Chapter Two: Distant Shores
After hiding in their riverside cave for a short while, to rest and recover, Edmund and Philip set out again, Philip taking care to hide their tracks whenever possible.
"Where, exactly, are we going, again?" Edmund asked.
"We're going to see Aslan," Philip explained patiently.
"Who's he?" Edmund wondered.
"Aslan is the Great Lion of Narnia," Philip told him. "The one, true King, and the one with the power to defeat the White Witch."
"Would you tell me about her?" Edmund asked, after they'd ridden in silence for several long minutes. "The White Witch, I mean."
"One hundred years ago," Philip began, quietly, as they journeyed along the river's edge, "an evil witch named Jadis began terrorizing innocent Narnians. She used her dark magic to turn anyone who opposed her into stone, and she longs to either rule from or destroy Cair Paravel, the Golden Palace.
"She rules from a fortress of ice and stone, between the two peaks, and has declared herself the Queen of Narnia. None dared to stand against her, then, at least, not openly, and so her influence over Narnia grew, unchecked. At the height of her power, the Eternal Winter started. And Narnia has been frozen ever since."
"But why is that changing now?" Edmund asked. "I mean, the river had thawed earlier, but now it's frozen, again. Why is it doing that?"
"The Eternal Winter is worst when the White Witch is strongest," Philip explained. "When it thaws temporarily, like it did, it means that Aslan has gained some small measure of power."
"So, if the river is frozen, now, does that mean that the Witch has gotten stronger?" Edmund hazarded.
"I'm afraid so," Philip said, sadly.
Disconcerted by all that he'd learned, Edmund lapsed into a thoughtful silence - a state he was rarely ever in. Horse and boy rode swiftly and quietly through the too-still woods, Philip keeping a wary eye out for the predators he knew to be stalking them.
"How does a Horse get the name Philip?" Edmund asked, unable to bear the silence any longer.
Philip stopped, craning his neck around to eye Edmund with something akin to annoyance.
"Do you always ask so many questions?" he demanded.
"Only when I'm trying very hard not to be scared," Edmund admitted, sheepishly.
"The White Witch of Narnia wants you dead," Philip muttered. "You'd have to be a fool not to be scared."
He started moving again, and Edmund thought his question would go unanswered. Finally, after nearly five minutes of tense silence, Philip spoke again.
"It's a long story," he said, quietly. "But this is not the time or the place to tell it."
They lapsed into a contemplative silence after that, both lost in their own thoughts. Philip's long strides carried them swiftly over the frozen ground. Then, something flashed in the corner of Edmund's eye, drawing him back to the present day.
"Philip, stop!" he cried.
"What now?" the stallion grumbled, hastily skidding to an abrupt stop as Edmund slid off his back into a snowdrift.
"I saw something over here," Edmund called, jogging back the way they'd come. "It was covered in blood."
"That's a Wolf!" Philip snapped, his eyes wheeling in panic as they approached the bloody, furry mass that lay crumpled on the snow.
"He's hurt," Edmund said, wonderingly, touching the stiff fur with a hesitant hand.
As he made contact, the Wolf stirred, opening a weary, pain-filled eye to look at him. Edmund gasped in shock, but didn't move. After a moment, the Wolf closed his eyes again, with a barely audible sigh.
"He's one of the Secret Police, Edmund," Philip said. "He's better off dead to us."
"He needs our help!" Edmund cried, turning to face Philip. "We can't just leave him here."
"I don't see why not," Philip grumbled. "Edmund, his pack tried to kill you. He'll do the same if he gets the chance."
"We have to take him with us," Edmund insisted, stubbornly, acting on an impulse he couldn't even put a name to.
Philip stared at him for a long moment, and then snorted in disgust.
"Fine," he said, shortly. "Get him up here."
"Why are you giving in so easily?" Edmund asked suspiciously.
"Because I don't want to have to explain to Aslan that I let one of the Sons of the prophecy get himself killed while we were arguing," Philip told him. "Now, hurry, before the Secret Police find us."
Edmund nodded, working his arms under the stiff body of the Wolf, staggering as he tried to stand.
"He's hard to hold onto," he said, grunting with the effort of staying on his feet.
Philip sighed in resignation and lowered himself to his knees to lie on the ground. Edmund half-carried, half-dragged the unconscious Wolf over to the horse and slung him over Philip's back.
"Get on," Philip said, abruptly. "You'll hold him on better if you're on my back, too."
"You'll stand up easier if I'm down here," Edmund protested, with the absolute certainty of someone who knew he was right.
Philip didn't even bother to argue this time; he only snorted again and heaved himself to his feet. Once he'd regained his balance, Edmund scrambled up on his back, wrapping one hand around his mane and the other hand in the Wolf's fur. As soon as he was settled, Philip took off again in his ground-devouring canter. It wasn't too long, though, before he was slowing down again.
"What's wrong?" Edmund asked, looking around nervously.
"Nothing is wrong," Philip said. "We're here."
Edmund's careful study of their surroundings turned from fear to amazement as he truly saw Aslan's camp for the first time. All around them were all manner of creatures, talking, laughing, and working. A pair of young Fox kits scampered in front of Philip's hooves, a Cheetah in playful pursuit, barely causing a disturbance for either party. Off in the distance, two men on horseback practiced sword fighting. Edmund thought it strange that he couldn't see their mounts' heads, but quickly passed it over as he continued to take in the sights.
"This is wonderful," he breathed, and Philip chuckled slightly.
"Yes, it is," he said, warmly. "Heads up, Prince. Oreius is coming."
Edmund looked up sharply, his jaw dropping in shock at the sight that approached him. At first glance, it appeared to be a man on a horse, until it became evident that the horse and man were one.
"What is that?" he asked, his voice emerging in a fearful, and embarrassing, squeak.
"Oreius is a Centaur," Philip explained, "and the general of Aslan's army."
'The fighting men,' Edmund thought, as he spared the scene a fleeting look, now understanding what he was seeing.
"Well, what do we have here?" Oreius asked, his booming voice suddenly very painful to hear.
"Guests," Philip said, succinctly. "Edmund Pevensie, Prince of Narnia, and a Wolf."
Edmund detected a note of disgust in Philip's voice at the word wolf, and Oreius turned expressionless eyes on him.
"He's hurt," Edmund said, weakly, as it occurred to him that his good deed might not have been such a good idea. "He needs help."
"And help he shall get," Oreius declared, summoning another Centaur over to his side. "Take the Wolf to Shanza, for healing."
The Centaur nodded, taking the Wolf's burden as though he weighed nothing.
"As for you, Majesty," Oreius said, turning to Edmund. "I'm to bring you to Aslan."
Without warning, Oreius grabbed Edmund around the waist and lifted him to the ground easily. Edmund swallowed hard as he found himself looking up at the Centaur from the ground instead of the comforting height of Philip's back.
"This way," Oreius said, starting off without giving Edmund a chance to answer.
Edmund shot Philip a helpless look, but the stallion swung his head in the direction Oreius had gone.
"He's not as bad as he seems," Philip assured him, "just a little overwhelming. Go."
Having no other recourse, Edmund resignedly trotted after Oreius, who'd stopped in the path to wait for him.
"General Oreius, sir?" Edmund asked, as he struggled to keep up with the Centaur's much longer stride. "What's Aslan like?"
"He's a Lion," Oreius said, chuckling, a sound that surprised Edmund to no end. "What do you think he's like?"
"Terrifying," Edmund admitted, honestly.
"Well, he can be," Oreius said, "but he's nothing to be afraid of."
'That's easy for you to say,' Edmund thought, eyeing Oreius's gigantic, muscular form.
"You've nothing to fear," Oreius continued. "Aslan would sooner cut off his own mane before he ever hurt a child. Especially one as special as you."
"Sir, why is that?" Edmund asked, seizing the opportunity Oreius had given him. "Philip told me about the prophecy, but Aslan can't really expect me, my brother, and my sisters to stop some evil Witch? Can he?" he pleaded.
"That's for Aslan to tell you," Oreius said, as they stopped in front of a beautifully decorated tent. "Here we are."
The next second, the biggest creature Edmund had ever seen stepped out of the tent. The Lion shook his mane, and Edmund could have sworn he smiled at him.
"Welcome, Edmund Pevensie," Aslan intoned.
"Th-thank you," Edmund stammered, unable to think of anything else to say. Aslan smiled once more.
"Walk with me," he commanded, and Edmund fell into step beside him as naturally as if he'd always done so.
"You are wondering why you are here," Aslan said, and Edmund gaped at him in astonishment.
"Truth be told," Aslan continued, before Edmund could speak, "I find myself wondering the same thing. How did you gain access to Narnia, Edmund?"
And so Edmund found himself telling Aslan all about his nighttime trip for a glass of water that had him hiding in the wardrobe to get away from the Professor's housekeeper, and how he stumbled into Narnia.
"The Professor?" Aslan asked, curiously, when he'd finished.
"Professor Kirke," Edmund answered. "He's supposed to be an old friend of our parents, but none of us have ever even seen him."
"Well," Aslan said, "I'm not sure how you are here. It certainly isn't your time to come."
"Maybe it is," Edmund ventured. "How could I have gotten here, otherwise?"
Aslan stared at him for a long moment, before laughing, a great booming sound that startled Edmund back several paces.
"Very clever," he said. "Very well argued, young Prince."
Edmund took those words as an opportunity, and brought up something that had been bothering him for the past several hours.
"Aslan," he ventured, "Why did you call me Prince?"
"Did Philip not tell you about the prophecy?" Aslan asked.
"Well, yes," Edmund said, "but I didn't really understand it."
"In order to truly defeat the White Witch," Aslan told him, "you and your siblings must become Kings and Queens of Narnia, on the thrones of Cair Paravel."
"King?" Edmund whispered, dazzled at the sudden thought. And then he was hit by the mention his brother and sisters.
"Is something wrong?" Aslan asked, noticing Edmund's expression darken considerably.
"It's just," Edmund ventured, hesitantly, "all my life I've had to share with someone. And this is just another thing I have to share. I just wish I had something for myself, for once."
"A perfectly normal feeling," Aslan said, rather than delivering the lecture on selfishness that Edmund had been expecting. "But, Edmund, you must not let such feelings dictate your behavior. The kindest hearts are those who consider others before themselves."
Edmund nodded slowly. "Where's the Wolf?" he asked, changing the subject.
"He is with Shanza, our Healer," Aslan said.
"Can I see him?" Edmund asked, desperately.
"Of course," Aslan said, turning around. "This way."
He led the way to a smaller tent not too far from his own, and a guard at the entrance snapped to attention upon seeing them. At Aslan's gesture, he drew back the flap, allowing Edmund to duck inside. He blinked slowly to adjust to the tent's darkness, and then saw a small, graceful tree-woman bending over a mass of fur.
Hearing him, the Wolf lifted his head and fixed him with an unblinking gaze. Unafraid, Edmund moved further into the tent. Up close, he saw that the Wolf was barely half grown and clearly starving, his ribs showing painfully even through the thick fur that covered his body. The blood was gone from his coat, but the wounds that marked him were ugly and vicious, making Edmund wince in sympathy.
"You," the Wolf rasped, never looking away from him. "You're the one who rescued me. Why?"
Edmund shrugged helplessly. "I really don't know," he admitted. "But I just couldn't leave you lying there."
"Thank you," the Wolf said. "I owe you my life."
"No, I didn't-" Edmund sputtered. 'I didn't really save him just so that he would feel grateful to me, did I?' he thought, distressed at the very thought.
"Who did this to you?" he asked, changing the subject to something less uncomfortable.
"Maugrim did," the Wolf replied, looking disgusted. "It's my brother's way of keeping weaklings from entering the service of his beloved Queen."
"Your own brother attacked you?" Edmund asked, astonished.
"Yes," the Wolf said. "And, if they find that I have survived, I will be judged worthy of entering her service."
"You see, Sire?" an angry voice demanded, startling the tent's occupants. "The Wolf will return to his own kind and tell the Witch everything. I say we kill him now, before he gets the chance!"
"No!" Edmund cried, drawing all attention to himself. He stormed outside the tent, to confront Aslan and Oreius. "Aslan, you can't kill him."
"Did you not hear him, Majesty?" Oreius demanded. "He means to return to the Witch!"
"Only as a spy in service of those who cared enough to save my life," the Wolf rasped, as he limped out of the tent. He shot Oreius a dark look as he stood protectively beside Edmund.
"Your name, Wolf?" Aslan asked.
"Bertran," the Wolf replied.
"Edmund," Aslan continued, startling him, "do you take Bertran into your service?"
"Me?" Edmund gasped.
"You did save his life," Aslan said, restating Bertran's earlier words.
"Um, okay," Edmund said, feeling slightly ridiculous.
"I give you my vow, Highness," Bertran said, solemnly, "I will serve you, and no other, until my death."
"You understand," Aslan said, saving Edmund from having to try and think of a reply, "the price if the Witch finds out of her betrayal to you?"
"I cannot betray her if I never served her in the first place," Bertran said, simply.
"Then, go," Aslan said. Bertran looked up at Edmund, who nodded hesitantly, before he trotted off through the camp, towards the woods.
"If you will go with Oreius," Aslan said, breaking into his stunned reverie, "he will start your training."
"Training?" Edmund asked. "You mean, I'm staying here?"
"Only until it is time to retrieve your siblings," Aslan told him. With that, he walked away, leaving Edmund standing with Oreius.
"Are you ready, Majesty?" Oreius asked.
Edmund looked out at the camp, at the creatures depending on him to help save their land and their lives. Rather than feel scared, like he expected, he felt filled with a sense of purpose. For the first time in his life, he felt like he belonged.
"Yes," he said, softly, "I'm ready."
XXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXX
The past five years had seen Edmund through many changes, physical and otherwise. He'd grown into a strong, handsome young man, with a deeply ingrained sense of honor, loyalty, and justice. Unfortunately for him, none of that made any difference when he found himself being mocked by his best friend.
"You're slowing down," Philip teased, trotting back to keep pace with Edmund, who was running steadily across the rocky ground.
"Two legs," Edmund retorted shortly, preferring to save his breath for running rather than talking.
Philip just shook his head and slowed down to a walk. Edmund shot him an irritated look.
"Now, that's just insulting," he said. The stallion chuckled but didn't alter his swinging stride.
"Just a hundred yards left," he said, gauging the distance to the rocky outcropping where Oreius awaited them, and Edmund nodded shortly to indicate that he'd heard.
They completed the remaining distance in silence, stopping in unison when they reached the Centaur. Edmund bent double at the waist, breathing deeply.
"Aslan wants to see you," Oreius said without preamble.
"Did he say what about?" Edmund asked, slowly straightening, brushing his long, dark hair away from his face.
"No," Oreius replied. "Just that you needed to be there right away."
"Let's go," Philip said, swinging his head toward his back, indicating that Edmund should get on.
Edmund sprang gracefully onto his back, Philip breaking into a brisk canter as soon as he was settled. A few minutes later, they reached Aslan's camp. Edmund respectfully greeted the various creatures they passed as Philip slowed to a stately walk.
"Morning, Prince," a voice called, from the ground near Philip's hooves. Edmund peered down to see a small red Fox trotting alongside them.
"Morning, Auric," Edmund replied. "How are your kits?"
"Faring well," the Fox replied. "Ah, here you are."
With a brisk nod, the Fox veered away, leaving Edmund and Philip to stand before Aslan's tent. Edmund slid slowly off Philip's back and walked up to the entrance, alone.
"You wanted to see me, Aslan?" Edmund asked, entering the tent and kneeling respectfully before his liege.
"It is time for your brother and sisters to enter Narnia," the Lion told him. "You will go and fetch them."
"How?" Edmund asked, disbelievingly. "I'm five years older than when I left. How am I supposed to explain this to them?"
"Time is relative," Aslan said with a small smile. "When you step through the wardrobe once more, it will be as though no time has passed. No one will ever know you were gone."
"How much time will have passed here in the time it takes me to convince them they need to come with me?" Edmund asked, darkly.
"Time is relative," Aslan repeated, enigmatically. "Everything will work out as it is supposed to. Have faith, Edmund."
"I've gone on nothing but faith since I came here," Edmund muttered, and Aslan chuckled softly.
"Go safely," he said. Edmund nodded quickly before spinning on his heel and exiting the tent.
"Well?" Philip asked, as Edmund rejoined him outside.
"I need to go back to the Lantern Waste," Edmund told him. "It's time to get my siblings."
"Let's go, then," Philip said. At Edmund's incredulous look, he continued.
"Have the last five years taught you nothing?" he snorted. "I'm certainly not going to let you go wandering around the Lantern Waste alone, especially since, knowing you, you're going to be unarmed."
"Well, I certainly can't carry a sword with me back to Professor Kirke's house," Edmund protested.
"Which is why I'm going to be going with you," Philip explained. "The Witch still has a bounty on your head, you know."
"Don't remind me," Edmund muttered, climbing aboard Philip's back.
As they set out toward the Lantern Waste, Edmund couldn't help but think of all that could possibly go wrong to keep them from reaching their destination. The journey of several days passed without any danger, however, and ended all too quickly. All too soon, Philip was stopping by the lit lantern that marked the path to the wardrobe, and Edmund slid reluctantly to the ground.
"I don't want to leave," he admitted, as he looked down the path.
"You'll be back," Philip said, decisively. "You need to do this, Edmund. To save Narnia."
"I know," Edmund said. "I'm going, I'm going."
He started down the path, but shortly stopped and turned to look at the stallion who stood rock still in the Waste, watching him go.
"Watch out for the Pack," Edmund warned him. "Go straight back to Aslan's camp."
"I will be fine," Philip told him, insistently. "Go."
Edmund nodded and started jogging down the path, never looking back. Shortly, he reached the pine trees that marked the entrance to the wardrobe. He conscientiously stamped the snow from his boots before peeling them off and leaving them near the entrance. Stepping onto the wooden floor of the wardrobe, he felt himself slip slightly, and instinctively put his hands out to catch himself. To his shock, his questing hands encountered a rough wooden panel-the back of the wardrobe.
'Aslan didn't warn me about that,' he thought, panicked. 'How am I supposed to get back if the doorway is closed?'
Then, the more rational part of his brain took over, as he realized that the doorway's appearance must be sporadic, rather than it being there always. And it hit Edmund that, for the first time in five years, he was completely alone. He couldn't even rely on his siblings, as they had no idea what he'd gone through. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he stepped through the double doors of the wardrobe.
Moving cautiously so as not to make any noise, he listened intently for any sounds of the Professor's housekeeper as he made his way to the bathroom.
'Mrs. Macready,' he recalled, after a moment. 'Her name is Mrs. Macready, and she's strict, and cruel, and will probably kill me if she catches me out of bed.'
An eager grin split his face. 'I haven't had this much fun in years.'
Slipping silently into the bathroom, he checked his appearance in the mirror to assure himself that he had, indeed, been transformed back to the age he'd been when he left. For a few minutes, he could only stare at his reflection, amazed at how young he looked.
'How young I really am,' he corrected himself, silently. 'They won't know that anything's different, and I'm not sure if I can prove to them that I truly have changed. At least not in time.'
With those thoughts topmost in his mind, he slipped out of the bathroom and down the hall, until he reached the bedroom he shared with Peter. He looked back once more at the darkened hallway, before sliding back into bed and letting sleep overtake him.