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[fic] Along the Midnight Edge 3/14
Title: 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 THREE -- Out From Behind This Mask]
Wakefulness was slow to come. There was the moment of dread when he knew was awake and yet he couldn’t will himself to move, but luckily it was only a moment.
Even half-awake he knew something was wrong. He had no idea how long he’d been dead, but during the time the weather was nothing if not perfect. Even when it rained the air had been crystal-clear and fresh as the first day of spring; the clouds glowed with sunlight which reflected in the drops of water, casting reflections onto every surface. It was not so now. The sky was yellowish like an old bruise, and the air was heavy. A storm was coming.
In the face of such radical change in the weather, however, it was excusable that the sight of Rilian, who was sitting on the windowsill, perched like a great black bird of prey, barely disturbed him. Edmund was reminded of photos of vultures in the desert, which would circle their prey and wait until the heat and sand drove it to death. Rilian’s face was an unreadable mask, but Edmund felt no fear, even though he was alone in the bedroom and he felt sluggish, as if he had just woken from a deep, restless sleep.
There was some comfort in that he could hear the voices of Peter and Caspian -- arguing, naturally -- over the best course of actions through the open door. The slightest sound would send them flying inside with their swords drawn and Rilian was well aware of it. He put a finger to his lips and withdrew from the window, jumping onto the windowsill below.
Edmund followed without a thought.
“You don’t seem to fear me,” he said eventually, when they were far enough from the window that they couldn’t be overheard from the bedroom.
“I don’t.”
“I wish to apologise. I behaved dishonourably, in a manner ill-befitting a king.”
Edmund waited.
“I shall not ask your forgiveness,” Rilian continued. “What I did to you was a terrible sin, one that I shall undoubtedly pay for many times over, but I shall not excuse myself, either.”
“Why did you do it, then?”
“You took something from me, Edmund.” The once-enchanted prince stepped so close that Edmund found he could only look into his bright, lucid eyes. The knife that had been used to carve him earlier that day was in Rilian’s hand, still stained with his blood, and yet Edmund stood there calmly, without fear. “Although perhaps took is too strong a word, for you are not at fault, even though you must die for it. You were offered something though, as a gift, something that I desperately need.”
Edmund blinked. “Have I? I have no recollection of stealing from you! You must believe me, when I say I had no intention of doing so.”
“Oh, I know. This is why it brings me great pain to stand here, now, and tell you that I must kill you, painfully, as soon as you shall be ready to take me in honourable battle.”
Ah, this was familiar territory. “I shall be glad to entertain a challenge, but Rilian, why? If there’s anything I can do to make it up to you, say so! We don’t have to be enemies.”
“I bear you no ill will, Edmund. My father loves you dearly, and I almost understand why. I feel, when the world was different, we would have been brothers.”
“Why, then?”
“Because I must,” Rilian said quietly.
Edmund blinked then, and immediately had to duck, as a sword swung somewhere from his right, aiming at Rilian’s head. “Peter, don’t!”
Rilian dropped and rolled, avoiding the strike that would have taken a man’s head off by inches. Edmund got to his feet, a touch unsteadily, and rushed to hang on Peter’s sword arm. “Are you out of your mind?”
“I thank you, Edmund. I look forward to seeing you again, soon,” Rilian said, and jumped off the roof.
“Why did you stop me?” Peter growled, shaking Edmund by the shoulder.
“What happened to you, killing a man in the middle of a conversation? I thought we agreed not to kill him!”
“When the man is responsible for almost slaughtering my little brother, I have very little patience or mercy to spare. Also, you will note that it was Caspian, not I, who promised to stay his hand should the opportunity present itself.”
There would have been more, had Edmund not swayed where he stood just then. The weakness that swept through him left him sweating and pale. Thankfully, Peter dropped his sword to hold him up and help him back into the room, to find Caspian being forcibly restrained by Lucy and Eustace.
“What happened?” the three of them asked as one.
“He thought he might converse with Rilian, alone on the roof,” Peter said.
Edmund let go of Peter’s arm and sank onto the pillows gratefully. The wound hurt little, more pressing was the matter of weakness that sent black spots whirling across his vision.
“Rilian was here, again?” Caspian asked. “He dared?”
“He was. Calm down. He said he would do nothing until I feel ready enough to face the challenge.”
“Oh, and he is now one of the people we trust?”
Edmund sat up and glared. Woefully he suspected that in his current condition the glare might command only enough power to get him a cup of hot tea, and not the attention he desired. “I have been involved in diplomatic negotiations since I was but eleven. If there’s something you have to teach me about reading a man’s intentions from his words, please, do share.”
“Your skill failed you this morning.”
Edmund winced. “Perhaps. Your son is an honourable man, though. He came here to apologise.”
“You forgave him? Are you insane?”
“Certainly not! But he was remorseful, and truly regretted the subterfuge of the attack.” Not the attack itself; Edmund was not quite so blinded by the need to understand and forgive to overlook that. Rilian had meant to do what he had done, and more.
“Oh, wonderful, let us then invite him for a feast and celebrate his newly found passion for murder! Why, let us tie you to the sacrificial altar, so that there could be greater ease in cleaning up after he’s had his fun!” Caspian threw his hands in the air. His eyes were narrowed, his jaw was set and Edmund, despite better judgement, wanted nothing more than to have Caspian pressed against him, because all that fury, that helplessness and fear, all of it was for him alone. Caspian burned, and how glorious would it be to have the fire against his skin, not harming but igniting, and they would burn together.
“I sometimes wonder,” Edmund said with great effort, “are you being obtuse on purpose, or is it just to annoy me?”
“Not everything is about you,” Caspian said, when he couldn’t look away.
Edmund tried to reach for his hand, but the movement caused pain to blossom across his ribs and he hissed. His chest was tender, even now, though from what he could tell the worst of it had healed.
“Let me,” Lucy said, coming closer. She had a basin and actual bandages in her hands. One had to wonder where had those come from, when the injuries any of them had sustained in playful jousting had healed on their own within minutes.
“Really, I don’t think it is necessary,” Edmund started saying, but of course refusing Lucy was like denying the sun -- pointless and painful, in the long run. “Caspian, get out,” he said instead, because this sight he wished to spare him.
Caspian glared at him. “Why? Surely not because of false modesty, King Edmund?”
“Shut up,” Peter hissed.
“Must we do this again? It’s not like we all haven’t seen Edmund naked, at one time or another.” Caspian smiled, a special wicked smile that he reserved for tormenting the Pevensie brothers. It was peculiar how often it appeared whenever a bedroom was involved in any fashion.
“Why do I even bother, I often wonder,” Edmund said to Lucy as she unwrapped the makeshift bandages from his chest. She shook her head and gave him a weak smile, which turned to worry as the final layer of cloth was removed.
It turned out Edmund was partially right. The wound was only an angry red mark now, and it ran in a curved line across his breast and down, to parallel the sternum, but it was still raw, and unlike every other wound he’d sustained, be it a scratch or a cut, it would leave a scar, of this he was certain.
“It doesn’t look too bad,” Lucy said, pressing a damp sponge to Edmund’s skin. He breathed. Cool water was pleasant, however when her fingers shifted and came into contact with flesh he jerked away, gasping for breath. “Ed! Are you fine?”
Instantly Caspian was at his side, soothing the scare with nonsense whispered into Edmund’s hair. His touch made it possible to breathe again and Edmund inhaled deeply a few times, to make sure whatever had jolted him was gone.
“I think I am.”
“What was that, then?”
“I do wish I knew.”
“Did it hurt?”
That Edmund had to ponder. “No,” he said eventually. “I don’t think it was pain.”
“Well, what was it? And don’t even pretend it was the cold.”
“It wasn’t. It just felt odd.” If he were to be completely honest, it felt a little like having his secrets forcibly drawn from his mind and displayed for the world to see, most disquieting when he’d much rather his mind remained private, even at his most open.
“Odd is right,” Caspian said slowly, giving Edmund the most peculiar look, one that very nearly made his heart stop. Caspian knew!
That was a development Edmund would live to regret, he thought, but calm, peace, he told himself. Just because Caspian worked something out, it didn’t necessarily mean he knew everything there was to know. Caspian wasn’t a fool. His reign had been successful (had it? Edmund made a note to find out as soon as possible), which meant there had to be diplomacy, that there had to be treaties and deals and the unconventional little agreements, made when no one expected any state affairs to be conducted at all. It didn’t mean he could genuinely see into him, it couldn’t!
Still, despite this reasoning, Edmund discovered that whatever had kept the fear at bay had gone. The mere idea that Caspian could see into his heart and know his innermost feelings filled him with dread so deep it became physical.
“Edmund?”
“I think I might be sick,” he said. This was heaven, he told himself vaguely. There ought to be no sickness or death or fear, and yet here he was, coughing up the contents of his stomach because of fear that his soul was laid bare to Caspian, when he’d almost been murdered by Caspian’s own son.
“I think something might be wrong,” he said, slowly sliding down the wall. The stone against his back was cold, the kind of cold he half-remembered from the winters of either of worlds he knew; the absence of warmth that becomes a void, into which all warmth must disappear. “Dreadfully wrong.”
Despite the dread he did not protest when Caspian came to wrap his arms around him. He couldn’t find in himself the strength necessary for such an act; he thought then he never would.
Outside, a lightning crossed the sky, followed by thunder of such volume Edmund couldn’t hear for a full minute afterwards. This was not the worst of it, however.
Eustace ventured close to the window and leaned out, as far as he dared. Edmund saw his face change as he looked around. “The tower is on fire!”
“Surely not!” Lucy said, but Peter interrupted. “It cannot be. The tower is naked stone. There is nothing there that could possibly catch fire!”
“And yet it has. See for yourself if you don’t believe me!”
Edmund believed. He didn’t need to look out the window, he didn’t even need to raise his head from Caspian’s shoulder. The embrace tightened and he knew that Caspian was feeling the same thing.
“I wonder,” he said, purely out of the need to test the theory, “if you all have the same feeling.”
“That would be?”
“That something is on fire.”
“Something is on fire.”
“Yes, but does it feel like it is on fire?”
“I would ask that you refrain from posing philosophical questions, Ed. Not all of us have your training in the field.”
“You studied philosophy?” Caspian asked, curiously.
“Theology, actually.”
“Theology?” Caspian’s brow furrowed and Edmund wondered how to explain the idea to one whose god often visited to provide counsel.
“I studied to be a priest. Do you recall the priests of Tash, during the great ceremonies in Tashban? I am certain you have witnessed a few.”
Caspian blinked and immediately a look of revulsion passed his face. “There was blood there,” he said. Then quieter, “Rilian was there with me. He was ten, perhaps. They killed a bull on the altar. Stabbed it over and over until it could no long stand and they got a child to cut its heart out.” Another moment passed. “You mean to say you would have done something like that?”
“No. It’s a little more complex. In our world there is much less blood involved and no stabbing whatsoever.”
“That still seems strange to me.”
“Lovely,” Eustace said. “Now can we attend to the fire, or are there any more anecdotes you wish to swap? I’m sure we have plenty of time before it spreads. It’s certainly not burning naked stone.”
Despite the tone, which Peter likely would have taken umbrage to, were they in a less pressing situation, Eustace’s words were sensible. “Let’s go,” Peter said. “Lu, you go straight out, take Edmund with you. We three shall make sure the rest of the castle is empty.”
Edmund would have commented on the fact that Caspian moved to obey, but he was far too angered by being left out of the search party to notice. “I am certainly not leaving you three in here.”
“Yes, you are,” Peter said. “Because you are sensible and you will notice that you are hurt and therefore you need to be evacuated first. You will notice that whatever happened here, started somehow with you, so whichever way we go, harm will follow, regardless. And anyway, it won’t take us long.”
“That is ridiculous!” It wasn’t. It was sensible. It was the rational thing to do, but it meant being away from Caspian for the duration. Edmund’s hands shook unexpectedly. He closed his fists and breathed out.
“I agree,” Caspian said meanwhile. “If I may be so bold as to utter a command of my own, Lucy, if you should come across Rilian, feel free to stab him. If you later say that he threatened either of you, I will believe you without question.”
“Even in the face of overwhelming forensic evidence to the contrary?” Edmund asked, suddenly too tired to protest in a voice louder than a whisper.
“My King,” Caspian said, “are you saying you Queen-sister’s word is worth less than whatever is lying about on the scene?”
“In our world, courts are supposed to be impartial, regardless of whose testimony it hears.”
“I am thankful, then, that we aren’t in your world. Go now,” Caspian said in a imperious tone, but the fleeting touch of his hand on Edmund’s face, almost as fragile as the look in his eyes, beseeched Edmund to stay safe.
Perhaps, if Edmund hadn’t felt another wave of nausea sweeping through him, he would have protested again, louder. As it was, he was grateful he had Lucy to lean on as they made their way hurriedly out of the castle, which seemed less and less like Cair Paravel by the minute.
“Which way should we go?” Lucy asked suddenly, coming to an abrupt stop.
“What?” Edmund opened his eyes wide, for they were standing in a corridor he didn’t know. Judging by the decorations, it wasn’t Narnian, either. There was black marble on the floor, polished until its surface was not unlike a mirror, and rich jewels encrusted the walls. Most of them were the eyes of animals and people, populating the paintings and tapestry.
“I think this might be a Tisroc’s palace,” Edmund said slowly, tilting his head. He nodded at the nearest wall. “I recognise the scene. I think I was told the story when me and Su were in Tashban. Do you remember, when Rabadash tried to marry her--”
He stopped talking just as Lucy drew a shuddering breath. “Susan!” they both exclaimed and gazed upon one another with fearful eyes. “Oh Edmund, how could we have forgotten Susan?”
“I wish I had an answer for you.” Susan. Lion’s mane! How long had it been, since he and Peter stood on the platform, watching the train speed towards them faster than seemed safe? Did she know yet? Did she cry? She was all alone now, and neither of them had spared her a thought.
“How could we?” Lucy asked again and tears flew down her face as she spoke.
“My lady?”
Edmund turned, though his vision swam. There was Emeth the Calormene, standing before them in his armour and with a drawn sword. “I apologise. I heard the most dreadful noise, and when I ran to see if perhaps there was a siege, I saw this corridor. I have seen nothing like it in your castle since I arrived here.”
“Neither have we. Do you recognise it?”
“Barely,” Emeth said. “It is without doubt the Tisroc’s palace, and this corridor leads to the altar of Tash. I have seen it once, when I was a boy.”
“Then I think we better not head that way,” Edmund said. The nausea still haunted him; he could bend it to his will now, but something elusive told him that it would be worse if they headed into the foreign corridor. Already the faint traces of incense were making him sick.
“Surely in this place--”
“I can’t explain it. I don’t know how. Let’s find another way.”
“As you desire, my lord.”
“Emeth, I would much rather you called me by my name. I believe I told you as much no less than five times.”
Emeth looked to the floor and his cheeks coloured. “I believe you have, yes. I beg your forgiveness, but you are a king and queen, and in Calormen it is only among close friends and equals that one uses his given name. I didn’t wish to presume.”
“We are equals,” Lucy piped up, smiling her brightest smile, which momentarily blinded the young soldier. Edmund looked away and smiled. Lucy had that effect on many people. “And we are friends. Are we not?”
“You honour me, Lucy,” Emeth said with a small bow.
Something stirred in the darkness of the unfamiliar corridor and a foul stench wafted through the air. There was movement in the darkness ahead, slow and sluggish, as though something, whatever it was, was crawling through tar. The stuffiness that heralded a storm was growing thick around them and soon, Edmund feared, they would be equally trapped, fighting for each stride.
“We must hurry,” Edmund said. “I have no desire to see what lies there.”
It was bad enough suspecting and knowing that he was likely correct. He had seen Tash once before. He had no desire to see the demon again, especially not when he was weakened and confused.
The three of them rushed back the way they came, taking the first left, which, if Edmund’s memory of Cair Paravel’s secret passages was of any use, should take them directly to the narrow staircase, cleverly woven into the pillars that decorated the eastern gallery. It had been a work of art -- one would be hard pressed to notice it at the best of times, and even he often had to retreat a few steps to find the doorway.
“To the left,” he muttered when they reached the gallery. “Next to the hare, behind the horse.”
He didn’t dare to look at the reliefs too closely, a habit that remained with him even now that Narnia was long dead. They were so beautiful, true, lovingly sculpted by the dwarves into white marble, but to him the whiteness was cold and from the eyes of every statue the memory of those enchanted into stone looked into him with their empty, accusing eyes.
“Here!” he said finally, when the hare, caught by the sculptor mid-hop, surprised him. It was so lifelike, that at times it looked like it was a real creature, immobilised by some malignant spell. He found himself staring at it and his heart beat wildly as he searched for a hint, a clue, that this was what had happened to the poor beast and all had forgotten it. Perhaps it was a lonely hare, with no family nor friends, caught unaware, doomed to forever leap over a flagstone, never moving an inch.
“Edmund,” Emeth started saying, but Lucy was already disappearing behind the pillar, into the narrow staircase.
“It will take us outside, or as close as we can get from here,” Edmund said before following his sister. There was no time for this. Not now.
Though the entrance was narrow, the stairs would easily fit a large man. There were windows in the wall opposite, but they were of no comfort at this time, for the only light they yielded was a greenish glow that gave the narrow staircase a sickly ambience.
Edmund watched Lucy put her hand to the wall and close her eyes. She was remembering the many times this very staircase had been her hiding place, how she would run through the corridors, either chasing or looking for her siblings, or Mister Tumnus, or a hundred creatures that had once inhabited the castle and would play with her. He recalled being involved in the chases, of fleeing down those steps and coming to this place to find... There ought to be a torch on the wall, Edmund realised. That was what Lucy was remembering, that was what she was making the castle remember.
A moment later she held the burning torch over her head, lighting their way.
“This is a masterful skill,” Emeth said behind Edmund.
“Lucy is quick to learn the rules of such places,” he said in reply. “Always has been.” He knew it was possible, naturally, but to draw what was needed from a naked wall with such effortlessness, that was a feat he had yet to accomplish.
“It was hard,” Lucy said meanwhile and her voice trembled. “I had to beg for it to come. Usually it would just melt into my hand, but now the stone is resisting.”
“I know.” Edmund looked around. “Wait a moment. There’s an armoury here.”
“Ed,” Lucy started saying.
“I know, I know. But I’d much rather have a sword at my side, just in case.”
It hadn’t been touched. Edmund had wandered here one evening (or was it morning? The time he spent in this place seemed a blur) to find the room cheery and sunlit. Now instead of the gleam that brought to mind tournaments and knightly duels, the dulled light, barely glinting off the steel, made Edmund think of battles and blood.
“We’ll take this,” he said, picking up the sword Rhindon from its shelf. “Peter will want it.”
Lucy nodded and, though she was still unhappy, picked out a bow and a quiver for herself. After a moment’s thought she added a dagger as well. “I think I ought to change,” she said absentmindedly, fingering the hem of her dress.
“Later.” Edmund fastened the belt on himself and picked up another couple of swords. “Let’s go.”
“Will you wear no armour?” Emeth asked.
That was a sound idea. Given Rilian’s apparent intentions, it was a splendid idea. Edmund gave it a thought. “I don’t want to,” he said. “It’s too final.” It would mean there really was a war.
“I understand.” Emeth picked up a hunting knife. “At least I believe I do. I have only rarely spent a day out of my armour. It almost feels like my everyday garb. May I borrow this?”
“It’s yours.”
Lucy beckoned from the doorway. “It’s spreading,” she said fearfully. There were dark vines on the wall opposite. It took a few moments of staring, but eventually Edmund saw what had made Lucy so scared -- the vines were growing into the walls. The sprouts burrowed into stone like it was freshly dug earth, leaving crumbles on the ground. Though the strength was nowhere near what they smelled in the corridor, the plants smelt of rot and decay.
“Let’s hurry,” he said simply.
They burst out of the side doors just as Caspian, Peter and Eustace, followed by Jill, came out of the main gate. Behind them the castle groaned. The vines still spread, coming through the door and folding around the doorways, crawling at a snail’s pace up the walls, into every window and portal they reached. Their leaves shivered and fell easily, falling onto the ground as though they were stones. There was no wind to carry them, not yet, but the tension was mounting and soon the sky would break, drowning the castle in rain and hail.
“Lu! Ed!” Peter was across the courtyard in a heartbeat. “Are you fine?”
“Yes, thank you. Here.” Lucy handed Peter the sword. “Edmund thought it would be useful to be armed.”
“Good thinking, Ed.” Peter took Rhindon and looked around to see someone on whom he could bestow the sword he carried. “Jill, you have no blade. Do you know how to fence?”
“I suppose,” she said without conviction, but Lucy solved the matter by giving her the bow and taking the sword for herself.
“You found only Jill?” she asked. “How is that possible?”
“Don’t ask me. We screamed ourselves stupid, but no one else responded.” Eustace shook his head and cursed at the stubborn buckle. “It seemed so empty!”
“Shouldn’t we alert someone?” Lucy asked, stabbing the leather of the belt with her dagger to fit it on her narrow waist. “I mean, there must be more people here!”
“Who? We didn’t see anyone, we would have warned them, if we had.”
“What now?” Caspian asked.
Therein, Edmund thought, was the crux of the matter. What were they to do? The castle was fast disappearing underneath the vines and the sky was covered by clouds so thick and heavy Edmund thought they would surely burst to rain lead upon their heads.
“I think…” Peter started hesitantly, “That we must find Aslan.”
“Easier said than done.”
“It usually is, yes. When was the last time anyone spoke to him?”
“I did. It was a day before today. Maybe two? It was around the same time we had that picnic by the lake, do you remember?” Lucy said. “I don’t recall much of the talk, though.”
“Did he say where he was going?”
“Does he ever leave an itinerary? Honestly, Peter.”
“You’re right.”
“What about other worlds?” Caspian asked. “The other mountains that connect to this one. Shouldn’t they be warned?”
“Do you think they will fall apart as well?”
“Nothing is falling apart yet,” Eustace pointed out reasonably. “There have only been some changes.”
“I’m not so sure.” Edmund found he was rubbing the mark on his chest. The nausea was returning now, a rather alarming idea, when he already felt wrung out and empty. “I think Tash might be coming through.”
This was met with an outraged chorus of “What?”
“We saw a corridor in the palace,” Lucy said quickly. “Emeth said it was like the one that led to the temple of Tash in Tisroc’s palace. There was something foul lurking there, I don’t know if it was Tash, but I hope not.”
“How is that even possible?” Jill asked. She was very pale. “Isn’t Aslan supposed to keep that, that thing away just by being here?”
“He isn’t here.”
“But this is his country! How can it be that the demon is even here?”
No one had an answer for her.
“Look, there’s nothing to it,” Edmund said. “So far it is only the castle that is affected, the rest -- aside from the sky -- seems normal. Do let’s be calm.”
“You’re not too calm,” Eustace observed. “You’re fretting.”
“Excuse me?” Edmund was certain he was not. Even if inside his mind was jittering, he was speaking in a controlled tone of voice, his words were sensible. Truly, he ought to be the picture of composure.
“Eustace is right. You are fretting.” Peter gave him a long, frightening stare. “But you don’t look like you’re fretting. That is most peculiar.”
Edmund found, to his horror, that everyone was looking at him curiously, and they all flinched the moment he realised he was terrified of it. “My mental state aside,” he said, fast as he could, “and barring any other ideas, I should like to check up on our parents.”
“That’s a good start,” Peter said. “I think Polly and Digory ought to be in England as well, maybe they would have a clue. Is there any business anyone wishes to attend to here before we depart?”
There was silence. Edmund felt a hand close around his and he breathed out as some of the nausea ebbed away. “It is not such dreadful a thing,” Caspian whispered. “Truly. I enjoy knowing what you feel.”
“Then you are a sadist, because what I feel is terror.”
Caspian said nothing. He brushed the hair from Edmund’s forehead and leaned forth to kiss him. “You need not be terrified.”
You need not be breathing, he might as well have said.
It occurred to Edmund then that he was dead and that he certainly shouldn’t need to breathe. He tested the theory by exhaling and counting the steps he took before he needed to inhale again. He got to a hundred when Peter stopped in his tracks.
“Does anyone actually know how to get to England? I don’t think I’ve ever gone, since we got here.”
“How long have we been here, anyway?” Lucy asked.
“Why?”
“Because, oh, Peter! We remembered, in the hall, Ed and I, we remembered Susan.”
Peter turned quite pale. “Susan! Lion’s mane! The train!”
Caspian gave Edmund a questioning look.
“We were killed in a train crash.” When Caspian showed only moderate understanding, Edmund remembered that public transportation in Narnia consisted of horses and carriages. It was so hard to reconcile the two worlds living in his head, sometimes. “It’s a chain of wagons, pulled by something of a dragon, I suppose.”
“You have found a practical use for dragons?” Caspian said, glancing at Eustace in amusement.
“It’s not an actual dragon,” Edmund said, ignoring Eustace’s offended yelp. “It’s a machine. If we go to England you might see one.”
“I look forward to it.”
“So, does anyone know the way?” Lucy asked, in lieu of Peter, who was still shocked by the novelty of guilt, compassion and unabridged memory.
“I’ve been,” Jill said. “We need to go north, far as we’re able. The bridge comes through a wall.”
“What?”
“I know it doesn’t make any sense when you say it. You’ll see.”
They hurried through the darkened groves and forests. Edmund was eerily reminded of his solitary journey through Narnia, when he walked through the snow and darkness to the witch’s home. There had been a similar silence in the air then. It was as though the whole of the world had held its breath in fear of waking up something hideous.
He was stupidly grateful, though he would never say it out loud, for Caspian holding his hand.
The landscape through which they travelled was vastly different from the one they’d got accustomed to. The grandeur of the world with worlds held fast, though now instead of inspiring awe and delight, Edmund felt as though it was looming over him, high, mighty and nefarious. The mountains revealed their wild edges, the trees were so twisted and gnarly they seemed like some strange creatures he dared not imagine, and the talking beasts they came upon were more like wilder beasts than the creatures he trusted as his advisors once.
“It is falling apart,” he said to no one in particular, and thankfully Caspian was the only one to have heard.
“You don’t seem surprised.”
“I was worried that it seemed too good to be true.”
“How do you mean?”
“Didn’t you feel that way? I thought the happiness would choke the breath out of me, it was so overwhelming, so frightening.” Edmund stared at the sky again, and this time, despite the leaden colour and the threat of rain, he found it somewhat comforting. He must have seen a hundred such clouds in his lifetime. “I thought it couldn’t possibly be real.”
Caspian stopped. “Were you unhappy?”
Edmund didn’t let him fall back. He was silent for several minutes, trying to gather and sort the wild ideas rushing through his head and found, to his astonishment, that the reply was staring him in the face.
“I am happy,” he said with a sense of wonder. Even now, when they were running from the collapse of what was supposed to be eternal peace, he felt that his soul was aflame with joy, simply because he held Caspian’s hand in his own. Even the fear of seeing the knowledge seep into Caspian’s eyes couldn’t diminish the revelation.
“Me too,” Caspian said simply, before their attention turned back to their surroundings.
Jill led them through the mazes of the darkened forests as sure as though she were walking through her own boudoir. She could move through the grass and dried twigs that littered the floor without a sound, when the rest of them made enough noise to wake sleeping bears. Occasionally she would pause, cast a look to either side and continue on, adjusting the course subtly, to get around a cluster of trees that would be too hard to walk straight through.
“Are you sure she’s English?” Edmund heard Peter ask.
“Pretty sure, yes. She was hopeless the first time she was here.” Eustace shoved his hands in his pockets. “We would have frozen to death if it were up to her then.”
“Amazing. I have met dryads who made more fuss walking through a forest.”
“I don’t think I would want to meet a dryad right now,” Eustace said with a shudder. Edmund had to agree. The trees that surrounded them were tall, monstrous things, with branches spread out as if to grasp the sky in their clutches and tear it asunder.
“I know what you mean.”
They walked in silence after that. The light was changing ever so subtly, and the darker it got the faster they walked, until at last they were running, without a word, without so much as a hint to one another. Edmund suspected that what they all thought that staying in the forest when the new, unfamiliar, unsafe darkness fell would have been a punishment too harsh for even their worst enemy.
Thankfully, some of the old heaven had been preserved, and they didn’t grow tired as they ran. Edmund hoped the turn of speed would help him to leave nausea behind, and for a time it was true. Though the air still felt clammy and Edmund expected the rain to start falling at any minute, the illusion of wind created by the speed helped to keep his head clear.
The race was over too soon, however. They reached the edge of the forest and the great wall that lay before them was, just as Jill had implied, beyond words. The best they could say was that there was a bridge, lit with countless white lights, but there was also a wall, and both were clear as the light of day and yet unfathomable as the deepest darkness of the deepest caverns of night.
Far in the distance, so great that, were they alive, they would find in insurmountable, was another mountain, glittering with lights and -- seemingly -- the promise of safety.
“We are to cross?” Emeth said, and there was a touch of doubt in his voice. Edmund couldn’t blame him. Although the structure looked to be as old and solid as time, although the bridge was built of giant trees, bound together, although it looked as if no cataclysm could possibly mark it, it looked insignificant next to the ravine it spanned. Its other end was far in the distance, on a mountain so great human mind had no hope of processing the size and yet there was something that pulled him towards it.
“We must,” Peter said, and it was then that Edmund saw something else. One of the lights shining by the pillars that marked the beginning of the bridge was different from the others; it was bluer and seemed to move by itself.
It was coming towards them and as it stood against the dark horizon Edmund saw that it had the shape of a woman. It was Lilliandil.
“Welcome,” she said. “I am glad you made it. Much of the land is collapsing; there’s no time left to spare.”
“My lady,” Caspian said then, letting go of Edmund’s hand and coming to greet his wife. “I am most glad to see you are unharmed. I must however share with you some dreadful news concerning Rilian.”
She turned to him with a questioning look. “He is not with you.”
“I should like to avoid his company, until I can be persuaded to stand it without succumbing to anger. Rilian has attempted to murder Edmund,” Caspian said, looking into her eyes solemnly.
The star bore it without a hint of feeling. “I know,” she said at last.
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 THREE -- Out From Behind This Mask]
Wakefulness was slow to come. There was the moment of dread when he knew was awake and yet he couldn’t will himself to move, but luckily it was only a moment.
Even half-awake he knew something was wrong. He had no idea how long he’d been dead, but during the time the weather was nothing if not perfect. Even when it rained the air had been crystal-clear and fresh as the first day of spring; the clouds glowed with sunlight which reflected in the drops of water, casting reflections onto every surface. It was not so now. The sky was yellowish like an old bruise, and the air was heavy. A storm was coming.
In the face of such radical change in the weather, however, it was excusable that the sight of Rilian, who was sitting on the windowsill, perched like a great black bird of prey, barely disturbed him. Edmund was reminded of photos of vultures in the desert, which would circle their prey and wait until the heat and sand drove it to death. Rilian’s face was an unreadable mask, but Edmund felt no fear, even though he was alone in the bedroom and he felt sluggish, as if he had just woken from a deep, restless sleep.
There was some comfort in that he could hear the voices of Peter and Caspian -- arguing, naturally -- over the best course of actions through the open door. The slightest sound would send them flying inside with their swords drawn and Rilian was well aware of it. He put a finger to his lips and withdrew from the window, jumping onto the windowsill below.
Edmund followed without a thought.
“You don’t seem to fear me,” he said eventually, when they were far enough from the window that they couldn’t be overheard from the bedroom.
“I don’t.”
“I wish to apologise. I behaved dishonourably, in a manner ill-befitting a king.”
Edmund waited.
“I shall not ask your forgiveness,” Rilian continued. “What I did to you was a terrible sin, one that I shall undoubtedly pay for many times over, but I shall not excuse myself, either.”
“Why did you do it, then?”
“You took something from me, Edmund.” The once-enchanted prince stepped so close that Edmund found he could only look into his bright, lucid eyes. The knife that had been used to carve him earlier that day was in Rilian’s hand, still stained with his blood, and yet Edmund stood there calmly, without fear. “Although perhaps took is too strong a word, for you are not at fault, even though you must die for it. You were offered something though, as a gift, something that I desperately need.”
Edmund blinked. “Have I? I have no recollection of stealing from you! You must believe me, when I say I had no intention of doing so.”
“Oh, I know. This is why it brings me great pain to stand here, now, and tell you that I must kill you, painfully, as soon as you shall be ready to take me in honourable battle.”
Ah, this was familiar territory. “I shall be glad to entertain a challenge, but Rilian, why? If there’s anything I can do to make it up to you, say so! We don’t have to be enemies.”
“I bear you no ill will, Edmund. My father loves you dearly, and I almost understand why. I feel, when the world was different, we would have been brothers.”
“Why, then?”
“Because I must,” Rilian said quietly.
Edmund blinked then, and immediately had to duck, as a sword swung somewhere from his right, aiming at Rilian’s head. “Peter, don’t!”
Rilian dropped and rolled, avoiding the strike that would have taken a man’s head off by inches. Edmund got to his feet, a touch unsteadily, and rushed to hang on Peter’s sword arm. “Are you out of your mind?”
“I thank you, Edmund. I look forward to seeing you again, soon,” Rilian said, and jumped off the roof.
“Why did you stop me?” Peter growled, shaking Edmund by the shoulder.
“What happened to you, killing a man in the middle of a conversation? I thought we agreed not to kill him!”
“When the man is responsible for almost slaughtering my little brother, I have very little patience or mercy to spare. Also, you will note that it was Caspian, not I, who promised to stay his hand should the opportunity present itself.”
There would have been more, had Edmund not swayed where he stood just then. The weakness that swept through him left him sweating and pale. Thankfully, Peter dropped his sword to hold him up and help him back into the room, to find Caspian being forcibly restrained by Lucy and Eustace.
“What happened?” the three of them asked as one.
“He thought he might converse with Rilian, alone on the roof,” Peter said.
Edmund let go of Peter’s arm and sank onto the pillows gratefully. The wound hurt little, more pressing was the matter of weakness that sent black spots whirling across his vision.
“Rilian was here, again?” Caspian asked. “He dared?”
“He was. Calm down. He said he would do nothing until I feel ready enough to face the challenge.”
“Oh, and he is now one of the people we trust?”
Edmund sat up and glared. Woefully he suspected that in his current condition the glare might command only enough power to get him a cup of hot tea, and not the attention he desired. “I have been involved in diplomatic negotiations since I was but eleven. If there’s something you have to teach me about reading a man’s intentions from his words, please, do share.”
“Your skill failed you this morning.”
Edmund winced. “Perhaps. Your son is an honourable man, though. He came here to apologise.”
“You forgave him? Are you insane?”
“Certainly not! But he was remorseful, and truly regretted the subterfuge of the attack.” Not the attack itself; Edmund was not quite so blinded by the need to understand and forgive to overlook that. Rilian had meant to do what he had done, and more.
“Oh, wonderful, let us then invite him for a feast and celebrate his newly found passion for murder! Why, let us tie you to the sacrificial altar, so that there could be greater ease in cleaning up after he’s had his fun!” Caspian threw his hands in the air. His eyes were narrowed, his jaw was set and Edmund, despite better judgement, wanted nothing more than to have Caspian pressed against him, because all that fury, that helplessness and fear, all of it was for him alone. Caspian burned, and how glorious would it be to have the fire against his skin, not harming but igniting, and they would burn together.
“I sometimes wonder,” Edmund said with great effort, “are you being obtuse on purpose, or is it just to annoy me?”
“Not everything is about you,” Caspian said, when he couldn’t look away.
Edmund tried to reach for his hand, but the movement caused pain to blossom across his ribs and he hissed. His chest was tender, even now, though from what he could tell the worst of it had healed.
“Let me,” Lucy said, coming closer. She had a basin and actual bandages in her hands. One had to wonder where had those come from, when the injuries any of them had sustained in playful jousting had healed on their own within minutes.
“Really, I don’t think it is necessary,” Edmund started saying, but of course refusing Lucy was like denying the sun -- pointless and painful, in the long run. “Caspian, get out,” he said instead, because this sight he wished to spare him.
Caspian glared at him. “Why? Surely not because of false modesty, King Edmund?”
“Shut up,” Peter hissed.
“Must we do this again? It’s not like we all haven’t seen Edmund naked, at one time or another.” Caspian smiled, a special wicked smile that he reserved for tormenting the Pevensie brothers. It was peculiar how often it appeared whenever a bedroom was involved in any fashion.
“Why do I even bother, I often wonder,” Edmund said to Lucy as she unwrapped the makeshift bandages from his chest. She shook her head and gave him a weak smile, which turned to worry as the final layer of cloth was removed.
It turned out Edmund was partially right. The wound was only an angry red mark now, and it ran in a curved line across his breast and down, to parallel the sternum, but it was still raw, and unlike every other wound he’d sustained, be it a scratch or a cut, it would leave a scar, of this he was certain.
“It doesn’t look too bad,” Lucy said, pressing a damp sponge to Edmund’s skin. He breathed. Cool water was pleasant, however when her fingers shifted and came into contact with flesh he jerked away, gasping for breath. “Ed! Are you fine?”
Instantly Caspian was at his side, soothing the scare with nonsense whispered into Edmund’s hair. His touch made it possible to breathe again and Edmund inhaled deeply a few times, to make sure whatever had jolted him was gone.
“I think I am.”
“What was that, then?”
“I do wish I knew.”
“Did it hurt?”
That Edmund had to ponder. “No,” he said eventually. “I don’t think it was pain.”
“Well, what was it? And don’t even pretend it was the cold.”
“It wasn’t. It just felt odd.” If he were to be completely honest, it felt a little like having his secrets forcibly drawn from his mind and displayed for the world to see, most disquieting when he’d much rather his mind remained private, even at his most open.
“Odd is right,” Caspian said slowly, giving Edmund the most peculiar look, one that very nearly made his heart stop. Caspian knew!
That was a development Edmund would live to regret, he thought, but calm, peace, he told himself. Just because Caspian worked something out, it didn’t necessarily mean he knew everything there was to know. Caspian wasn’t a fool. His reign had been successful (had it? Edmund made a note to find out as soon as possible), which meant there had to be diplomacy, that there had to be treaties and deals and the unconventional little agreements, made when no one expected any state affairs to be conducted at all. It didn’t mean he could genuinely see into him, it couldn’t!
Still, despite this reasoning, Edmund discovered that whatever had kept the fear at bay had gone. The mere idea that Caspian could see into his heart and know his innermost feelings filled him with dread so deep it became physical.
“Edmund?”
“I think I might be sick,” he said. This was heaven, he told himself vaguely. There ought to be no sickness or death or fear, and yet here he was, coughing up the contents of his stomach because of fear that his soul was laid bare to Caspian, when he’d almost been murdered by Caspian’s own son.
“I think something might be wrong,” he said, slowly sliding down the wall. The stone against his back was cold, the kind of cold he half-remembered from the winters of either of worlds he knew; the absence of warmth that becomes a void, into which all warmth must disappear. “Dreadfully wrong.”
Despite the dread he did not protest when Caspian came to wrap his arms around him. He couldn’t find in himself the strength necessary for such an act; he thought then he never would.
Outside, a lightning crossed the sky, followed by thunder of such volume Edmund couldn’t hear for a full minute afterwards. This was not the worst of it, however.
Eustace ventured close to the window and leaned out, as far as he dared. Edmund saw his face change as he looked around. “The tower is on fire!”
“Surely not!” Lucy said, but Peter interrupted. “It cannot be. The tower is naked stone. There is nothing there that could possibly catch fire!”
“And yet it has. See for yourself if you don’t believe me!”
Edmund believed. He didn’t need to look out the window, he didn’t even need to raise his head from Caspian’s shoulder. The embrace tightened and he knew that Caspian was feeling the same thing.
“I wonder,” he said, purely out of the need to test the theory, “if you all have the same feeling.”
“That would be?”
“That something is on fire.”
“Something is on fire.”
“Yes, but does it feel like it is on fire?”
“I would ask that you refrain from posing philosophical questions, Ed. Not all of us have your training in the field.”
“You studied philosophy?” Caspian asked, curiously.
“Theology, actually.”
“Theology?” Caspian’s brow furrowed and Edmund wondered how to explain the idea to one whose god often visited to provide counsel.
“I studied to be a priest. Do you recall the priests of Tash, during the great ceremonies in Tashban? I am certain you have witnessed a few.”
Caspian blinked and immediately a look of revulsion passed his face. “There was blood there,” he said. Then quieter, “Rilian was there with me. He was ten, perhaps. They killed a bull on the altar. Stabbed it over and over until it could no long stand and they got a child to cut its heart out.” Another moment passed. “You mean to say you would have done something like that?”
“No. It’s a little more complex. In our world there is much less blood involved and no stabbing whatsoever.”
“That still seems strange to me.”
“Lovely,” Eustace said. “Now can we attend to the fire, or are there any more anecdotes you wish to swap? I’m sure we have plenty of time before it spreads. It’s certainly not burning naked stone.”
Despite the tone, which Peter likely would have taken umbrage to, were they in a less pressing situation, Eustace’s words were sensible. “Let’s go,” Peter said. “Lu, you go straight out, take Edmund with you. We three shall make sure the rest of the castle is empty.”
Edmund would have commented on the fact that Caspian moved to obey, but he was far too angered by being left out of the search party to notice. “I am certainly not leaving you three in here.”
“Yes, you are,” Peter said. “Because you are sensible and you will notice that you are hurt and therefore you need to be evacuated first. You will notice that whatever happened here, started somehow with you, so whichever way we go, harm will follow, regardless. And anyway, it won’t take us long.”
“That is ridiculous!” It wasn’t. It was sensible. It was the rational thing to do, but it meant being away from Caspian for the duration. Edmund’s hands shook unexpectedly. He closed his fists and breathed out.
“I agree,” Caspian said meanwhile. “If I may be so bold as to utter a command of my own, Lucy, if you should come across Rilian, feel free to stab him. If you later say that he threatened either of you, I will believe you without question.”
“Even in the face of overwhelming forensic evidence to the contrary?” Edmund asked, suddenly too tired to protest in a voice louder than a whisper.
“My King,” Caspian said, “are you saying you Queen-sister’s word is worth less than whatever is lying about on the scene?”
“In our world, courts are supposed to be impartial, regardless of whose testimony it hears.”
“I am thankful, then, that we aren’t in your world. Go now,” Caspian said in a imperious tone, but the fleeting touch of his hand on Edmund’s face, almost as fragile as the look in his eyes, beseeched Edmund to stay safe.
Perhaps, if Edmund hadn’t felt another wave of nausea sweeping through him, he would have protested again, louder. As it was, he was grateful he had Lucy to lean on as they made their way hurriedly out of the castle, which seemed less and less like Cair Paravel by the minute.
“Which way should we go?” Lucy asked suddenly, coming to an abrupt stop.
“What?” Edmund opened his eyes wide, for they were standing in a corridor he didn’t know. Judging by the decorations, it wasn’t Narnian, either. There was black marble on the floor, polished until its surface was not unlike a mirror, and rich jewels encrusted the walls. Most of them were the eyes of animals and people, populating the paintings and tapestry.
“I think this might be a Tisroc’s palace,” Edmund said slowly, tilting his head. He nodded at the nearest wall. “I recognise the scene. I think I was told the story when me and Su were in Tashban. Do you remember, when Rabadash tried to marry her--”
He stopped talking just as Lucy drew a shuddering breath. “Susan!” they both exclaimed and gazed upon one another with fearful eyes. “Oh Edmund, how could we have forgotten Susan?”
“I wish I had an answer for you.” Susan. Lion’s mane! How long had it been, since he and Peter stood on the platform, watching the train speed towards them faster than seemed safe? Did she know yet? Did she cry? She was all alone now, and neither of them had spared her a thought.
“How could we?” Lucy asked again and tears flew down her face as she spoke.
“My lady?”
Edmund turned, though his vision swam. There was Emeth the Calormene, standing before them in his armour and with a drawn sword. “I apologise. I heard the most dreadful noise, and when I ran to see if perhaps there was a siege, I saw this corridor. I have seen nothing like it in your castle since I arrived here.”
“Neither have we. Do you recognise it?”
“Barely,” Emeth said. “It is without doubt the Tisroc’s palace, and this corridor leads to the altar of Tash. I have seen it once, when I was a boy.”
“Then I think we better not head that way,” Edmund said. The nausea still haunted him; he could bend it to his will now, but something elusive told him that it would be worse if they headed into the foreign corridor. Already the faint traces of incense were making him sick.
“Surely in this place--”
“I can’t explain it. I don’t know how. Let’s find another way.”
“As you desire, my lord.”
“Emeth, I would much rather you called me by my name. I believe I told you as much no less than five times.”
Emeth looked to the floor and his cheeks coloured. “I believe you have, yes. I beg your forgiveness, but you are a king and queen, and in Calormen it is only among close friends and equals that one uses his given name. I didn’t wish to presume.”
“We are equals,” Lucy piped up, smiling her brightest smile, which momentarily blinded the young soldier. Edmund looked away and smiled. Lucy had that effect on many people. “And we are friends. Are we not?”
“You honour me, Lucy,” Emeth said with a small bow.
Something stirred in the darkness of the unfamiliar corridor and a foul stench wafted through the air. There was movement in the darkness ahead, slow and sluggish, as though something, whatever it was, was crawling through tar. The stuffiness that heralded a storm was growing thick around them and soon, Edmund feared, they would be equally trapped, fighting for each stride.
“We must hurry,” Edmund said. “I have no desire to see what lies there.”
It was bad enough suspecting and knowing that he was likely correct. He had seen Tash once before. He had no desire to see the demon again, especially not when he was weakened and confused.
The three of them rushed back the way they came, taking the first left, which, if Edmund’s memory of Cair Paravel’s secret passages was of any use, should take them directly to the narrow staircase, cleverly woven into the pillars that decorated the eastern gallery. It had been a work of art -- one would be hard pressed to notice it at the best of times, and even he often had to retreat a few steps to find the doorway.
“To the left,” he muttered when they reached the gallery. “Next to the hare, behind the horse.”
He didn’t dare to look at the reliefs too closely, a habit that remained with him even now that Narnia was long dead. They were so beautiful, true, lovingly sculpted by the dwarves into white marble, but to him the whiteness was cold and from the eyes of every statue the memory of those enchanted into stone looked into him with their empty, accusing eyes.
“Here!” he said finally, when the hare, caught by the sculptor mid-hop, surprised him. It was so lifelike, that at times it looked like it was a real creature, immobilised by some malignant spell. He found himself staring at it and his heart beat wildly as he searched for a hint, a clue, that this was what had happened to the poor beast and all had forgotten it. Perhaps it was a lonely hare, with no family nor friends, caught unaware, doomed to forever leap over a flagstone, never moving an inch.
“Edmund,” Emeth started saying, but Lucy was already disappearing behind the pillar, into the narrow staircase.
“It will take us outside, or as close as we can get from here,” Edmund said before following his sister. There was no time for this. Not now.
Though the entrance was narrow, the stairs would easily fit a large man. There were windows in the wall opposite, but they were of no comfort at this time, for the only light they yielded was a greenish glow that gave the narrow staircase a sickly ambience.
Edmund watched Lucy put her hand to the wall and close her eyes. She was remembering the many times this very staircase had been her hiding place, how she would run through the corridors, either chasing or looking for her siblings, or Mister Tumnus, or a hundred creatures that had once inhabited the castle and would play with her. He recalled being involved in the chases, of fleeing down those steps and coming to this place to find... There ought to be a torch on the wall, Edmund realised. That was what Lucy was remembering, that was what she was making the castle remember.
A moment later she held the burning torch over her head, lighting their way.
“This is a masterful skill,” Emeth said behind Edmund.
“Lucy is quick to learn the rules of such places,” he said in reply. “Always has been.” He knew it was possible, naturally, but to draw what was needed from a naked wall with such effortlessness, that was a feat he had yet to accomplish.
“It was hard,” Lucy said meanwhile and her voice trembled. “I had to beg for it to come. Usually it would just melt into my hand, but now the stone is resisting.”
“I know.” Edmund looked around. “Wait a moment. There’s an armoury here.”
“Ed,” Lucy started saying.
“I know, I know. But I’d much rather have a sword at my side, just in case.”
It hadn’t been touched. Edmund had wandered here one evening (or was it morning? The time he spent in this place seemed a blur) to find the room cheery and sunlit. Now instead of the gleam that brought to mind tournaments and knightly duels, the dulled light, barely glinting off the steel, made Edmund think of battles and blood.
“We’ll take this,” he said, picking up the sword Rhindon from its shelf. “Peter will want it.”
Lucy nodded and, though she was still unhappy, picked out a bow and a quiver for herself. After a moment’s thought she added a dagger as well. “I think I ought to change,” she said absentmindedly, fingering the hem of her dress.
“Later.” Edmund fastened the belt on himself and picked up another couple of swords. “Let’s go.”
“Will you wear no armour?” Emeth asked.
That was a sound idea. Given Rilian’s apparent intentions, it was a splendid idea. Edmund gave it a thought. “I don’t want to,” he said. “It’s too final.” It would mean there really was a war.
“I understand.” Emeth picked up a hunting knife. “At least I believe I do. I have only rarely spent a day out of my armour. It almost feels like my everyday garb. May I borrow this?”
“It’s yours.”
Lucy beckoned from the doorway. “It’s spreading,” she said fearfully. There were dark vines on the wall opposite. It took a few moments of staring, but eventually Edmund saw what had made Lucy so scared -- the vines were growing into the walls. The sprouts burrowed into stone like it was freshly dug earth, leaving crumbles on the ground. Though the strength was nowhere near what they smelled in the corridor, the plants smelt of rot and decay.
“Let’s hurry,” he said simply.
They burst out of the side doors just as Caspian, Peter and Eustace, followed by Jill, came out of the main gate. Behind them the castle groaned. The vines still spread, coming through the door and folding around the doorways, crawling at a snail’s pace up the walls, into every window and portal they reached. Their leaves shivered and fell easily, falling onto the ground as though they were stones. There was no wind to carry them, not yet, but the tension was mounting and soon the sky would break, drowning the castle in rain and hail.
“Lu! Ed!” Peter was across the courtyard in a heartbeat. “Are you fine?”
“Yes, thank you. Here.” Lucy handed Peter the sword. “Edmund thought it would be useful to be armed.”
“Good thinking, Ed.” Peter took Rhindon and looked around to see someone on whom he could bestow the sword he carried. “Jill, you have no blade. Do you know how to fence?”
“I suppose,” she said without conviction, but Lucy solved the matter by giving her the bow and taking the sword for herself.
“You found only Jill?” she asked. “How is that possible?”
“Don’t ask me. We screamed ourselves stupid, but no one else responded.” Eustace shook his head and cursed at the stubborn buckle. “It seemed so empty!”
“Shouldn’t we alert someone?” Lucy asked, stabbing the leather of the belt with her dagger to fit it on her narrow waist. “I mean, there must be more people here!”
“Who? We didn’t see anyone, we would have warned them, if we had.”
“What now?” Caspian asked.
Therein, Edmund thought, was the crux of the matter. What were they to do? The castle was fast disappearing underneath the vines and the sky was covered by clouds so thick and heavy Edmund thought they would surely burst to rain lead upon their heads.
“I think…” Peter started hesitantly, “That we must find Aslan.”
“Easier said than done.”
“It usually is, yes. When was the last time anyone spoke to him?”
“I did. It was a day before today. Maybe two? It was around the same time we had that picnic by the lake, do you remember?” Lucy said. “I don’t recall much of the talk, though.”
“Did he say where he was going?”
“Does he ever leave an itinerary? Honestly, Peter.”
“You’re right.”
“What about other worlds?” Caspian asked. “The other mountains that connect to this one. Shouldn’t they be warned?”
“Do you think they will fall apart as well?”
“Nothing is falling apart yet,” Eustace pointed out reasonably. “There have only been some changes.”
“I’m not so sure.” Edmund found he was rubbing the mark on his chest. The nausea was returning now, a rather alarming idea, when he already felt wrung out and empty. “I think Tash might be coming through.”
This was met with an outraged chorus of “What?”
“We saw a corridor in the palace,” Lucy said quickly. “Emeth said it was like the one that led to the temple of Tash in Tisroc’s palace. There was something foul lurking there, I don’t know if it was Tash, but I hope not.”
“How is that even possible?” Jill asked. She was very pale. “Isn’t Aslan supposed to keep that, that thing away just by being here?”
“He isn’t here.”
“But this is his country! How can it be that the demon is even here?”
No one had an answer for her.
“Look, there’s nothing to it,” Edmund said. “So far it is only the castle that is affected, the rest -- aside from the sky -- seems normal. Do let’s be calm.”
“You’re not too calm,” Eustace observed. “You’re fretting.”
“Excuse me?” Edmund was certain he was not. Even if inside his mind was jittering, he was speaking in a controlled tone of voice, his words were sensible. Truly, he ought to be the picture of composure.
“Eustace is right. You are fretting.” Peter gave him a long, frightening stare. “But you don’t look like you’re fretting. That is most peculiar.”
Edmund found, to his horror, that everyone was looking at him curiously, and they all flinched the moment he realised he was terrified of it. “My mental state aside,” he said, fast as he could, “and barring any other ideas, I should like to check up on our parents.”
“That’s a good start,” Peter said. “I think Polly and Digory ought to be in England as well, maybe they would have a clue. Is there any business anyone wishes to attend to here before we depart?”
There was silence. Edmund felt a hand close around his and he breathed out as some of the nausea ebbed away. “It is not such dreadful a thing,” Caspian whispered. “Truly. I enjoy knowing what you feel.”
“Then you are a sadist, because what I feel is terror.”
Caspian said nothing. He brushed the hair from Edmund’s forehead and leaned forth to kiss him. “You need not be terrified.”
You need not be breathing, he might as well have said.
It occurred to Edmund then that he was dead and that he certainly shouldn’t need to breathe. He tested the theory by exhaling and counting the steps he took before he needed to inhale again. He got to a hundred when Peter stopped in his tracks.
“Does anyone actually know how to get to England? I don’t think I’ve ever gone, since we got here.”
“How long have we been here, anyway?” Lucy asked.
“Why?”
“Because, oh, Peter! We remembered, in the hall, Ed and I, we remembered Susan.”
Peter turned quite pale. “Susan! Lion’s mane! The train!”
Caspian gave Edmund a questioning look.
“We were killed in a train crash.” When Caspian showed only moderate understanding, Edmund remembered that public transportation in Narnia consisted of horses and carriages. It was so hard to reconcile the two worlds living in his head, sometimes. “It’s a chain of wagons, pulled by something of a dragon, I suppose.”
“You have found a practical use for dragons?” Caspian said, glancing at Eustace in amusement.
“It’s not an actual dragon,” Edmund said, ignoring Eustace’s offended yelp. “It’s a machine. If we go to England you might see one.”
“I look forward to it.”
“So, does anyone know the way?” Lucy asked, in lieu of Peter, who was still shocked by the novelty of guilt, compassion and unabridged memory.
“I’ve been,” Jill said. “We need to go north, far as we’re able. The bridge comes through a wall.”
“What?”
“I know it doesn’t make any sense when you say it. You’ll see.”
They hurried through the darkened groves and forests. Edmund was eerily reminded of his solitary journey through Narnia, when he walked through the snow and darkness to the witch’s home. There had been a similar silence in the air then. It was as though the whole of the world had held its breath in fear of waking up something hideous.
He was stupidly grateful, though he would never say it out loud, for Caspian holding his hand.
The landscape through which they travelled was vastly different from the one they’d got accustomed to. The grandeur of the world with worlds held fast, though now instead of inspiring awe and delight, Edmund felt as though it was looming over him, high, mighty and nefarious. The mountains revealed their wild edges, the trees were so twisted and gnarly they seemed like some strange creatures he dared not imagine, and the talking beasts they came upon were more like wilder beasts than the creatures he trusted as his advisors once.
“It is falling apart,” he said to no one in particular, and thankfully Caspian was the only one to have heard.
“You don’t seem surprised.”
“I was worried that it seemed too good to be true.”
“How do you mean?”
“Didn’t you feel that way? I thought the happiness would choke the breath out of me, it was so overwhelming, so frightening.” Edmund stared at the sky again, and this time, despite the leaden colour and the threat of rain, he found it somewhat comforting. He must have seen a hundred such clouds in his lifetime. “I thought it couldn’t possibly be real.”
Caspian stopped. “Were you unhappy?”
Edmund didn’t let him fall back. He was silent for several minutes, trying to gather and sort the wild ideas rushing through his head and found, to his astonishment, that the reply was staring him in the face.
“I am happy,” he said with a sense of wonder. Even now, when they were running from the collapse of what was supposed to be eternal peace, he felt that his soul was aflame with joy, simply because he held Caspian’s hand in his own. Even the fear of seeing the knowledge seep into Caspian’s eyes couldn’t diminish the revelation.
“Me too,” Caspian said simply, before their attention turned back to their surroundings.
Jill led them through the mazes of the darkened forests as sure as though she were walking through her own boudoir. She could move through the grass and dried twigs that littered the floor without a sound, when the rest of them made enough noise to wake sleeping bears. Occasionally she would pause, cast a look to either side and continue on, adjusting the course subtly, to get around a cluster of trees that would be too hard to walk straight through.
“Are you sure she’s English?” Edmund heard Peter ask.
“Pretty sure, yes. She was hopeless the first time she was here.” Eustace shoved his hands in his pockets. “We would have frozen to death if it were up to her then.”
“Amazing. I have met dryads who made more fuss walking through a forest.”
“I don’t think I would want to meet a dryad right now,” Eustace said with a shudder. Edmund had to agree. The trees that surrounded them were tall, monstrous things, with branches spread out as if to grasp the sky in their clutches and tear it asunder.
“I know what you mean.”
They walked in silence after that. The light was changing ever so subtly, and the darker it got the faster they walked, until at last they were running, without a word, without so much as a hint to one another. Edmund suspected that what they all thought that staying in the forest when the new, unfamiliar, unsafe darkness fell would have been a punishment too harsh for even their worst enemy.
Thankfully, some of the old heaven had been preserved, and they didn’t grow tired as they ran. Edmund hoped the turn of speed would help him to leave nausea behind, and for a time it was true. Though the air still felt clammy and Edmund expected the rain to start falling at any minute, the illusion of wind created by the speed helped to keep his head clear.
The race was over too soon, however. They reached the edge of the forest and the great wall that lay before them was, just as Jill had implied, beyond words. The best they could say was that there was a bridge, lit with countless white lights, but there was also a wall, and both were clear as the light of day and yet unfathomable as the deepest darkness of the deepest caverns of night.
Far in the distance, so great that, were they alive, they would find in insurmountable, was another mountain, glittering with lights and -- seemingly -- the promise of safety.
“We are to cross?” Emeth said, and there was a touch of doubt in his voice. Edmund couldn’t blame him. Although the structure looked to be as old and solid as time, although the bridge was built of giant trees, bound together, although it looked as if no cataclysm could possibly mark it, it looked insignificant next to the ravine it spanned. Its other end was far in the distance, on a mountain so great human mind had no hope of processing the size and yet there was something that pulled him towards it.
“We must,” Peter said, and it was then that Edmund saw something else. One of the lights shining by the pillars that marked the beginning of the bridge was different from the others; it was bluer and seemed to move by itself.
It was coming towards them and as it stood against the dark horizon Edmund saw that it had the shape of a woman. It was Lilliandil.
“Welcome,” she said. “I am glad you made it. Much of the land is collapsing; there’s no time left to spare.”
“My lady,” Caspian said then, letting go of Edmund’s hand and coming to greet his wife. “I am most glad to see you are unharmed. I must however share with you some dreadful news concerning Rilian.”
She turned to him with a questioning look. “He is not with you.”
“I should like to avoid his company, until I can be persuaded to stand it without succumbing to anger. Rilian has attempted to murder Edmund,” Caspian said, looking into her eyes solemnly.
The star bore it without a hint of feeling. “I know,” she said at last.