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[fic] Along the Midnight Edge 5/14
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 FIVE -- In the New Garden in all the Parts]
Once more they journeyed through the dark Narnia of Aslan’s country, hoping against hope that they wouldn’t be discovered. “Peter,” Lucy whispered, as they strayed from a beaten road to avoid meeting a group of fauns, who rushed past in blind panic. “Must we do this? Must we hide from everything and everyone?”
“I wish we didn’t. Remember though that it isn’t just anyone we are running from, but Caspian’s own son, who was a king of Narnia himself, probably longer than us. Whatever advantage we may have, I’m sure he can match it.”
Lucy fell silent and the march continued, seemingly unhindered, but eventually Peter stopped and declared he needed to rest awhile. They were not surprised, for tiredness was sweeping through them as well, bringing with it more fear. They had died once already; how could they tire?
“I am almost questioning your paternal skills, though of course Lilliandil did manage to shift the blame off your shoulders,” Edmund said to Caspian, as they found for themselves a clearing among the trees, covered with soft grass and well-hidden from the road.
“If she didn’t frighten me so, I would have felt relief as well. I tried to do right by Rilian. I would hate to have failed so spectacularly.”
Lucy spied an apple tree not far from where they were sitting and rushed to collect some of its fruit. Peter lay down, his back propped against the trunk of a tree, and closed his eyes. Though they shouldn’t be tired at all, Edmund saw the tension ebb away from his shoulders, as a semblance of sleep descended.
Above their heads the trees had folded their branches to form a ceiling, thick enough that even a star would be hard-pressed to see them from up high. They had bought themselves a moment of peace, hopefully long enough to catch their bearings for the rest of the journey.
“You have not failed. He is, if nothing else, an honourable man.”
“Why must you defend him so gallantly? I may have been rash in wishing him dead on the spot. He is my son, and I must at least consider his position in all this. You have no such obligation. You have the right to demand his head. It is I who should beg you for his life, not the other way round.”
“Perhaps it is because you won’t,” Edmund said. He let his head rest against Caspian’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” Caspian whispered into this hair. “I knew it was wrong to marry so soon, or at all. I was still raw. I couldn’t have been a pleasant company, let alone a good husband. If I had known you would suffer for it, I never would have done it.”
“You did what was right. Narnia needed an heir.”
“Narnia would have suffered my second cousin’s daughter. She was no less capable of ruling than I was.” Edmund felt a wry smile against his scalp, he ached to see it. “More, even. She was wise and she was pragmatic, I think you would have liked her well.”
“I should like to meet her, when we solve this mystery.” Edmund shifted. “Do you regret the marriage so badly? Surely some companionship was better than loneliness.”
“I can’t think about Lilliandil without anger, right now. Rilian though… He was such a dear child,” Caspian said with a small smile. “I honestly thought loving another was beyond my abilities after you left, but I expect one’s children are exempt from all rules.”
“I have been told as much.” Edmund tilted his head back and Caspian pulled him tighter against his chest, so that they could kiss. Edmund had found before that his hand would naturally seek to tangle in Caspian’s hair, whether in the unconscious effort to keep them together or just because he needed reassurance that he could yank it whenever he found the once-king too annoying.
Regardless, he let himself drown in Caspian. It was the easiest, and the scariest, thing he’d ever had to learn -- his mouth was sweet and soft against his, juxtaposed against the scratch of beard, the scent of salt and ocean wind that seemed to cling to his flesh, always fresh and always dangerous.
Edmund felt heat crawl up his belly, as he tilted Caspian’s head and mouthed at his neck, just over the collar of his shirt, where his pulse beat strongest.
“You’d think the lack of door to be latched would discourage you,” Lucy said, somewhere over their heads. Edmund dared to look at her face, which was shining with amusement and gentle love, but couldn’t stand to hold her gaze for long. He looked at her hands instead, and the fruit she carried. “Here. They aren’t very good though.” The apples were small and Edmund thought more like the apples he had in England than anything that could be found in heaven.
“I was taught it is rude to interrupt,” Caspian said peevishly, still lying flat on the forest floor, but of course he was such a child when denied anything at all. There were twigs and dried leaves in his hair, and a smudge of dirt on his cheek.
“Oh, I don’t really mind, you are both very pleasant to look at, but I was about to wake Peter and he might kill you.”
“Lucy!”
She laughed merrily, a laugh that Edmund had missed the past few hours. It was as though he remembered all of sudden there was still hope in the world and that they might well be all right in the end.
“Why are you so happy?”
“There’s a stream by the tree. Can you hear it? It still remembers. It still laughs.”
“That it good news!”
“Now, make yourselves decent. You know how he is.”
Caspian rolled his eyes but sat up and made a show out of straightening his tunic. “I could tie him to the tree,” he suggested quietly. “We should have some peace then.”
“You would tie up my own brother to ravish me in his line of sight? How in the world is that a good idea?”
“I’m tempted to do it just to see the look on his face.”
“Fiend.”
“Ah, indeed. Wouldn’t his expression be grand?”
Edmund bit down on his knuckle to avoid laughing. Encouraging Caspian when he was being devious was never a good thing; he’d found that out already. “What is it about Peter that irritates you so?” he asked as Caspian set out to adjust the collar of his shirt.
“He is your brother and you love him.”
“I don’t follow.”
“I’m not much good at sharing, which I’m sure you have figured out already. I imagine there must be some competition between us, for your affection.”
“Surely you jest.”
“No, I am perfectly serious. Eustace explained it to me.”
“Oh lord.”
“As I understand it, because we were both kings, and therefore accustomed to having our will done, your favour is naturally considered another battlefield to be conquered. Because he’s your older brother, he naturally expects your worship of him to continue; because you are mine, I expect you to look at no one else. So we fight.”
“Ah. Now I must wonder which of you I ought to kill first. I trust that was also explained?” Edmund thought he ought to be offended, but the mere idea of being fought over in this fashion was enough to send him into peals of laughter so severe, he saw Caspian abandon the pretence of seriousness and laugh as well.
“Eustace said you might consider it amusing.”
“It is hilarious.” It did not, however, explain the devilish glint in Caspian’s eye. “Did you share the revelations with Peter?” Strange that he hadn’t known of this, but then again, he did prefer to focus elsewhere when Caspian and Peter had their spats. He knew enough swear words; he didn’t need to expand his vocabulary.
“Oh yes.”
“How did he react?”
“Do you remember the time when I stumbled into our chamber bloodied and bruised, yet choking with laughter?”
“I might have guessed. I don’t think it was fair, that he would humiliate you so severely.”
“Why do you assume I lost?”
“Just naturally came to me, remembering the state of you.”
“He looked no better. It was all in good fun.”
“I know a sword mark when I see one. I have also seen mace damage and I am fairly certain there was an arrow-wound in there too.”
“Oh, he was quite annoyed, I grant you,” Caspian stretched and grinned with the smug grin of a cat that set out to catch the mouse and had not only managed to toy with it until the last possible minute, but was also awarded a cup of cream for his trouble. “The truth is a harsh mistress. But to be fair the most damage I took only after I started telling him how you like to be kissed.”
“You are a demon in human form, did you know that?”
“I am very proud.” Caspian never stopped smiling, a bright devil-may-care grin that on a monarch would cause his subjects to flee in panic, but on a man it was nearly irresistible.
“And what, pray-tell, is so hilarious?” Peter asked. Edmund realised that his brother was watching them with a deeply suspicious gaze, as he often did when Caspian and he were standing too close together. It was always funny -- it had been funny back in England, when Peter was introduced to Jane and regarded her with the gaze a mother bear directs at any threat to her cubs. Here, with Caspian sitting so close Edmund could feel the heat of his body through the clothes, with the words about the contests and rivalry still ringing in his ears, Edmund thought it was hysterical.
“Are you rested?” Edmund asked instead, forcing down the laugh. “You don’t look well.”
“This mess is weighing on me.” Peter rubbed his forehead. Absentmindedly, he picked up an apple and bit into it. “These are quite horrible.”
“They are no worse than the apples at boarding school.”
“Exactly what I meant.”
“How much further do you think we have to go?”
“I don’t know. How far did we run to get to the garden the last time?”
“Hours?” Edmund said doubtfully, though it might as well have been minutes or days. There had been no clock to measure it with. They hadn’t been tired and they hadn’t been hungry; there had been no need to pause for breath and no need to measure time, either.
“See, I have no idea either. I don’t like this much, we are running blind.”
There was no wind. The forest was silent, curiously so, but for the rustle among the top branches that sounded suspiciously like bullets. Edmund tried to spring up, then he remembered it was better to stay down, so in his confusion he ended up on his knees, but it was just rain; thick, heavy rain, cold as ice. The storm was finally upon them.
“That doesn’t inspire confidence,” he said, still gazing at the leaden sky.
“It’s cold,” Lucy said, and shuddered.
“That’s no good,” Peter said grimly. At the questioning gazes he shook his head and wrapped an arm around Lucy. “The old Narnia was frozen. We need warm clothes, we need fire.”
“What for? It’s not like we can die,” Edmund said.
“Well, then, either Lilliandil knows something we don’t, or your eventual fate will be even more gruesome than we have anticipated.”
Edmund hadn’t thought of that. “That is certainly odd to consider,” he said lightly, but his head was spinning. Rilian’s face appeared in his mind’s eye, pale and frightened and smeared with blood, followed by a weak memory of the unimaginable horror of having someone touch his heart. There was no way Rilian had been planning on leaving him alive then.
“Ed?”
“I’m fine.”
The air moved. High above them there was a screech and a whoosh and then a streak of fire burned across the clouds. Edmund saw -- or thought he saw -- a sleek, dark shape disappear into the clouds, far above their heads.
“That cannot be good,” he said.
“Sudden bursts of fire rarely are.”
Edmund stared at the smoke, which was thick enough to be riddled with holes by the rain. “It’s a dragon. A big one.”
“I kept wondering along the way, are there more troubles, is there anything that hasn’t yet gone wrong, and here, at last, is my answer,” Peter said. “Well. Dragons or no dragons, we are going through.”
“This would be a bad time to say I can no longer call for that which we need,” Lucy said. She shivered in Peter’s embrace. “This land no longer calls to me. There are no voices in the trees. It is cold and empty.”
“We must go,” Peter said forcefully, though Lucy’s words weighed heavily on him. What could it mean, Edmund wondered, that Aslan’s country, or at least part of it, was falling apart?
They moved through the forest, silent as ghosts. The trees drooped under the onslaught of the rain; some of the weaker branches had broken, and that was fine -- whatever noise they made had to be muffled by the rain. Edmund felt the drops hit his head and shoulders hard enough to bruise. He was soaked within minutes and the rain just kept pouring, as though it wished to seep through his skin and fill him with icy water instead of blood.
Now and then a cry would split the sky and they would see a shadow above them, ruffling the crowns of trees, only to disappear among the clouds again. There was more than one, they soon realised. They never saw the big one again, but there were at least three smaller ones to take its place, and these never wandered far.
“I see the edge of the forest,” Edmund said. He dreaded it. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the dragons were searching for something, and what they were searching for was him.
“I won’t let them take you,” Caspian said, once more earning himself a glare for reading Edmund’s mind.
“Which is one of my many fears.”
“What would they do with you, anyway? You’re puny. You’re no meal at all. You’re not a virgin, unless I have been grossly misinformed.”
“Yes, I wondered when was that going to be mentioned. Except if that is the case, they are most certainly looking for Lucy,” Edmund said, for once humourlessly and even Caspian had to become serious.
“Would you stop talking?” Lucy hissed. “Don’t we have actual problems?”
“Pity Eustace isn’t with us,” Caspian said. “Maybe he could talk to them.”
“I know.”
The trees thinned and they stood at the edge of the forest, looking out onto the stretch of naked ground spread before them. “We are going to be visible for miles,” Lucy said doubtfully.
“We have to cross the plains at some time.” Peter gauged the distance, scanned the horizon in both directions. “Or, we could go right, through the forest. We should be able to reach the river that way. There would be still the open ground to cover, but hopefully less, and we could swim down to the cauldron and beyond. We might be harder to spot in the water.”
“Do let’s! At the least the water still seems friendly,” Lucy said.
They retreated into the forest and turned to the right. The river was still far away, but the rest had given them strength, if not hope, even though the journey was harrowing. Edmund felt it, along with the rain, stripped away whatever warmth he still possessed, leaving behind only that between his and Caspian’s joined hands.
Fortunately, as they reached the place where they had to leave the forest, the rain stopped. Edmund sighed in relief, but it was only a relief for a few moments. Soon the wind brought a smell of smoke and particles of ash that clung to the skin and irritated the eyes. Within minutes they were all coughing and their eyes were red and wet with tears.
The river seemed as unattainable as the moon at that moment.
Then, something even worse happened. There was little light to begin with, as the sun seemed permanently blocked by clouds, but it seemed to Edmund that they were walking in shadows too pronounced to be caused by clouds alone. He only had time to experience a jolt of panic before there was the scream and a dragon descended upon them, beating its wings against the ground.
As one, the four of them jumped to the side and drew their swords.
The dragon was strange, Edmund thought, as it lunged at Lucy. It looked nothing like Eustace had looked. It was long, much like a snake, and its gaping maw was full of teeth not unlike those of a sea serpent. The scales on its skin were a dull black, though when the flames shot through the air the reflection on their edges was green like poison. The creature was winged, but the wings were torn in places, or had holes burned through them. Some were still smoking.
Lucy danced away from the streak of fire and slashed deeply at the dragon’s forepaw, drawing blood, thick and foul like tar. Peter was there to take her place immediately, delivering a crushing blow to the creature’s neck. It wasn’t enough to kill it, but the creature staggered away, wailing pitifully. It veered left, narrowly avoided Caspian’s sword (which took off one of its wings, instead of the head) and stood on its hind legs directly in front of Edmund.
It paused, mid-roar, and gazed upon him with such a look as he’d never seen on anything living. It twisted to avoid him, but it was too late -- the wound in its neck was bleeding profusely, and it took barely a twist of the sword for Edmund to take its head off.
“Well,” he said, resting the darkened blade on his shoulder. “At least this is working to my advantage.”
“It is high time something did,” Caspian said. “What is this thing? It is not like any dragon I have ever seen or heard of.”
But before anyone could think of a reply, there was screeching in the air and shadows whirled over their heads.
“To the forest,” Peter shouted and they ran.
Edmund dared to look up and immediately wished he hadn’t. The sky was dark with creatures, some of them like the dragons they just slew, some of them feathered, some of them shining with moisture that wasn’t water, for it stuck to their bodies in clumps. The scent of decay was about them -- even when they sped through the air, it followed.
Fortunately for them, the creatures were preoccupied with the body of the killed dragon. Edmund didn’t bother looking any more; his mind could paint the scene vividly enough. There was growling and grinding and that alone told him that the carcass was being pulled apart by strong teeth. Then came the crunch of bones being crushed between the creatures’ jaws, and over that the howling and screeches of wilder beasts fighting for a place at the table.
The forest was before them, just out of reach, when the noises of the feast ceased and instead the flapping of wings filled the air. Edmund felt his heart stop in terror. The dragons had finished and were now taking to the sky, and there was still a hundred yards to go before they reached the shelter of the trees.
“We cannot fight this many!” he yelled, when Peter made a move like he wished to turn and face them head on.
“I have no intention of us fighting,” he yelled back, but Edmund was ahead of him. Peter’s instincts were ridiculously easy to predict and counter. Within seconds Lucy had stolen the sword out of his hands and they had both latched onto his arms, so as to prevent unnecessary heroics. In the back of his head, Edmund considered. The dragon had been afraid of him. It attacked Lucy and Peter and Caspian, but not him. It didn’t take a genius to figure out a plan, simple as it was.
As it turned out, he needn’t have implemented any heroics either, as the moment the thought of turning back to fight alone had risen in his mind, there emerged a bright light in front of them and a voice -- he recognised the voice, somehow -- called out a few strange words.
The noise behind them died down. Edmund and the rest were face to face with a magician.
“Coriakin,” Lucy said breathlessly.
The elderly man bowed. “Indeed, my dear. Follow me.”
They spared a second to share a look, after which they followed. Coriakin was standing by two pines, which grew so close together they were almost a doorway. He beckoned them forward and as they approached they saw that the impression was correct: between their trunks there was a door, invisible up to this point, and beyond Edmund saw a living room, with fire buzzing in the fire place and steam wafting from a kettle on the table.
“Come, you must be cold. Help yourselves to some tea and chocolate. I will see to it that there’s food on the table. There are blankets in the wardrobe, and if you wish to take a hot bath, I will have your clothes dried.”
A hot bath sounded heavenly right about now, Edmund thought, but as pneumonia was not a concern, there were more pressing issues to address.
“What were those things?” Edmund asked, catching a blanket Peter threw at him. “They looked like dragons.”
“They are not the type of creatures which have names,” Coriakin said. “They are born out of the corruption that remained in the dead world. Make no mistake, they were there all the while -- in fact I do believe you faced one already.”
Edmund sat up. “Is it the same kind of creature as the sea serpent?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes. You must understand that it takes a lot for the corruption to assume a form that can be fought with swords. It has no mind of its own, it can only glean from others, be moved by sentient creatures’ will and presence. Normally it would have no place in Aslan’s country, but when the barriers were broken, it invaded, as corruption does.” Coriakin looked into his own teacup, somewhat wistfully. “It needs no carrier to cross; all it takes is an invitation.”
“We should warn the others,” Lucy said, cradling a mug of chocolate in her hands. “Eustace and Jill and Emeth. They went to the other place, to England, they must be warned!”
“Worry not. These creatures are not yet so strong as to cross the bridge. I doubt they ever would be.”
“So they would be safe, on the other mountain?”
“As far as I can tell, it is only this land that suffered, for its connection with the dead world. Regardless, this is more than a mere place that needs guarding. The mountain will be protected from all sides,” Coriakin said. “Not to fret, my dear. Other worlds shall be quite safe.”
“You know what is going on,” Peter stated, setting his cup aside.
“I do.” Coriakin sat down heavily. He looked terribly old just then, pale and worn so thin as to be almost transparent. “I am, or should I say I was, a star, once. This unfortunately burdens a man with more knowledge than a mind should have to handle, or could rightfully handle. I wish it weren’t so.”
Edmund focussed on the cup in his hands. There was a question to be asked, a word he was missing, something. He couldn’t quite work out what it was.
“Is it safe here?” Peter looked around. “This looks like a room, not a fortress.”
“We would certainly be quite safe here, at least until Lilliandil locates you. Which, I am sorry to say, won’t take her long. A few days is the most you can hope for, and she will know no rest until you are found.”
“Can’t we do something?” Caspian said forcefully. “She must be stopped!”
“You will find it a task beyond your strength, son of Adam.”
“What does she want, precisely?” Edmund asked. He set the cup aside. “I could understand revenge, at least somewhat, but there is no logic to it -- she does not seem to be someone eager to be avenged, for whatever slight, much less for infidelity.”
“She is not. She is something far more dangerous: a mother, anxious for her child’s well being.”
“You will have to speak more clearly. I am no threat to Rilian,” Edmund said. “At least to the best of my knowledge.”
“Were you a direct threat, you would have been dead by now. No, the matter here is unfortunately more complex.” Coriakin folded his hands together. “You see, stars have no souls. We are creatures of light. Light is our purpose and our life, and when the light dies, so do we, never to live again. Our time can be prolonged indefinitely, but there arrives such a moment when we burn out at last, and there is nothing left to show for our existence but a handful of dust. It is not like that with you, children of Adam and Eve. What you have at your core, that lasts forever. A thousand years would pass a thousand times, and yet the essence of you remains untarnished.
“Now, you ask why Lilliandil wishes to destroy you. Young Rilian is the first child in history to be borne by a star, and as such he is more star than he is human, and has no soul of his own. Lilliandil intends for him to be given one.”
There was silence.
“I have to ask,” Edmund said slowly, “How would destroying me, as you said, help Rilian receive a soul?”
“Ah, here lies the heart of the matter: it is not your soul that she wants, but the one that was promised her and through her to her son, for it is only the soul that is willingly given that has any value.”
In the long silence everyone turned to look at Caspian. “I don’t recall making any such promises.”
“You wed her, under the laws of your people.” Coriakin picked up a book, flipped a few pages. “Ah yes. You would have sworn, under the custom, to share in the earthly life together, and to be as one mind, body and soul, unto death. ‘My heart must then be thine,’ to wit. Magic is inherent in such promises. Your soul was forfeit that day and it would have been taken from you and given to your son.”
Now Edmund understood the anger that drove Caspian to strike at Lilliandil the moment she revealed it was her who had orchestrated the attack. A cold fury had taken him, so dark and encompassing that he could scarcely speak a word. He had been amicable to Lilliandil’s plight; up until this moment, he had striven to find exonerating circumstances for Rilian’s sake, but this would make any monstrous deed pale in comparison.
“Something had gone wrong,” Peter said. “Here we are, all dead, I presume still ensouled, and still she pursues Edmund.”
“Exactly! Forgive me the interruption, but you said until death, did you not? The vows are ‘until death do us part’,” Lucy twirled her fingers together. “How come it is still an issue, when they are all dead?”
“Marriage, yes. Promises, not necessarily.”
“You will speak more clearly,” Edmund commanded darkly.
“Rilian is your child, Caspian, and as Lilliandil knowingly bequeathed all that she could stand to gain from you on him, he became the beneficiary of your vow, so to speak. This is why the promise held: a child you cannot deny, in life or death.”
Edmund clenched his teeth. “It would seem I was wrong to long for Narnia and her lack of lawyers when I was in England. A fine deal she has penned, one that any legal mind cannot help but applaud. What went wrong, then, when it was all so meticulously planned?”
“Indeed, something went astray, and it doesn’t take much to figure out that the something was you,” Coriakin said, looking at Edmund. “I find it hard to speculate on the nature of relationships, but from the evidence I must conclude that it is your claim on the king’s soul that prevented the finalisation of the plan.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Edmund said stiffly. “You speak of marriage, and oaths, and there was certainly nothing of the sort between us.”
“Dear boy. There is no easy way to wreck such magic as promising one’s heart to another, and the only way it could have gone wrong, was if Caspian had made a similar promise before, as even the strongest spell cannot undo what has already been done. This is why Lilliandil failed.”
“I’m sure I would have remembered getting married! I might have been drunk a few times in my life, but I pride myself on recalling each occasion perfectly. The marital practices of Narnia are not quite so simple, that we could have done them by accident. There would have needed to be a third party present, to witness the exchange of vows, and that is discounting the fact that for a king to wed there are extra ceremonies to perform, else the marriage is void!” Edmund pressed his forefingers against his forehead. This made no sense! “And on top of the legal obstacles, let us remember that we are both men, and therefore there could have been no marriage to begin with.”
“You promised you would wait for me,” Caspian said in the silence that followed Edmund’s outburst. “Even after I died. You swore, remember? A lifetime, you said, and beyond the lifetime.”
Edmund closed his eyes. He remembered the promise. He didn’t recall there being any sort of legal obligation, any kind of contract, however. He recalled nothing but the foolish assurances of two boys, caught up in feelings they couldn’t fully comprehend.
Coriakin smiled, but it was a sad smile. “That you chose to promise a lifetime and beyond would have been quite enough. Such a promise between two people needs no contract to confirm it, nor does it need witnesses nor validation.”
“I wasn’t aware it would be legally binding,” Edmund said, looking stubbornly at the wall and not at Caspian, who surely frowned at him.
“I wouldn’t call it legally binding. Not unless it was sanctioned by a contract of some sort, or witnessed, as you said, and even then the legality would be dubious, as neither of you is a woman and Caspian was king at the time, and far as I recall a Narnian king cannot wed until his spouse is accepted by his court.”
“Thank you, Pete. As usual, your input is most useful.”
“I think it’s sweet,” Lucy said, looking between Edmund and Caspian with a dreamy expression. She was always such romantic, with her head full of tales of valour and truth. “A little sad for poor Rilian, mind. Can’t there be another way?”
“Dear child, were we all so hopeful as you. Souls are precious, much more so than you could ever understand. No, there is but one way for a creature without a soul to obtain one: it is through genuine love, an honest promise and a gift.”
“Then I must say, I have spotted the fatal flaw in the plan,” Caspian said. “Now to explain this to the lady, and there may well be peace again.”
Peter looked at him strangely. “You think she would relent?”
“I did not love her like I’m sure I needed to, for the promise to achieve her ends. The effort is moot. I’m certain no law would force me to give up my soul to honour a promise when I had no idea it was at stake.”
But Coriakin was shaking his head. “Child, there is much you still don’t understand. Lilliandil is powerful. She is capable of spinning the magic in such a way that your promise would hold, regardless of feelings.”
“She failed there.”
“She cannot touch you, unless the claim on your soul is relinquished.”
Edmund closed his eyes. That did make sense, in the most twisted way he would conceive of. The threads of the trap unravelled in his mind and he had no choice but to marvel at their intricate beauty, at the skill and infallible plan that wound them into a fabric. It was sheer beauty.
“There is still the matter of Rilian,” Lucy said.
Edmund found he cared little for Rilian and even less for Lilliandil, when his mind supplied the image (however overstated and false it was) of Caspian lying soulless and yet still living, of nothingness in his eyes, and found the vision draining the scant supply of mercy he had at his disposal. “How do you kill a star?”
“Edmund!”
“Unless anyone has a better plan, which I’m willing to consider. At this point, however, I find this information vital to our future conduct.”
“Well, now that we know my head is also on the line, clearly killing is the only way to go,” Caspian said, glaring at Edmund fiercely. “A pity you failed to consider that this morning, we would have been done with the mess already.”
“How is that pertinent?”
“For one so adept at diplomacy, you are quite the blind idiot.” Caspian stood up, dropping the blanket on the sofa. He turned to Coriakin, “I heard you mention a hot bath?”
“There’s a bathroom through those door. It ought to be ready. I should have clothes prepared for you, when you are done, and a bed. I regret that I cannot do more, but give you a safe place to spend the night. There are geas binding me not to assist against my kin.”
“We are thankful,” Peter said. “You may rest assured we will ask no more of you.”
Caspian strode through the bathroom door without looking back. Coriakin disappeared through one of the many doors, through which Edmund could see a sparsely decorated bedroom, presumably to work his magic in solitude.
“I think I’d better talk to him,” Lucy said, getting up to follow in Caspian’s footsteps.
Edmund ignored her departure and poured himself another cup of chocolate. His hand was shaking. He could withstand hatred. He would have stood the disdain and even revenge from Caspian’s queen; he could understand it’s cause. But to trick a man into marriage when its intent was to destroy him, that he couldn’t forgive.
“This doesn’t concern you at all?” Peter asked meanwhile, stealing the mug from his hands.
“What cause for concern is there?”
“That your sister just followed your lover into a bathroom?”
“On whose behalf should I be outraged?”
“Good question.” Peter considered, then shook his head, abandoning the train of thought. “I have to say, this is quite the novelty: seeing Caspian furious at you for a change.”
“He is being a moron.”
“He is worried about you.”
“So are you, and you are not storming off in a huff.”
“I wanted to, but I think I’ve outgrown that phase.” Peter considered the ceiling, which was a web of wood and reliefs, made to look like the roof of the forest on a sunny day. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said.
“I doubt it.”
Peter looked away from the ceiling, to stare at Edmund. “You are worried you did something wrong, which is all you ever think about, when something goes wrong. Specifically that you were wrong about Caspian.”
This was not exactly what Edmund was thinking. “Wherever did you get such an idea?” he asked.
“Because I am your older brother, and by definition I know all there is to know about you.”
“I very much doubt that.”
“I know that you are wrong about this.”
Edmund closed his eyes. “I thought I might be.” Because somewhere deep there was the thought that, after all, Caspian would have met the star and were it not for him, he might have loved her; he would love her. And they would have wed without this promise tearing them apart and then, perhaps, Lilliandil would have loved him without jealousy poisoning the love, and their marriage would somehow work out.
“I mean your thoughts are wrong. Much as it pains me, you and Caspian, that is right.”
“From what facts do you draw this conclusion?”
Peter said nothing. He leaned forward, however, and before Edmund knew it there was a hand touching his cheek. Something lurched within him and he struck the hand away, scrambling to the very end of the sofa. “There it is. You flinch at Lucy’s touch, you damn near leap away from mine, but Caspian’s you welcome.”
“That is supposed to prove something?”
“Ed… Please don’t be an idiot. I don’t think we have time for it presently.”
“I ruined his marriage, his life,” Edmund said. “Without me, he might well have married a woman he genuinely liked, instead of a star he promised he would, just because he promised. Without me, he would have been happier.”
“Without you, he would have been an empty shell,” Peter said. “I’m not trying to be romantic, mind. If what Coriakin said is true, you saved him from having his soul stolen. I imagine that has more worth than a few dozen years of a successful marriage.”
“He might well have escaped the peril before he was even placed in its way, were it not for me.” Edmund sighed. “He swore he would wed a star, when Aslan told us we couldn’t be together.”
Peter bit his lip and then delivered a sharp jab to Edmund’s side. “That’s for being an idiot.”
“Again?”
“You are an idiot if you think he’d be happier without you. These are, for the record, my final words on the subject, and if Caspian ever finds out, I will deny ever having said them.”
“What have you got against him, anyway?”
Peter grinned brightly. “I find your taste in companions questionable, that’s all. I believe that is my right as your brother.”
“Excuse me?”
“You seem to gravitate towards arrogance and imperiousness. I often wonder why. Does it amuse you when they try to rule you?”
“You can’t be serious. Caspian doesn’t rule me, and neither did Jane.”
“If Caspian wasn’t enough to prove my point, you bring up Jane.” A shadow crossed Peter’s face and Edmund knew that he hadn’t thought of her previously.
“She’s a sweet person!”
“Clearly, you have utterly failed to speak with her. Which is not a surprise, seeing as she is certainly very attractive, but I never figured you for such shallow a person. Then again, Caspian is pleasing to the eye, so maybe there is that to consider.”
Edmund found he could do no more than open his mouth and wait for rebuttals to fill his head. He disregarded those pertaining to Caspian’s looks -- he did not wish to consider that Peter found Caspian handsome -- and focussed on the part he felt his mind didn’t rebel at. “Of course I’ve spoken with her. Many times!”
“And you never noticed that your opinions differ?”
“Yes, plenty. Then we have something that is called a civilised conversation and exchange ideas. You should try it sometime.”
“Can’t.” Peter sighed theatrically and sank into the cushions. “I am the high king and so most people agree with me, meaning there’s no hope of a sporting argument there, and you would just talk me into a corner and leave, feeling smug. Arguing with Lucy usually comes down to me having my way, then her sighing and fixing the mess I made.”
“I feel so bad for you,” Edmund told him with a smirk.
“I’m glad, because you will realise, in a moment, that for once I have won the argument.”
“Are we done?”
“Yes, we are done.” Peter leaned towards Edmund once more, this time to ruffle his hair. “Be less of an idiot, little brother.”
“Be less of an ass, High King.”
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 FIVE -- In the New Garden in all the Parts]
Once more they journeyed through the dark Narnia of Aslan’s country, hoping against hope that they wouldn’t be discovered. “Peter,” Lucy whispered, as they strayed from a beaten road to avoid meeting a group of fauns, who rushed past in blind panic. “Must we do this? Must we hide from everything and everyone?”
“I wish we didn’t. Remember though that it isn’t just anyone we are running from, but Caspian’s own son, who was a king of Narnia himself, probably longer than us. Whatever advantage we may have, I’m sure he can match it.”
Lucy fell silent and the march continued, seemingly unhindered, but eventually Peter stopped and declared he needed to rest awhile. They were not surprised, for tiredness was sweeping through them as well, bringing with it more fear. They had died once already; how could they tire?
“I am almost questioning your paternal skills, though of course Lilliandil did manage to shift the blame off your shoulders,” Edmund said to Caspian, as they found for themselves a clearing among the trees, covered with soft grass and well-hidden from the road.
“If she didn’t frighten me so, I would have felt relief as well. I tried to do right by Rilian. I would hate to have failed so spectacularly.”
Lucy spied an apple tree not far from where they were sitting and rushed to collect some of its fruit. Peter lay down, his back propped against the trunk of a tree, and closed his eyes. Though they shouldn’t be tired at all, Edmund saw the tension ebb away from his shoulders, as a semblance of sleep descended.
Above their heads the trees had folded their branches to form a ceiling, thick enough that even a star would be hard-pressed to see them from up high. They had bought themselves a moment of peace, hopefully long enough to catch their bearings for the rest of the journey.
“You have not failed. He is, if nothing else, an honourable man.”
“Why must you defend him so gallantly? I may have been rash in wishing him dead on the spot. He is my son, and I must at least consider his position in all this. You have no such obligation. You have the right to demand his head. It is I who should beg you for his life, not the other way round.”
“Perhaps it is because you won’t,” Edmund said. He let his head rest against Caspian’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” Caspian whispered into this hair. “I knew it was wrong to marry so soon, or at all. I was still raw. I couldn’t have been a pleasant company, let alone a good husband. If I had known you would suffer for it, I never would have done it.”
“You did what was right. Narnia needed an heir.”
“Narnia would have suffered my second cousin’s daughter. She was no less capable of ruling than I was.” Edmund felt a wry smile against his scalp, he ached to see it. “More, even. She was wise and she was pragmatic, I think you would have liked her well.”
“I should like to meet her, when we solve this mystery.” Edmund shifted. “Do you regret the marriage so badly? Surely some companionship was better than loneliness.”
“I can’t think about Lilliandil without anger, right now. Rilian though… He was such a dear child,” Caspian said with a small smile. “I honestly thought loving another was beyond my abilities after you left, but I expect one’s children are exempt from all rules.”
“I have been told as much.” Edmund tilted his head back and Caspian pulled him tighter against his chest, so that they could kiss. Edmund had found before that his hand would naturally seek to tangle in Caspian’s hair, whether in the unconscious effort to keep them together or just because he needed reassurance that he could yank it whenever he found the once-king too annoying.
Regardless, he let himself drown in Caspian. It was the easiest, and the scariest, thing he’d ever had to learn -- his mouth was sweet and soft against his, juxtaposed against the scratch of beard, the scent of salt and ocean wind that seemed to cling to his flesh, always fresh and always dangerous.
Edmund felt heat crawl up his belly, as he tilted Caspian’s head and mouthed at his neck, just over the collar of his shirt, where his pulse beat strongest.
“You’d think the lack of door to be latched would discourage you,” Lucy said, somewhere over their heads. Edmund dared to look at her face, which was shining with amusement and gentle love, but couldn’t stand to hold her gaze for long. He looked at her hands instead, and the fruit she carried. “Here. They aren’t very good though.” The apples were small and Edmund thought more like the apples he had in England than anything that could be found in heaven.
“I was taught it is rude to interrupt,” Caspian said peevishly, still lying flat on the forest floor, but of course he was such a child when denied anything at all. There were twigs and dried leaves in his hair, and a smudge of dirt on his cheek.
“Oh, I don’t really mind, you are both very pleasant to look at, but I was about to wake Peter and he might kill you.”
“Lucy!”
She laughed merrily, a laugh that Edmund had missed the past few hours. It was as though he remembered all of sudden there was still hope in the world and that they might well be all right in the end.
“Why are you so happy?”
“There’s a stream by the tree. Can you hear it? It still remembers. It still laughs.”
“That it good news!”
“Now, make yourselves decent. You know how he is.”
Caspian rolled his eyes but sat up and made a show out of straightening his tunic. “I could tie him to the tree,” he suggested quietly. “We should have some peace then.”
“You would tie up my own brother to ravish me in his line of sight? How in the world is that a good idea?”
“I’m tempted to do it just to see the look on his face.”
“Fiend.”
“Ah, indeed. Wouldn’t his expression be grand?”
Edmund bit down on his knuckle to avoid laughing. Encouraging Caspian when he was being devious was never a good thing; he’d found that out already. “What is it about Peter that irritates you so?” he asked as Caspian set out to adjust the collar of his shirt.
“He is your brother and you love him.”
“I don’t follow.”
“I’m not much good at sharing, which I’m sure you have figured out already. I imagine there must be some competition between us, for your affection.”
“Surely you jest.”
“No, I am perfectly serious. Eustace explained it to me.”
“Oh lord.”
“As I understand it, because we were both kings, and therefore accustomed to having our will done, your favour is naturally considered another battlefield to be conquered. Because he’s your older brother, he naturally expects your worship of him to continue; because you are mine, I expect you to look at no one else. So we fight.”
“Ah. Now I must wonder which of you I ought to kill first. I trust that was also explained?” Edmund thought he ought to be offended, but the mere idea of being fought over in this fashion was enough to send him into peals of laughter so severe, he saw Caspian abandon the pretence of seriousness and laugh as well.
“Eustace said you might consider it amusing.”
“It is hilarious.” It did not, however, explain the devilish glint in Caspian’s eye. “Did you share the revelations with Peter?” Strange that he hadn’t known of this, but then again, he did prefer to focus elsewhere when Caspian and Peter had their spats. He knew enough swear words; he didn’t need to expand his vocabulary.
“Oh yes.”
“How did he react?”
“Do you remember the time when I stumbled into our chamber bloodied and bruised, yet choking with laughter?”
“I might have guessed. I don’t think it was fair, that he would humiliate you so severely.”
“Why do you assume I lost?”
“Just naturally came to me, remembering the state of you.”
“He looked no better. It was all in good fun.”
“I know a sword mark when I see one. I have also seen mace damage and I am fairly certain there was an arrow-wound in there too.”
“Oh, he was quite annoyed, I grant you,” Caspian stretched and grinned with the smug grin of a cat that set out to catch the mouse and had not only managed to toy with it until the last possible minute, but was also awarded a cup of cream for his trouble. “The truth is a harsh mistress. But to be fair the most damage I took only after I started telling him how you like to be kissed.”
“You are a demon in human form, did you know that?”
“I am very proud.” Caspian never stopped smiling, a bright devil-may-care grin that on a monarch would cause his subjects to flee in panic, but on a man it was nearly irresistible.
“And what, pray-tell, is so hilarious?” Peter asked. Edmund realised that his brother was watching them with a deeply suspicious gaze, as he often did when Caspian and he were standing too close together. It was always funny -- it had been funny back in England, when Peter was introduced to Jane and regarded her with the gaze a mother bear directs at any threat to her cubs. Here, with Caspian sitting so close Edmund could feel the heat of his body through the clothes, with the words about the contests and rivalry still ringing in his ears, Edmund thought it was hysterical.
“Are you rested?” Edmund asked instead, forcing down the laugh. “You don’t look well.”
“This mess is weighing on me.” Peter rubbed his forehead. Absentmindedly, he picked up an apple and bit into it. “These are quite horrible.”
“They are no worse than the apples at boarding school.”
“Exactly what I meant.”
“How much further do you think we have to go?”
“I don’t know. How far did we run to get to the garden the last time?”
“Hours?” Edmund said doubtfully, though it might as well have been minutes or days. There had been no clock to measure it with. They hadn’t been tired and they hadn’t been hungry; there had been no need to pause for breath and no need to measure time, either.
“See, I have no idea either. I don’t like this much, we are running blind.”
There was no wind. The forest was silent, curiously so, but for the rustle among the top branches that sounded suspiciously like bullets. Edmund tried to spring up, then he remembered it was better to stay down, so in his confusion he ended up on his knees, but it was just rain; thick, heavy rain, cold as ice. The storm was finally upon them.
“That doesn’t inspire confidence,” he said, still gazing at the leaden sky.
“It’s cold,” Lucy said, and shuddered.
“That’s no good,” Peter said grimly. At the questioning gazes he shook his head and wrapped an arm around Lucy. “The old Narnia was frozen. We need warm clothes, we need fire.”
“What for? It’s not like we can die,” Edmund said.
“Well, then, either Lilliandil knows something we don’t, or your eventual fate will be even more gruesome than we have anticipated.”
Edmund hadn’t thought of that. “That is certainly odd to consider,” he said lightly, but his head was spinning. Rilian’s face appeared in his mind’s eye, pale and frightened and smeared with blood, followed by a weak memory of the unimaginable horror of having someone touch his heart. There was no way Rilian had been planning on leaving him alive then.
“Ed?”
“I’m fine.”
The air moved. High above them there was a screech and a whoosh and then a streak of fire burned across the clouds. Edmund saw -- or thought he saw -- a sleek, dark shape disappear into the clouds, far above their heads.
“That cannot be good,” he said.
“Sudden bursts of fire rarely are.”
Edmund stared at the smoke, which was thick enough to be riddled with holes by the rain. “It’s a dragon. A big one.”
“I kept wondering along the way, are there more troubles, is there anything that hasn’t yet gone wrong, and here, at last, is my answer,” Peter said. “Well. Dragons or no dragons, we are going through.”
“This would be a bad time to say I can no longer call for that which we need,” Lucy said. She shivered in Peter’s embrace. “This land no longer calls to me. There are no voices in the trees. It is cold and empty.”
“We must go,” Peter said forcefully, though Lucy’s words weighed heavily on him. What could it mean, Edmund wondered, that Aslan’s country, or at least part of it, was falling apart?
They moved through the forest, silent as ghosts. The trees drooped under the onslaught of the rain; some of the weaker branches had broken, and that was fine -- whatever noise they made had to be muffled by the rain. Edmund felt the drops hit his head and shoulders hard enough to bruise. He was soaked within minutes and the rain just kept pouring, as though it wished to seep through his skin and fill him with icy water instead of blood.
Now and then a cry would split the sky and they would see a shadow above them, ruffling the crowns of trees, only to disappear among the clouds again. There was more than one, they soon realised. They never saw the big one again, but there were at least three smaller ones to take its place, and these never wandered far.
“I see the edge of the forest,” Edmund said. He dreaded it. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the dragons were searching for something, and what they were searching for was him.
“I won’t let them take you,” Caspian said, once more earning himself a glare for reading Edmund’s mind.
“Which is one of my many fears.”
“What would they do with you, anyway? You’re puny. You’re no meal at all. You’re not a virgin, unless I have been grossly misinformed.”
“Yes, I wondered when was that going to be mentioned. Except if that is the case, they are most certainly looking for Lucy,” Edmund said, for once humourlessly and even Caspian had to become serious.
“Would you stop talking?” Lucy hissed. “Don’t we have actual problems?”
“Pity Eustace isn’t with us,” Caspian said. “Maybe he could talk to them.”
“I know.”
The trees thinned and they stood at the edge of the forest, looking out onto the stretch of naked ground spread before them. “We are going to be visible for miles,” Lucy said doubtfully.
“We have to cross the plains at some time.” Peter gauged the distance, scanned the horizon in both directions. “Or, we could go right, through the forest. We should be able to reach the river that way. There would be still the open ground to cover, but hopefully less, and we could swim down to the cauldron and beyond. We might be harder to spot in the water.”
“Do let’s! At the least the water still seems friendly,” Lucy said.
They retreated into the forest and turned to the right. The river was still far away, but the rest had given them strength, if not hope, even though the journey was harrowing. Edmund felt it, along with the rain, stripped away whatever warmth he still possessed, leaving behind only that between his and Caspian’s joined hands.
Fortunately, as they reached the place where they had to leave the forest, the rain stopped. Edmund sighed in relief, but it was only a relief for a few moments. Soon the wind brought a smell of smoke and particles of ash that clung to the skin and irritated the eyes. Within minutes they were all coughing and their eyes were red and wet with tears.
The river seemed as unattainable as the moon at that moment.
Then, something even worse happened. There was little light to begin with, as the sun seemed permanently blocked by clouds, but it seemed to Edmund that they were walking in shadows too pronounced to be caused by clouds alone. He only had time to experience a jolt of panic before there was the scream and a dragon descended upon them, beating its wings against the ground.
As one, the four of them jumped to the side and drew their swords.
The dragon was strange, Edmund thought, as it lunged at Lucy. It looked nothing like Eustace had looked. It was long, much like a snake, and its gaping maw was full of teeth not unlike those of a sea serpent. The scales on its skin were a dull black, though when the flames shot through the air the reflection on their edges was green like poison. The creature was winged, but the wings were torn in places, or had holes burned through them. Some were still smoking.
Lucy danced away from the streak of fire and slashed deeply at the dragon’s forepaw, drawing blood, thick and foul like tar. Peter was there to take her place immediately, delivering a crushing blow to the creature’s neck. It wasn’t enough to kill it, but the creature staggered away, wailing pitifully. It veered left, narrowly avoided Caspian’s sword (which took off one of its wings, instead of the head) and stood on its hind legs directly in front of Edmund.
It paused, mid-roar, and gazed upon him with such a look as he’d never seen on anything living. It twisted to avoid him, but it was too late -- the wound in its neck was bleeding profusely, and it took barely a twist of the sword for Edmund to take its head off.
“Well,” he said, resting the darkened blade on his shoulder. “At least this is working to my advantage.”
“It is high time something did,” Caspian said. “What is this thing? It is not like any dragon I have ever seen or heard of.”
But before anyone could think of a reply, there was screeching in the air and shadows whirled over their heads.
“To the forest,” Peter shouted and they ran.
Edmund dared to look up and immediately wished he hadn’t. The sky was dark with creatures, some of them like the dragons they just slew, some of them feathered, some of them shining with moisture that wasn’t water, for it stuck to their bodies in clumps. The scent of decay was about them -- even when they sped through the air, it followed.
Fortunately for them, the creatures were preoccupied with the body of the killed dragon. Edmund didn’t bother looking any more; his mind could paint the scene vividly enough. There was growling and grinding and that alone told him that the carcass was being pulled apart by strong teeth. Then came the crunch of bones being crushed between the creatures’ jaws, and over that the howling and screeches of wilder beasts fighting for a place at the table.
The forest was before them, just out of reach, when the noises of the feast ceased and instead the flapping of wings filled the air. Edmund felt his heart stop in terror. The dragons had finished and were now taking to the sky, and there was still a hundred yards to go before they reached the shelter of the trees.
“We cannot fight this many!” he yelled, when Peter made a move like he wished to turn and face them head on.
“I have no intention of us fighting,” he yelled back, but Edmund was ahead of him. Peter’s instincts were ridiculously easy to predict and counter. Within seconds Lucy had stolen the sword out of his hands and they had both latched onto his arms, so as to prevent unnecessary heroics. In the back of his head, Edmund considered. The dragon had been afraid of him. It attacked Lucy and Peter and Caspian, but not him. It didn’t take a genius to figure out a plan, simple as it was.
As it turned out, he needn’t have implemented any heroics either, as the moment the thought of turning back to fight alone had risen in his mind, there emerged a bright light in front of them and a voice -- he recognised the voice, somehow -- called out a few strange words.
The noise behind them died down. Edmund and the rest were face to face with a magician.
“Coriakin,” Lucy said breathlessly.
The elderly man bowed. “Indeed, my dear. Follow me.”
They spared a second to share a look, after which they followed. Coriakin was standing by two pines, which grew so close together they were almost a doorway. He beckoned them forward and as they approached they saw that the impression was correct: between their trunks there was a door, invisible up to this point, and beyond Edmund saw a living room, with fire buzzing in the fire place and steam wafting from a kettle on the table.
“Come, you must be cold. Help yourselves to some tea and chocolate. I will see to it that there’s food on the table. There are blankets in the wardrobe, and if you wish to take a hot bath, I will have your clothes dried.”
A hot bath sounded heavenly right about now, Edmund thought, but as pneumonia was not a concern, there were more pressing issues to address.
“What were those things?” Edmund asked, catching a blanket Peter threw at him. “They looked like dragons.”
“They are not the type of creatures which have names,” Coriakin said. “They are born out of the corruption that remained in the dead world. Make no mistake, they were there all the while -- in fact I do believe you faced one already.”
Edmund sat up. “Is it the same kind of creature as the sea serpent?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes. You must understand that it takes a lot for the corruption to assume a form that can be fought with swords. It has no mind of its own, it can only glean from others, be moved by sentient creatures’ will and presence. Normally it would have no place in Aslan’s country, but when the barriers were broken, it invaded, as corruption does.” Coriakin looked into his own teacup, somewhat wistfully. “It needs no carrier to cross; all it takes is an invitation.”
“We should warn the others,” Lucy said, cradling a mug of chocolate in her hands. “Eustace and Jill and Emeth. They went to the other place, to England, they must be warned!”
“Worry not. These creatures are not yet so strong as to cross the bridge. I doubt they ever would be.”
“So they would be safe, on the other mountain?”
“As far as I can tell, it is only this land that suffered, for its connection with the dead world. Regardless, this is more than a mere place that needs guarding. The mountain will be protected from all sides,” Coriakin said. “Not to fret, my dear. Other worlds shall be quite safe.”
“You know what is going on,” Peter stated, setting his cup aside.
“I do.” Coriakin sat down heavily. He looked terribly old just then, pale and worn so thin as to be almost transparent. “I am, or should I say I was, a star, once. This unfortunately burdens a man with more knowledge than a mind should have to handle, or could rightfully handle. I wish it weren’t so.”
Edmund focussed on the cup in his hands. There was a question to be asked, a word he was missing, something. He couldn’t quite work out what it was.
“Is it safe here?” Peter looked around. “This looks like a room, not a fortress.”
“We would certainly be quite safe here, at least until Lilliandil locates you. Which, I am sorry to say, won’t take her long. A few days is the most you can hope for, and she will know no rest until you are found.”
“Can’t we do something?” Caspian said forcefully. “She must be stopped!”
“You will find it a task beyond your strength, son of Adam.”
“What does she want, precisely?” Edmund asked. He set the cup aside. “I could understand revenge, at least somewhat, but there is no logic to it -- she does not seem to be someone eager to be avenged, for whatever slight, much less for infidelity.”
“She is not. She is something far more dangerous: a mother, anxious for her child’s well being.”
“You will have to speak more clearly. I am no threat to Rilian,” Edmund said. “At least to the best of my knowledge.”
“Were you a direct threat, you would have been dead by now. No, the matter here is unfortunately more complex.” Coriakin folded his hands together. “You see, stars have no souls. We are creatures of light. Light is our purpose and our life, and when the light dies, so do we, never to live again. Our time can be prolonged indefinitely, but there arrives such a moment when we burn out at last, and there is nothing left to show for our existence but a handful of dust. It is not like that with you, children of Adam and Eve. What you have at your core, that lasts forever. A thousand years would pass a thousand times, and yet the essence of you remains untarnished.
“Now, you ask why Lilliandil wishes to destroy you. Young Rilian is the first child in history to be borne by a star, and as such he is more star than he is human, and has no soul of his own. Lilliandil intends for him to be given one.”
There was silence.
“I have to ask,” Edmund said slowly, “How would destroying me, as you said, help Rilian receive a soul?”
“Ah, here lies the heart of the matter: it is not your soul that she wants, but the one that was promised her and through her to her son, for it is only the soul that is willingly given that has any value.”
In the long silence everyone turned to look at Caspian. “I don’t recall making any such promises.”
“You wed her, under the laws of your people.” Coriakin picked up a book, flipped a few pages. “Ah yes. You would have sworn, under the custom, to share in the earthly life together, and to be as one mind, body and soul, unto death. ‘My heart must then be thine,’ to wit. Magic is inherent in such promises. Your soul was forfeit that day and it would have been taken from you and given to your son.”
Now Edmund understood the anger that drove Caspian to strike at Lilliandil the moment she revealed it was her who had orchestrated the attack. A cold fury had taken him, so dark and encompassing that he could scarcely speak a word. He had been amicable to Lilliandil’s plight; up until this moment, he had striven to find exonerating circumstances for Rilian’s sake, but this would make any monstrous deed pale in comparison.
“Something had gone wrong,” Peter said. “Here we are, all dead, I presume still ensouled, and still she pursues Edmund.”
“Exactly! Forgive me the interruption, but you said until death, did you not? The vows are ‘until death do us part’,” Lucy twirled her fingers together. “How come it is still an issue, when they are all dead?”
“Marriage, yes. Promises, not necessarily.”
“You will speak more clearly,” Edmund commanded darkly.
“Rilian is your child, Caspian, and as Lilliandil knowingly bequeathed all that she could stand to gain from you on him, he became the beneficiary of your vow, so to speak. This is why the promise held: a child you cannot deny, in life or death.”
Edmund clenched his teeth. “It would seem I was wrong to long for Narnia and her lack of lawyers when I was in England. A fine deal she has penned, one that any legal mind cannot help but applaud. What went wrong, then, when it was all so meticulously planned?”
“Indeed, something went astray, and it doesn’t take much to figure out that the something was you,” Coriakin said, looking at Edmund. “I find it hard to speculate on the nature of relationships, but from the evidence I must conclude that it is your claim on the king’s soul that prevented the finalisation of the plan.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Edmund said stiffly. “You speak of marriage, and oaths, and there was certainly nothing of the sort between us.”
“Dear boy. There is no easy way to wreck such magic as promising one’s heart to another, and the only way it could have gone wrong, was if Caspian had made a similar promise before, as even the strongest spell cannot undo what has already been done. This is why Lilliandil failed.”
“I’m sure I would have remembered getting married! I might have been drunk a few times in my life, but I pride myself on recalling each occasion perfectly. The marital practices of Narnia are not quite so simple, that we could have done them by accident. There would have needed to be a third party present, to witness the exchange of vows, and that is discounting the fact that for a king to wed there are extra ceremonies to perform, else the marriage is void!” Edmund pressed his forefingers against his forehead. This made no sense! “And on top of the legal obstacles, let us remember that we are both men, and therefore there could have been no marriage to begin with.”
“You promised you would wait for me,” Caspian said in the silence that followed Edmund’s outburst. “Even after I died. You swore, remember? A lifetime, you said, and beyond the lifetime.”
Edmund closed his eyes. He remembered the promise. He didn’t recall there being any sort of legal obligation, any kind of contract, however. He recalled nothing but the foolish assurances of two boys, caught up in feelings they couldn’t fully comprehend.
Coriakin smiled, but it was a sad smile. “That you chose to promise a lifetime and beyond would have been quite enough. Such a promise between two people needs no contract to confirm it, nor does it need witnesses nor validation.”
“I wasn’t aware it would be legally binding,” Edmund said, looking stubbornly at the wall and not at Caspian, who surely frowned at him.
“I wouldn’t call it legally binding. Not unless it was sanctioned by a contract of some sort, or witnessed, as you said, and even then the legality would be dubious, as neither of you is a woman and Caspian was king at the time, and far as I recall a Narnian king cannot wed until his spouse is accepted by his court.”
“Thank you, Pete. As usual, your input is most useful.”
“I think it’s sweet,” Lucy said, looking between Edmund and Caspian with a dreamy expression. She was always such romantic, with her head full of tales of valour and truth. “A little sad for poor Rilian, mind. Can’t there be another way?”
“Dear child, were we all so hopeful as you. Souls are precious, much more so than you could ever understand. No, there is but one way for a creature without a soul to obtain one: it is through genuine love, an honest promise and a gift.”
“Then I must say, I have spotted the fatal flaw in the plan,” Caspian said. “Now to explain this to the lady, and there may well be peace again.”
Peter looked at him strangely. “You think she would relent?”
“I did not love her like I’m sure I needed to, for the promise to achieve her ends. The effort is moot. I’m certain no law would force me to give up my soul to honour a promise when I had no idea it was at stake.”
But Coriakin was shaking his head. “Child, there is much you still don’t understand. Lilliandil is powerful. She is capable of spinning the magic in such a way that your promise would hold, regardless of feelings.”
“She failed there.”
“She cannot touch you, unless the claim on your soul is relinquished.”
Edmund closed his eyes. That did make sense, in the most twisted way he would conceive of. The threads of the trap unravelled in his mind and he had no choice but to marvel at their intricate beauty, at the skill and infallible plan that wound them into a fabric. It was sheer beauty.
“There is still the matter of Rilian,” Lucy said.
Edmund found he cared little for Rilian and even less for Lilliandil, when his mind supplied the image (however overstated and false it was) of Caspian lying soulless and yet still living, of nothingness in his eyes, and found the vision draining the scant supply of mercy he had at his disposal. “How do you kill a star?”
“Edmund!”
“Unless anyone has a better plan, which I’m willing to consider. At this point, however, I find this information vital to our future conduct.”
“Well, now that we know my head is also on the line, clearly killing is the only way to go,” Caspian said, glaring at Edmund fiercely. “A pity you failed to consider that this morning, we would have been done with the mess already.”
“How is that pertinent?”
“For one so adept at diplomacy, you are quite the blind idiot.” Caspian stood up, dropping the blanket on the sofa. He turned to Coriakin, “I heard you mention a hot bath?”
“There’s a bathroom through those door. It ought to be ready. I should have clothes prepared for you, when you are done, and a bed. I regret that I cannot do more, but give you a safe place to spend the night. There are geas binding me not to assist against my kin.”
“We are thankful,” Peter said. “You may rest assured we will ask no more of you.”
Caspian strode through the bathroom door without looking back. Coriakin disappeared through one of the many doors, through which Edmund could see a sparsely decorated bedroom, presumably to work his magic in solitude.
“I think I’d better talk to him,” Lucy said, getting up to follow in Caspian’s footsteps.
Edmund ignored her departure and poured himself another cup of chocolate. His hand was shaking. He could withstand hatred. He would have stood the disdain and even revenge from Caspian’s queen; he could understand it’s cause. But to trick a man into marriage when its intent was to destroy him, that he couldn’t forgive.
“This doesn’t concern you at all?” Peter asked meanwhile, stealing the mug from his hands.
“What cause for concern is there?”
“That your sister just followed your lover into a bathroom?”
“On whose behalf should I be outraged?”
“Good question.” Peter considered, then shook his head, abandoning the train of thought. “I have to say, this is quite the novelty: seeing Caspian furious at you for a change.”
“He is being a moron.”
“He is worried about you.”
“So are you, and you are not storming off in a huff.”
“I wanted to, but I think I’ve outgrown that phase.” Peter considered the ceiling, which was a web of wood and reliefs, made to look like the roof of the forest on a sunny day. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said.
“I doubt it.”
Peter looked away from the ceiling, to stare at Edmund. “You are worried you did something wrong, which is all you ever think about, when something goes wrong. Specifically that you were wrong about Caspian.”
This was not exactly what Edmund was thinking. “Wherever did you get such an idea?” he asked.
“Because I am your older brother, and by definition I know all there is to know about you.”
“I very much doubt that.”
“I know that you are wrong about this.”
Edmund closed his eyes. “I thought I might be.” Because somewhere deep there was the thought that, after all, Caspian would have met the star and were it not for him, he might have loved her; he would love her. And they would have wed without this promise tearing them apart and then, perhaps, Lilliandil would have loved him without jealousy poisoning the love, and their marriage would somehow work out.
“I mean your thoughts are wrong. Much as it pains me, you and Caspian, that is right.”
“From what facts do you draw this conclusion?”
Peter said nothing. He leaned forward, however, and before Edmund knew it there was a hand touching his cheek. Something lurched within him and he struck the hand away, scrambling to the very end of the sofa. “There it is. You flinch at Lucy’s touch, you damn near leap away from mine, but Caspian’s you welcome.”
“That is supposed to prove something?”
“Ed… Please don’t be an idiot. I don’t think we have time for it presently.”
“I ruined his marriage, his life,” Edmund said. “Without me, he might well have married a woman he genuinely liked, instead of a star he promised he would, just because he promised. Without me, he would have been happier.”
“Without you, he would have been an empty shell,” Peter said. “I’m not trying to be romantic, mind. If what Coriakin said is true, you saved him from having his soul stolen. I imagine that has more worth than a few dozen years of a successful marriage.”
“He might well have escaped the peril before he was even placed in its way, were it not for me.” Edmund sighed. “He swore he would wed a star, when Aslan told us we couldn’t be together.”
Peter bit his lip and then delivered a sharp jab to Edmund’s side. “That’s for being an idiot.”
“Again?”
“You are an idiot if you think he’d be happier without you. These are, for the record, my final words on the subject, and if Caspian ever finds out, I will deny ever having said them.”
“What have you got against him, anyway?”
Peter grinned brightly. “I find your taste in companions questionable, that’s all. I believe that is my right as your brother.”
“Excuse me?”
“You seem to gravitate towards arrogance and imperiousness. I often wonder why. Does it amuse you when they try to rule you?”
“You can’t be serious. Caspian doesn’t rule me, and neither did Jane.”
“If Caspian wasn’t enough to prove my point, you bring up Jane.” A shadow crossed Peter’s face and Edmund knew that he hadn’t thought of her previously.
“She’s a sweet person!”
“Clearly, you have utterly failed to speak with her. Which is not a surprise, seeing as she is certainly very attractive, but I never figured you for such shallow a person. Then again, Caspian is pleasing to the eye, so maybe there is that to consider.”
Edmund found he could do no more than open his mouth and wait for rebuttals to fill his head. He disregarded those pertaining to Caspian’s looks -- he did not wish to consider that Peter found Caspian handsome -- and focussed on the part he felt his mind didn’t rebel at. “Of course I’ve spoken with her. Many times!”
“And you never noticed that your opinions differ?”
“Yes, plenty. Then we have something that is called a civilised conversation and exchange ideas. You should try it sometime.”
“Can’t.” Peter sighed theatrically and sank into the cushions. “I am the high king and so most people agree with me, meaning there’s no hope of a sporting argument there, and you would just talk me into a corner and leave, feeling smug. Arguing with Lucy usually comes down to me having my way, then her sighing and fixing the mess I made.”
“I feel so bad for you,” Edmund told him with a smirk.
“I’m glad, because you will realise, in a moment, that for once I have won the argument.”
“Are we done?”
“Yes, we are done.” Peter leaned towards Edmund once more, this time to ruffle his hair. “Be less of an idiot, little brother.”
“Be less of an ass, High King.”