on how a soul influenced that, but he seemed far less human now.
“I shall not interfere in your land; if it pleases you that these two should leave, you must open the door for them to pass into the Wood in-between.”
There was a tense moment when Rilian just gazed at them, serene as only a star can be. “Certainly,” he said at long last.
For a moment he was uncertain, as though he was trying to perform a trick he had never once attempted previously. Edmund supposed building a bridge between worlds was one of the trickiest to attempt. Rilian took a step back and suddenly where he’d stood there was a door, shimmering in the starlight like an image shimmers over the heat of the flame.
Edmund took Caspian’s hand and, with one last look at his brother and sisters, at his cousin and friends, they stepped through the portal into the Wood Between Worlds.
Rating: 18
Genre: drama, romance
Pairings: Edmund/Caspian
Wordcount: 80k
Warnings: it is rated 18 for potentially disturbing themes
Summary: Narnia ended a mere two hundred years after Caspian’s reign, as though he was the climax of her 2,500 years’ history. He was. There were stories unfolding in Narnia of which none of her rulers were aware, and stories must run their natural course, even though their heroes are dead.
[CHAPTER THIRTEEN -- After the Sea-Ship]
Caspian stood and his eyes grew hard. He didn’t spare Edmund a glance, but one of the creatures stood apart from the fighting to circle him. He watched it fight against coming too close, but Caspian’s will was stronger than its misgivings and it would have destroyed itself at his command.
Edmund grinned into the frozen collar of his jacket.
“Mother!” Rilian screamed behind them, rushing forth without a care, even if he must have already known that it was true. “You’ve killed her!”
“She would have died anyway,” Caspian said. “If you were fooling yourself up until now, you have no one to blame but yourself.”
“You murdered her!” Rilian screamed. To attack now, when his head was filled with naught but anger and despair and his mother’s face, when his opponent was unmoved and ready for battle, was foolish, and he must have known it. He lunged nonetheless, to strike at his father in retaliation.
“Don’t you dare hurt him!” Edmund yelled, when Caspian easily avoided the first blow and moved to counter. “Caspian!”
It was well that Rilian was so distraught by emotion -- coupled with doubts and fears this made him an easy target for Caspian to disarm. “I wished her no ill,” he said, standing over Rilian. “I wish you no ill, either. I will spare you, as long as it is within my power. However, be warned. Come after Edmund, and your life is forfeit.”
“I am your son!”
Caspian’s lip twitched. “I don’t care.”
He turned then and strode to Edmund. As he walked a dragon descended to his side, matching its steps to Caspian’s. Edmund found himself gripped harshly by the arm and pulled onto the dragon’s back, which wasted not one moment before taking to the sky, leaving behind the dreadful melee of shine and darkness, of dragons tearing into stars and being torn apart by spears and knives themselves.
For a long moment, if he twisted his head as far as he could, he could see Rilian, a lone speck of genuine colour, cradling the dissolving body of his mother. He felt a pang of sorrow at that. “You shouldn’t have killed her,” he told Caspian.
“Don’t say a word,” he heard in reply. As calm as Caspian had been moments before, he was furious now. He said nothing more, but the creatures circling them roared and beat their wings, as though the very air offended.
Despite the silent anger, the cold and exhaustion, or perhaps because of it, Edmund found himself relaxing in Caspian’s hold. The stars whirled high in the sky, though that might have been the result of his body giving out under the strain he’d subjected it to.
They hadn’t travelled far, and if he were less tired Edmund would have screamed when the dragon pitched down suddenly, moving towards the ground at great speed. He was queasy when he half-fell, half-jumped off the dragon’s back, supported in no small part by Caspian’s iron grip on his upper arm.
“Edmund!” Peter called from a great distance, but when Edmund raised his head he saw his brother only a few yards away, held in place by a dark creature, whose head was turned to Caspian. “Edmund are you well?”
“Can’t complain,” he started saying, but Caspian wouldn’t deign to look back. Edmund didn’t resist when he was led to the entrance of the How and pulled into the darkness within.
“What were you thinking?” Caspian asked then, in a low, unsettling hiss, when the scant starlight disappeared in the distance. “Do you wish to die so badly?”
“Of course not,” Edmund wanted to say, but his throat was refusing to submit to his will. He was too cold.
“Because if that’s what you desire, I can give it to you,” Caspian said. There was the unmistakable sound of a sword being drawn and Edmund felt its tip against his neck.
“You would kill me?” Edmund asked, soundlessly.
“You are mine!” Caspian said in that disturbing hiss. “I shall not suffer anyone to touch you, do you understand?”
“Is that so.” Edmund straightened, mindless of the cold and the blade at his neck. “Is that what you think of me? Do you fancy me a toy to be possessed?”
The sword was gone, but Caspian stepped into its place, trapping Edmund thoroughly between himself and the wall. “You belong to me,” he said, and Edmund thought wryly that had there been any more heat in his voice, he would have been spitting fire like some of the dark creatures. “You belong to me whole, and I will suffer no harm to come to you, even if I must kill everything in my path to ensure it.”
“I will not be treated like a lapdog,” Edmund said. “I am not yours to possess. I’m no object. You will come to your senses, or I swear I will march right out of here and let them have their way!”
He felt Caspian’s lips curl into a grim smile against his mouth. “They have crossed a line,” he said. “They must suffer for it, all of them. And you, you will stay here and you will wait until I’m done.”
“I will not be ordered!” Edmund growled, but Caspian merely laughed, caught his wrists and held them high.
“But you will. You will stay here, because I say it will be so, and you will wait for my return.”
“I’m warning you,” Edmund started, but the rest of the words died in the heat of Caspian’s mouth.
When they broke apart Edmund found himself sliding to the floor.
“I will let nothing get in my way,” Caspian said. “Not even you.”
He strode out of the How. Edmund followed, when he was able to move, but no sooner had he seen a glimpse of the outside in the distance, than there was a roar and a thunder, and earth cascaded onto the exit, burying him in darkness.
Were he not so exhausted, he would be scared. He wasn’t claustrophobic -- he could crawl through the narrow caves beneath Cair Paravel without worry -- and the How had within it space enough to host an army. There was, however, a deep underground feel to it, and he was alone in complete blackness, surrounded by nothing but rock and earth in all directions, with no light and no compass to guide his way.
Given what he remembered from his previous stay, he would die of hunger before he reached the inner sanctum, around which the How was constructed.
Outside, he imagined, Caspian was terrorising the army of stars. He hadn’t been kidding, about this Edmund had no illusion. Caspian was perfectly capable of doing what he said what he would do, especially with the black poison of the creatures egging him on. He would fight until he either fell (unlikely, when the creatures were made of stuff that used itself for sustenance), or he killed everything in his path. Edmund had no idea why this thought seemed like such a joke all of sudden, but he couldn’t hold in a peal of laughter.
He didn’t know how long he stood there, laughing, but when he finally realised he might be done, his sides ached. Hilarious as Caspian’s idea of retribution was, it had to be stopped, and there was but one way to do it.
Edmund turned and, with his arms extended to spare himself the trouble of walking into a wall, he started towards the chamber of the Stone Table. He needed to hurry -- the stars were many and they were determined; there was a chance one of them would hurt Caspian, or that he would finish them. The latter would not be the ideal outcome, but the first Edmund couldn’t bear to even consider. He had enough faith in Caspian to know he would stand it, but it was not his nature to let things run their course.
He wasn’t sure how long he wandered in the darkness, but he thought the way was straightforward enough. When he first saw the pale glow, reflected on the walls, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him, but no -- he had reached the centre of the maze.
The magical vial that Coriakin had given them shone every bit as bright as the moment it was first ignited. Its light was blue, casting an unearthly, to his mortal eyes, radiance onto the Stone Table. Strange, but he couldn’t see the lettering upon it now. The surface of the table of was smooth and cold, lit only from without. Perhaps he needed to be dead to see it, he thought, trailing his fingers, numb with cold, over the stone.
He stood on the ledge between the broken slabs of stone, and shed his jacket along with the cast on his arm. The biting cold numbed him within moments, but that was to be expected. Edmund took up the knife he had stolen from Rilian and looked at its edge. He had to smile. In its smooth blade he saw -- or he though he saw -- the reflection of the Witch’s eyes, staring through him in contempt and righteous hunger.
Perhaps he ought to say something; certainly a story would require it. He refrained. The exact nature and limits of his bond with Caspian were uncertain -- though here, again, he may have been fooling himself. He knew what the bond was. As such, he uttered not a word, for so far in heaven the words either of them spoke were no secret to the other, regardless of the distance. If the same was true when Edmund was not yet dead, he was uncertain, but he didn’t dare to test the theory.
He sought out the arteries in his neck. There was a pang of guilt that coursed through him then, as the skin remembered the very same touch of Caspian’s hands and lips, and ached for it. Edmund shivered, but there was no abandoning his resolve. He would die and the promise would be kept. The traitor would be killed by the witch’s blade and Narnia would be saved.
The knife was wickedly sharp; he needed only to apply a fraction of the pressure a sword would require. Before his body could understand what was happening, he’d slashed the knife across his own throat, sending a spray of bright, red blood spattering onto the cold stone.
He’d managed to keep standing for a few seconds more, but soon his head started spinning and he half-fell half-lay on the table detailing Narnia’s history. Before his eyes the letters reappeared and filled with blood, which may have been his own imagining, as he sat before them, reading the new script as it was being appended.
“At long last,” the words proclaimed, “the Ancient Magic has been appeased, as the traitor’s blood spilled across the Stone Table by the hand of the evil, which a son of Adam brought into the world.”
The light started to dim. Edmund had enough understanding of biology, mostly gleaned from men dying on the battlefield, to know that his time trickled down to the last slowing beats of his heart. Already he found himself waiting for the next, which would force another wave of blood out of his throat, and found it late. Belatedly he wondered if perhaps he ought to have kept the jacket, as the cold was likely to slow down the process, but it was too late. His limbs would no longer move.
It could have been minutes; he did not count the beats of his heart explicitly, but the estimate ranged in hundreds, so it had to be minutes. The cold and the wait for each beat drew out the wait to hours, but even those had to end, and Edmund found himself slipping into the darkness.
The last thing he saw was the solemn face of a lion, watching him dispassionately and into its face Edmund grinned.
*****
It should have been strange, watching himself die. It should have, but it wasn’t. Edmund leaned against the Stone Table, watching as the last gush of blood bubbled up on the cut of his neck.
“Edmund,” Aslan said and there was a terrible sadness, as well as anger, in his voice. “What have you done?”
“Is this a game we are going to play now?” Edmund answered. “I thought it would please you.”
“Your death would never please me. Certainly not when it came at your own hand.”
“Would you rather it had come at yours?”
Aslan withstood his gaze. “Your death was necessary, through your own choice,” he said at last, and Edmund smiled. At the very least he was not treated to denial, which would have made things so much harder.
“I was right, then. You planned it, from the start you’ve been planning this.”
“Nevertheless, you have done yourself a great wrong.”
“Perhaps.” Edmund looked at the body, then touched his own neck. There was a line across his throat and the mark the knife had left on his chest was there as well. “Is Caspian safe?”
For a moment he feared that Aslan would not answer, citing his unwillingness to share another’s story, but no. “He is far from safe. His deeds will haunt him for as long as he lives.”
“But his soul is safe,” Edmund said. “It shall remain with him.” He had been certain -- he rarely found it within him to gamble. The stakes here were so frighteningly high, however, so precariously balanced, that even certainty carried with it the implicit threat of failure so all-encompassing that Edmund knew he would never recover from it, that he wouldn’t want to recover.
“His soul is of no use, now.” Aslan sounded angry, but these were the sweetest words Edmund could have imagined. “You are far less contrite than a man in your position should be.”
“You want me to be sorry? For what? For not playing along, or for not realising the rules of the game?”
“You knew the rules and you have broken every last one.”
“Tell me something, if you will, because I find myself confused. What was my part in this? Why was I summoned at all, when he would have found the star all on his own? Or did you plan to show us what could be and then take it away?”
Aslan said nothing, but Edmund continued to speak, knowing that his voice carried in that soundless way to Caspian. “I was to convince him of his duty, wasn’t I. You put me on that ship knowing what we could be together, because you knew he would listen when I told him to remain and do what was expected of him. You put me there to betray him.” His voice shook at the word, because to betray Narnia when he was an ignorant child was one thing, but to deliberately set Caspian on the path that would end in his destruction would have overshadowed all wrong done to the universe since its conception, and there would have been no hell deep enough for him.
“Betray?” Aslan said, and there was a roar in his voice. “His sacrifice would have been great, but there were many who would have won their eternal reward through it; such numbers, such vastness, you have no hope of comprehending.”
“Let them have it! I wish to know the fate you had planned for me!”
“It would be no worse than that awarded to your brother.”
“No worse?” How foolish he must have looked, drawn to his full, unassuming height, in the face of a lion who’d dwarf mountains, should he care to. “My brother earned his place in your heaven! He is just and kind and loyal. He had done his duty to you and to Narnia!
“You would have had me betray Caspian and then doom me to an eternal land where there was nothing to fill the hollow in my heart! You may well have had me murder Caspian with my own hands! Or not murdered -- murder I could understand, I could commit it to spare him, but I don’t think there’s a word foul enough for what you had in store for him.”
“That is his own tale, Edmund. Yours would have had a happy ending. It still could have a happy ending, but for the foolhardy ways you choose.”
“Call it foolishness, if you will, but never again dare to call it happy. I am telling you: I will refuse any fate that doesn’t have Caspian in it.”
Aslan growled. Edmund was not as adept as Lucy at reading his face, but he thought it was sad more than it was angry. “Mind your place, son of Adam. You have no understanding of just how little you are.”
“I’m starting to have an idea, and I don’t care for it. I won’t let you even try to separate us again.”
“Do you have so little faith?” Aslan said then, quietly. “Do you think I would intend to cause you so much pain, that I would let you both be destroyed?”
“I don’t know what you intended,” Edmund said. He had thought about it. He’d considered all the stories he heard, he’d considered the plans, considered each word spoken on the subject that he knew of, and the chance that Lilliandil might have succeeded on her first try still seemed too great. That Caspian was saved by words dictated by passion and hurt, it was so unlikely it was a miracle, and Edmund didn’t trust miracles. “I see what you planned and don’t think I don’t admire you for it. Either way, the stars get what they want, and if it comes at the price of one man or one world, what is it to you?”
Aslan said nothing.
“You don’t have anything to say?”
“You speak enough for us both.”
“Why me?” Edmund asked, after a moment of silence. “Why did it have to be me? Lucy would have been a sounder choice; she would have told Caspian to have faith in you and she would have believed it. I could have never again returned to Narnia and I would have been content, too.”
Aslan looked into him then, waited until the angry buzz in Edmund’s head quieted and then, softly, he whispered, “Because you asked.”
Edmund froze. “What?”
“It was because you asked, over and over, to be given another chance. That you would do it right this time.” Aslan looked and Edmund heard the prayers he uttered throughout his life, throughout his lives, both in Narnia and in England. After the Dawn Treader he only prayed to see Caspian again. Before he’d always prayed for forgiveness.
Edmund swayed where he stood and gripped the edge of the Stone Table to right himself. “That was my second chance?” he said, not caring if his voice was high-pitched and breaking. “Giving Caspian away?”
Whatever he had imagined Aslan would say, this was worse. He stared at the blood on the stone, at the knife, still in his body’s grip, and wondered at the utmost cruelty of his hopes. “I had prayed all my life for the chance to betray Caspian,” he said softly. “And you still put me there, knowing what he was to me, knowing what we could be!
“And if I didn’t fail,” Edmund said, quietly. “If I had doomed him. What then?”
“Then he would have died to give his son the soul he required.”
Edmund closed his eyes and let the knowledge soothe the howl in his heart. “Then I was right,” he said. “Then I have no reason to regret anything I’ve done.”
Aslan growled at him. “You have every reason to regret it. What you did, what was done because of you -- that cannot be undone. Caspian had chosen the corruption for your sake, he committed murder for your sake. You have committed a great sin, and for what, child of Adam? What did you hope to accomplish?”
“I want to leave, me and Caspian,” Edmund said. “I want for us to leave your land and never return, and I want to never be bothered by you again.”
“Are you threatening me?” Aslan gave Edmund a look that bordered on incredulous, an expression most ridiculous on a lion. “Do you really think I can be bartered with?”
“It is not a barter. It is the knowledge that Lucy’s heart will surely break when she is told of the plan you had for Caspian and me. I don’t think you would want that.”
“Do you presume to understand what it is you dared to meddle in? Do you presume to understand the threats you make?”
Edmund clenched his fists. “Oh, I understand all too well. It was a game -- it’s all a game. The stakes were great and the risks even more so and you knew how it would end, and you must have at least suspected I would understand. You taught me how to play yourself, did you not?” Edmund forced himself to smile. “We must all play by the rules, but there are some that are written on the surface, and some that are written underneath and some that aren’t written at all. Is it not true?”
The great lion growled, though Edmund took it for a derisive laugh. Oh, how he hoped Lucy had never seen that face. “You dare to accuse me?”
“Then deny it. Tell me I am wrong and this plot was of Lilliandil’s making, or even that it was concocted by the stars! I will believe it, perhaps not without difficulty, for the scope seems to me so grand I can’t imagine even the stars could manage on their own.”
Aslan did not look away. He didn’t flinch, nor did his gaze flicker. “You are not wrong,” he said at last. “They have come begging for the chance to share in the grace given to your kind, and I let them have the chance.”
“Why in this manner? Why not simply grant their wish?”
“Have you not read enough? A soul is such a precious thing, a whole world had to be forfeit for just one, and the stars are so many. Now Narnia and the world will be reborn, to serve her original purpose, but it will take aeons before she is ready to bear fruit, as she had withered before her time, and it will be a harrowing journey for them all.”
“I’m glad, then, that they shall be able to have their chance,” Edmund said, surprising even himself with his honesty.
“Come,” Aslan said after a moment. “It is your triumph and you will see it to the end.”
Edmund cast one last look at his own remains. “Will you make sure Susan comes to no harm because of this?”
“You brought her to a world ripe with corruption, which would leap at the chance to feast on living flesh, and it is only now you are concerned with her well-being?”
“Now is as good a time as any,” Edmund said and the How dissolved around them. They were outside, under the starry skies, on the ice. A great battle was taking place before them, between the creatures of darkness and the stars, and in the centre there were Caspian and Rilian, locked in a duel that, judging by its ferocity, would end no other way but with a dead body on the ground.
“Will you do nothing?” Edmund asked after a moment.
“Do you think it is in my power, to stop them now? They both desire nothing more than to see the other dead, both with good reason. Not even I can change that.”
Yet, Edmund could see, something was changing. It was warmer, for one; it could have been that it seemed warmer to him, when he no longer had a body to worry about, but no, he was certain that there was more to it. Ever so slightly the texture of the snow was changing and there was light gathering all around; the darkness of the sky was changing, and though it was still too dark to see the colour, there was depth to it now, and for the first time since he came to the dead world Edmund felt the wind on his face.
“Caspian,” Edmund said before he could think about it. “Stop and look.” He spoke softly, without the slightest inflection, but even at a distance he could see Caspian hesitate and take a step back.
Something was happening to Rilian. Edmund smiled in barely concealed triumph. He had doubts, it was only natural, even though he had chosen to wager everything on the belief that he was right, but here was everything drawing to a conclusion, just as he thought it would. He scarcely even heard the joyous exclamation of Lucy and Jill, as the rest of them rushed to meet him and Aslan.
“Look,” he said instead, holding out his hand.
The battle ceased. All eyes turned to Rilian, who stood there with quite the silly expression on his face and his hand clasped to his chest. There was a light about him, growing stronger with each passing second.
They watched in reverent silence as the snow underneath their feet melted. No one worried about the measuring of time, and it could have been hours or it could have been seconds before the ice started breaking and, one by one, they fell into the endless, dark ocean, lit by the stars, but even then there was no cause for worry. The water, though cold at first touch, soon warmed and it ebbed away within minutes. Not long after he fell into it, Edmund found his feet touching the ground once more and the water disappeared, never to return.
Only Susan still shivered, but that was understandable, as she was wearing the most and was therefore the last to dry.
“Ed,” Peter started saying, just as Lucy ran forth to wrap her arms around Aslan in delight.
“I knew you’d come!” she cried joyously.
“Dearest,” the lion said, “You shall not be so glad to see me when you hear what I have come to say.”
“I don’t understand,” she started saying, but Edmund was already rushing forward, to intercept Caspian, who’d abandoned his quest to murder the rest of his family and was coming towards them in a cloud of dark creatures. A terrible strain was in them, as the closer they got to Aslan the more reluctant they were, but Caspian dragged them forward regardless. He could burn the world, Edmund thought in wonder. For him, Caspian could do anything.
They met on the blank turf, both determined not to let the other move one step forth. “Say not a word,” Edmund told Caspian, grasping his shoulders. “Swear to me, not a word of what you know, or heard.”
“You wish to let him get away with everything?” Caspian hissed and the creatures behind him started beating their wings furiously. Then, as though the tiniest spark of sanity returned to his darkened eyes, he said, “You are…” Lightly, as though he’d realised something, he brushed his fingertips against the fresh mark on Edmund’s throat. “Ed…” His eyes were brighter now; behind them both, the movements of the creatures was becoming more haphazard.
“It is done. It is over. We’re safe. Well, mostly.” Edmund allowed himself a small smile, when he saw that Caspian relaxed, even if it was only just a fraction. “I shall explain everything you desire me to say, I swear, but you must say nothing.”
“No!”
“Caspian,” there sounded a voice behind them and Edmund turned, to find Aslan approaching. “You have done a great wrong tonight.”
Caspian’s eyes narrowed. He cast a look at Edmund, full of mindless fury, but somewhere in his eyes there was control. “You ask me to repent? I shan’t. I did what I needed to do.”
“You let corruption and evil poison you. You let it flourish. You have ended the existence of countless of beings, who had come here seeking redemption.”
“Then by all means, strike me down.” Caspian flung his sword to the ground, undid the breastplate faster than its construction should have allowed, cast it aside along with the sword. “I am defenceless. I shall not fight. I might even turn my back and pretend not to see it coming.”
“No,” Aslan said slowly. Then, stronger, on the verge of a roar. “You have dared to allow corruption to rule you. I will not allow it to sully my country, or this new land. You are therefore banished.”
For a moment there was silence. Caspian seemed unmoved, but the rest, Lucy in particular, cried out. There was outrage and pain and even pleading, but Edmund only managed a thin smile.
“Aslan, please!” Lucy was saying, “Can’t something be done? Surely you don’t mean to cast Caspian out!”
“Don’t, Lucy,” Caspian said, staring the lion down. “I was aware this might be the cost.” As he spoke a strange expression came over his face. “You planned all this,” he murmured in a voice that would be overlooked by anyone but Edmund, even if the rest weren’t busy begging Aslan to reconsider. “You knew this would be the result.” Though his voice was still controlled, there were cracks in it, as though it was only the last of his strength holding him together.
“You are being absurd. To plan such a matter would require knowledge vastly broader than a mortal’s understanding.”
“Am I? It seems to me that ever since you returned from your world you knew more than you were saying. Do you mean to say that all that you did, all that you said, that was the full and honest truth?”
It was not beyond Edmund’s understanding that Caspian would be upset by matters presented in this way and the presence of a hand, tightly clasped around his arm, was no surprise.
“Edmund,” Caspian growled.
“No,” Edmund said simply, but so low that he knew only Caspian could hear him. “Insofar as the final events could be planned, I had a hand in how they played, starting from the moment of my return.”
“Why, then?” Caspian asked, and this time his voice broke, though what lay beneath was less hurt than it was fury. His grip on Edmund’s arm was tight enough to cause pain. The haze of battle and the corruption had not yet left him, and the pain was quickly set aflame.
Edmund raised his head and looked Caspian in the eye. “Because I cannot return to Aslan’s country and I didn’t want to leave here alone.”
Caspian gaped at him with the most foolish expression on his face, which would have been humorous, at any other time. “You--” he started, and then followed by an expletive usually reserved for Peter. “You needed only to ask!”
“To what end? To risk having you consent?”
There was a multitude of emotion on Caspian’s face as Edmund saw understanding dawn. There was anger, amusement, alarm and, buried underneath them all, a love so fierce it could scorch like an open flame. Edmund clung to the latter, for he was aware that the anger coursing through Caspian was justified and that he would no doubt be slow to forgive the subterfuge, but the love had not changed, and therein was his greatest hope.
High in the sky the stars were celebrating. There was such movement there, that Edmund thought there must have been fireworks. It was only when he looked longer that he realised it was just the stars, dancing upon the firmament. Some of them were falling to earth, presumably to join in the celebrations, and all of them danced.
The erstwhile army, now an ecstatic crowd, gathered around Rilian and it was to Rilian that Aslan was walking now. The stars parted before him in reverence, bowing to the ground when he passed and through their midst Edmund saw the man, a sole dark spot among the shining folk.
Caspian’s hold on his arm loosened, but didn’t fully go.
“What do you think Rilian will do now?” Peter asked.
“He is supposed to ferry the stars here,” Edmund said. “From all the worlds. I suppose he will travel there, now that he can.”
“Now that he can?”
“You need a soul to cross the border between worlds. The stars couldn’t do so, though I think they may have been able to communicate somehow, despite the barrier. Now they can all come here, to a place where they can earn themselves souls.”
“How do you know all this?” Eustace asked and his voice was light as he spoke.
“It was written on the Stone Table.”
“Then how come you didn’t say anything when you were reading?” Lucy asked, genuinely puzzled.
“It’s hard enough to translate, it’s worse when you have to do it as you read,” he said, shrugging. “I wanted to make sure I got it all in context, and then I was gone. There was no time.”
Susan sneezed and, as one, they all turned to her. “Are you okay?” Jill asked, helping her shed the soaked jacket. Then, “Edmund, what happened to your clothes?”
“What happened to you?” Peter asked slowly, though Edmund could see the idea was already forming in his mind. As usual when the growing idea seemed to great to handle, he chased it away with more questions. “You say that Rilian has a soul now, but how can this be, when Caspian is here…” A sudden realisation closed his mouth with an audible snap. “Did he lose it?” and it seemed like such a simple, obvious explanation for what had transpired, that everyone turned to stare at Caspian with horror and pity.
“No,” Edmund said. “I think it is too tarnished to do much good to anyone now.” Caspian looked at him with a dark frown.
“Then how! If this affair was precipitated by the stars to take his soul away, how come it’s over now?”
Edmund said nothing, he merely stood there and waited. Sure enough, after a minute Susan shuddered and cried out softly. “Edmund! You look like them!” she said, and it made very little sense, except of course to her it must have.
“Like us?” Peter looked between them, but surely he had already made the connection -- the High King was no fool. “Ed, what did you do?”
“It was written that the promise the king made, he couldn’t keep, and so Narnia died to keep it in his stead. You must know, Pete, that Narnia’s heart is tied to her king.”
“So Rilian did get a soul after all,” Lucy said clapping her hand together. “And neither of you had to die!” Edmund supposed the full implication would hit her before she left the reborn world. He didn’t envy her the upcoming realisation.
“That’s not strictly true,” Edmund said ruefully.
“What did you do?” Peter asked, this time with an air of menace.
“Really, do I need to draw you a picture? I wasn’t dead; the promise hinged somehow on my death, don’t ask me how. I dare say that required no genius to solve.”
“Suicide is a mortal sin!”
Edmund grinned darkly at that. “It is a good thing, then, that I cannot return to heaven anyway.”
“Edmund,” Peter said meanwhile, and his face was so much harder to look at, for the disappointment and shock. “What do you mean by ‘cannot return’?”
“Lilliandil said I was broken. She was right. I don’t think I can stand to be there, when there was nothing to force me to keep myself together. Inevitably I would break and then--” Edmund hesitated. The memory of the light beneath the bridges and mountains was strong and beckoning. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I cannot risk that happening.” It was only partly a lie, and yet it was still easier to voice than the truth.
Lucy was on the verge of crying. “But you cannot go, Ed! You cannot leave us!”
“It will be fine. You won’t even be troubled by my absence. There is nothing but joy and happiness there, and no place for sorrow,” he said, reaching out to embrace her.
She didn’t look convinced. “You’ll be gone!”
“Oh, Lu.”
“But if you died,” Susan started saying, “What shall I tell Jane? What shall I tell Aunt Alberta?”
Edmund was reluctant to look at her. “This I am most sorry for,” he said. “Su… I don’t know. I don’t even know if there will be anything to bury.”
“You would leave me all alone in England,” she said, rather coldly for her usual disposition.
“Susan, I shall beg for your forgiveness, when we meet again. I can only hope you will grant it.”
“You’d better!” She’d come forth to hold him, and if her fingers dug into his arms hard enough to cause pain, if her breath hitched and if there was moisture on the shoulder of his shirt, neither of them commented. “I will have you grovel before I forgive you, be prepared for that.”
“I am.” There was so much he would have to pay for, he expected.
“Is this a good bye?” Jill asked, opening her eyes wide. “Surely not!”
“I fear it must be.” Far behind them Aslan was finishing his talk with Rilian and surely that would mean their time here was ending.
“Don’t you dare even imply you won’t see us again,” Peter said. “I will not have it.”
“I know. I shan’t. Good bye.”
There were embraces and tears and, though Eustace and Emeth seemed wary of approaching Caspian more than necessary, good wishes for them both.
“I shall do unspeakable things to you,” Peter told Caspian as farewell, “if you dare to hurt my brother. If you hide in the least world in existence, I will find you and harm you.” Peter hesitated, then, with a long-suffering expression, half-turned to Edmund. “This is a courtesy I am extending to Caspian as well, so beware.”
Edmund wondered if there was a limit to the truths he could keep buried from his family, if perhaps he wouldn’t burst and exclaim what a sham this spectacle was. He didn’t have the heart to tell Peter he very much doubted the possibility of a reunion, or that there was sure to be hurt and mutual betrayal.
“Thank you,” he said and for a second -- when his face was thoroughly hidden by Peter’s shirt -- he allowed himself a grimace of pain. “Good-bye, brother.”
“Oh Aslan,” Lucy said meanwhile. “Cannot something be done? Surely there is a way for Edmund and Caspian to stay!”
“Dearest, I can no more change their fate, when it comes about by their own choice, than I can change what I am.” Aslan looked Edmund in the eye. “Have you made your farewells, sons of Adam?”
“Will you look after Susan?” Edmund asked. “She will have trouble on her hands, no matter what that world discovers of my fate.”
“Do not worry,” the lion said, and at least that was spoken softly. “Though do not delude yourself into thinking I can spare her more than the investigation of the authorities into your suicide.”
Susan jerked, then, as though the thought had never crossed her mind. Likely it hadn’t. She had, no doubt, considered none of the consequences, didn’t even think past the implications. She likely still didn’t realise that Uncle Harold’s frequent visits were less about seeing how they managed and more about seeing whether their mental state was acceptable.
“There’s a letter in my desk,” Edmund said. “If nothing else, it should be proof.”
“I’m sure this will be a great comfort to people,” Susan said bitterly. “It is of tremendous comfort to me, that you were contemplating such a deed in the first place!”
Edmund caught her eye and looked down. Fortunately, Aslan chose to spare them. “Susan,” he said softly. “You too must make your farewells. I shall send you to your world soon.”
She looked down and nodded. Her hands were clenched and tears trailed down her face.
“Rilian,” Aslan said loud enough for the ground to shake.
“Sire.”
There had been some change to his face, Edmund noted. There had always been a hint of light that clung to him like the light of the sun clings to the moon, but now Rilian was shining in his own right. Edmund dared not speculate on how a soul influenced that, but he seemed far less human now.
“I shall not interfere in your land; if it pleases you that these two should leave, you must open the door for them to pass into the Wood in-between.”
There was a tense moment when Rilian just gazed at them, serene as only a star can be. “Certainly,” he said at long last.
For a moment he was uncertain, as though he was trying to perform a trick he had never once attempted previously. Edmund supposed building a bridge between worlds was one of the trickiest to attempt. Rilian took a step back and suddenly where he’d stood there was a door, shimmering in the starlight like an image shimmers over the heat of the flame.
Edmund took Caspian’s hand and, with one last look at his brother and sisters, at his cousin and friends, they stepped through the portal into the Wood Between Worlds.
