Peter walked slowly over to the chest, behind which stood a stone statue of the man he used to be. Lifting the lid of the chest, he saw memories of a life that seemed so far away; chainmail, over shirts, and of course, his gifts from Father Christmas. He freed the sword from its sheath, gazing upon the writing engraved into the blade. His mind turned back to the time he'd saved Susan and Lucy from the White Witch's wolves, how he became a knight of Narnia; he had gone into battle alongside warriors and friends, and it had served him well before and during his reign as High King of Narnia.
"How long do you suppose we've been gone?"
"I don't know." Lucy looked solemn. "But I have the most horrible feeling that everyone we knew when we lived here, Mr Tumnus, the Beavers," she hesitated, as though she was going to say something else, but thought better of it. "I get the feeling that they're all gone."
"I can't find my horn," said Susan, pulling out dresses and jewels from her chest.
"You lost the enchanted horn?" Peter sounded alarmed.
"I must have left in on the saddle of my horse that day we accidently went back through the wardrobe," Susan shrugged.
"That's going to be a pain if we're ever in need of any help. Who knows what happened here, and who we might be facing when we find out what's going on."
"Thanks Edmund, great help," Susan said, flatly.
Peter smiled at his siblings' antics, sifting through his chest to find something more appropriate to wear than a damp school uniform. He pulled out a shirt that would probably fit him, but with it, something fell from the chest and clattered onto the floor at his feet. Looking down, he saw what had fallen and immediately tossed the shirt aside.
Two curved blades, tied together, sheathed in black leather; the hilts were silver, grips wrapped in the same material. Not a speck of rust contaminated them. Looking back to the chest, he saw nestled a large ebony-wood bow and a few arrows. He bit the inside of his bottom lip.
"Peter, are you alright?" Lucy placed a hand on her brother's shoulder.
"Do you think she stayed," he asked after a long pause. "And helped ruled in our place?"
"No." They all looked at Edmund. "She was too proud to put her weapons with yours. Somebody must have put them there, knowing that's how you'd want it."
"Do you think she's…"
"Peter, it seems impossible for her to be-"
"There's no way of knowing what happened to her." Edmund cut Susan off. "At least, not until we find out what's happening now and why we were dragged off the platform."
"I suppose you're right."
Lucy let out a light laugh, smiling fondly. "She gave this to me on my eighteenth birthday," she said, holding up a broach with the multicoloured jewels arranged in the shape of a lion's head. Peter tried to smile, though something about the air in Narnia felt so wrong and unfamiliar that even the best of his memories seemed distorted.
Edmund, sensing his brother's discomfort, cleared his throat. "Let's get out there and see if there is anyone who can explain the situation."
The girls went to change amongst a thick patch of the orchard above ground. Peter lingered behind, unsure as to what to do with the weapons. They felt more like sacred artefacts now, which deserved to be on display rather than hidden away in a dark oaken chest. He moved behind the chest to the statue of his older self; placing the arrows so that they would sit in the arms, he slung the bow over the shoulders and across the chest. It looked clumsy, but it made the sadness feel a little more dignified. This was a lot less than she deserved, but it was something. The blade he clutched in his hand, with no intention of letting them go.
"We miss her too, Pete. But I'm sure she'd want us move on, not live in the past. You were alright back in England."
"But this is Narnia, isn't it?" Peter sighed. "Never mind. It doesn't really matter now, does it?"
Edmund tried to smile, slapping him on the back. "Get changed, then we'll find out what's going on."
Maria finished lacing up the back of the young girl's silk gown, sweeping her white-blonde hair behind her shoulders.
"Is that tight enough for you, Lady Aliona?" she spoke softly.
"Yes, thank you."
Maria stepped back, and pulled at the long sleeves of her uniform. The windows were open, but the room was still hot and the veil that covered her hair and face was stifling. But even on days like this, she counted herself exceptionally lucky to have been put under the employment of an Elite as kind as Aliona. She had her own house in the servants' quarters just inside the walls of the family estate. Her life was comfortable.
"Is there anything else you would like before dinner, my Lady?"
"Yes." The blond twisted her head to face Maria, displaying a curious grin. "I'd like to talk to you."
"About what, my Lady?"
"About anything. About you. About your life. What kind of things do you like?"
"I don't think that would be proper, my Lady."
"It'll be okay." The girl collapsed onto a lilac and gold chaise longue. "I never get to talk about anything interesting anymore, just adult politics." Maria was hesitant, but eventually came to perch on the edge of the chair, a fair distance from the Elite. Giggling, Aliona moved closer to her. "I don't bite."
"I suppose it won't do either of us much harm."
"Great. So, what's your name?"
"What?"
"I want to know your name, so I know what to call you."
"Oh, erm, it's Maria Konstantinova."
"Konstantinova…as in…" Aliona was clearly hesitant to continue.
"Yes," Maria said quietly.
"Oh, sorry." Maria shook her head. "Maria…that's pretty. And how old are you?"
"I will be eighteen in six weeks." For all the years that she had lived, Maria was surprised that she could recall her physical age.
"Wow! I've never had a handmaiden so young before. I bet you're really beautiful."
"Oh no, my Lady. You are quite mistaken in that."
"Can I not judge that for myself?"
Maria sprang up from her seat, and hurried a little way across the room. "I could lose my job."
"Oh, come on. Please?" Aliona whined. "No one has to know. I just want to know what you look like. It feels so impersonal, and kind of scary, walking around my own house with so many faceless people."
All Elites are good liars; Maria had seen her fair share. But Lady Aliona showed no signs of manipulation. Young Elites were always taught to act like adults, especially because of how early they married. It was so easy to forget that Aliona was still a child, a girl of merely thirteen, and it was easy for Maria to forget that she had once been a child too. She moved slowly back across the room, treading carefully over to the chaise longue.
"Alright, but just for a second. And only because you asked." Turning her body to face Aliona, she placed her hands in her lap and waited with her eyes closed.
She felt a light tugging on the veil. The breeze from the window brushed her cheeks as the material was lifted. Maria couldn't help but screw up her eyes even tighter, wrinkling her nose, flinching away from whatever expression Aliona had on her face. The girl laid the veil over the back of her head.
"You can open your eyes if you want. I don't mind."
Maria tried her best to relax her face. When she first let her eyelids lift, she kept her gaze on the floor. Everything was brighter without the veil, and it felt rude enough to look up at Aliona's shining, white face without first being invited. Then a feeling flushed through her, a feeling she hadn't felt in a few years. It was the feeling she got when she stood before an enemy, when she was faced with death and would welcome it with swords in hand. Flashing her eyes up to meet Aliona's with a hard stare, she breathed in deeply. The girl drew back.
"I'm sorry," Maria shook off the feeling, suddenly afraid she might have frightened the child. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to look at you like that. I just had to force myself…"
"No, it's okay. I know it's hard. I suppose we Elites haven't treated you particularly well."
"Don't go saying things like that. Someone might hear you."
Aliona smiled, shaking her head. "You're eyes…"
"Hideous, aren't they?" Maria closed them quickly.
"No! No, I've just never seen eyes that colour."
"It's not uncommon," Maria said, opening them up so that Aliona could get a better look. "I suppose you don't see many faces of the People."
"Actually, yours is the first. And if I may say, I don't see anything wrong with it. You look just like an Elite."
"If you may? You're starting to sound like one of the People!"
Instead of responding, Aliona took Maria's left hand from her lap. "You aren't married?"
Maria's heart gave a painful squeeze, her mind on the ring strung on the cord under her dress. Forcing the words out hurt, because she knew that they weren't a lie. "I almost was, a couple of years ago."
"What happened? Did something happen to them?"
"I lost him. We were from two different worlds. It seems stupid now, thinking that we could ever have been together." Maria knew she would regret her next words, but it seemed like it was time to stop lingering in the past, and she hoped that this could buy her a happier future. "But I've moved on. I need to get married, and soon, otherwise I'll be alone forever."
Aliona's face lit up, for she didn't know of Maria's true pain. "There is a boy of sixteen who works in the kitchens. We can go and meet him after dinner if you like. Or if you prefer, there is the woman who delivers our flowers twice a week, and I don't think she's that much older than you."
"That would be nice. Thank you very much for doing this. And, if you don't mind, I would like to cover my face again."
"Yes, of course. I'm going to go down to the dining room, so I'll meet you back up here in a couple of hours."
"Alright. Have a lovely time, my Lady." Maria slipped right back into her place as the veil fell, and she was faceless once more. A few moments after Aliona had left the room, she got up and made her way down the hall to the servants' bathroom.
Wanting to look her best for her potential suitors, she decided to run herself a bath. Leaving the taps running, she removed the veil and her long-sleeved overdress and hung them up on the back of the door. The underdress, made of a shiny, blue material, was more like something she would wear in the town and back at the orphanage. It was lighter and far more comfortable. But looking like she did, the Elites wanted to cover as much of her up as possible.
Maria walked over to the mirror, pulling out the black cord with the ring and the Firesong emblem on it. Holding them in her fist, the way she had when she had returned to the Island, she stared at her own reflection. "I'm sorry. I waited. But I know you wouldn't want me to go on being unhappy."
But before she could take it off, something touched her feet.
Twisting in alarm, she saw that the bath was overflowing. Maria was positive that she hadn't left the taps on long enough to fill even half of the bath, and yet water was gushing onto the bathroom floor. She groped at the taps, turning them as far as she could in each direction, but the water just kept coming. Sloshing through the now ankle-deep water, Maria wrenched the door handle, her feet slipping from underneath her and she landed on her back. Her dress and hair quickly became soaked, weighing her down. She managed to pull herself into a sitting position, slightly winded, and tried again to open the door. The water was rising at an increasing rate, slamming violently into the wall.
The water spilling from the bath was now far colder and sparkled a bright white on the surface. Maria was almost certain of where the water would take her; the place it always had. The sad thing was that she hoped that she was wrong. And she could no longer fight back. The water clung to her dress, so that, even when she hauled herself to her feet, there was no way that she could wade over to the window in time.
As the water rose to her knees, Maria wondered how long it have been this time. Perhaps, in her resistance, a couple of days had passed. She took one last agonizing yank at the door handle, only now finding her voice to cry out for help. For a moment, she didn't care if the damages cost her the job. She couldn't go back. She wouldn't go back. Not after all she had suffered, and what suffering she would face once she arrived. After all, what was her use in Narnia if there was no war?
As the water reached her waist, she thought it seemed to not only be rooting her to the spot, but was dragging her down by her heavy clothes.
As the water covered her chest, she couldn't stand the wait any longer. Taking a huge breath, Maria ducked below the surface. She closed her eyes and clamped her hands over her mouth. Her hair lifted with the choppy current of the water, swirling around her head and tickling her neck and shoulders. Bubbles blew out of her nose at the sensation, losing her valuable air.
Within seconds Maria had almost run out of breath. She opened her eyes and, with her remaining strength, kicked off the floor, hoping that the ceiling was gone. The white light had gotten brighter and, when she finally broke through the surface of the water, she found herself a little way out from a beach, the sea calm, the sun blazing. Glancing up at the cliffs by the shore, Maria frowned, squinting a little in the sudden brightness. Instead of the great castle of Cair Paravel that she expected, she saw ruins. Exactly how long had she been gone?
Kicking hard to keep her dress from dragging her down again, she swam ashore. As the water become shallower, and she was able to stand up, she waded onto the sand. Her bare feet sunk into it, making her lose her balance and she almost fell on her face. Rolling onto her back, she lay still for a long time, until her breathing slowed.
Why did Narnia need her now? The eternal winter hadn't returned. Was there something more that she had to learn? Perhaps it was something to do with the ruins of the castle up on the cliff.
Getting to her feet, Maria picked up the front of her skirts and followed the path that led from the beach up to where Cair Paravel once stood. In the heat of the sun, her dress soon dried and resumed its usual light, floaty state, and she could brush the sand from her skin. Maria wasn't sure what she would find when she reached the ruins, but it wouldn't be good. Narnia held an eerie silence, suffering a different sort of sickness. A fever, suffocating anything that felt remotely familiar.