Author's Note: Because I was unable to upload a chapter at a decent hour today, to make up for it, I will be posting two this go-around and then resume the proper one-chapter-per-day posting on July 26th. I apologize for the delay in this chapter.

Disclaimer: I think you all get the picture.


54. Air

Edmund didn't sleep that night. How could he, when he had watched on as fellow slaves unknowingly ate a Talking Animal, his dearest friend at that? He didn't eat, either. He wouldn't eat meat again until he was sure that enough time had passed for Phillip's to spoil. There was simply no way he could stomach it, not that he would ever want to.

The next day, Edmund didn't speak a word to anyone. Few wanted to talk to him in the first place, but Nash, who for some reason had seemed to take a shine to him, tried time and again to get something out of Edmund and began to worry when he failed. Edmund didn't care. How could he? He had sent his friend to his death. He was as much a murderer as Mahir.

The day passed by in a blur. Edmund finished his chores at his regular speed. He suffered heat exhaustion again, but it wasn't too bad. He ate the bread and carrots on his plate but didn't touch the meat. He went to bed, refusing to acknowledge anyone who tried to talk to him. The next day went by in much the same manner, and the next, and the next. Three weeks passed and the only change in the schedule was the amount of time it took for Edmund to get his chores done. With each day that went by without a good supply of protein, Edmund grew weaker. As he grew weaker, he did his chores slower. Daydreams were frequent and hard to snap out of. Beatings were equally as common but much easier to shrug off. The pain would stay with him for days, but he barely noticed it.

As the summer dragged on, the weather got hotter, and as time dragged on, Edmund moved slower. Three weeks to the day since Edmund had last seen Phillip, the weather was hotter than it had ever been and Edmund was moving slower than he ever had. He all but sat in the garden, waiting for the heat to kill him. He sweated as though he was a human water fountain, though at one point the sweating stopped. His heart raced and it became difficult to breathe.

Edmund smiled and lay back, sprawling out on the ground as though he were about to make a snow angel. He watched the sun, or, one of them. He was seeing two, and he kept his eyes focused on the one that made his eyes hurt less. The suns slowly began to circle one another, like two vultures hovering over an animal carcass. Edmund had seen a lot of vultures on his hunts with Peter. Speaking of Peter…

Edmund sat up weakly, looking around the gardens. Only they weren't the gardens he had been tending for the past few weeks. They were the gardens back home, with Peter's baby apple trees and Lucy's vineyards and Susan's tomatoes and Edmund's corn. Peter was just to Edmund's side, sitting down and looking around at the gardens with him. Edmund smirked at his brother. As soon as Peter turned his head and smiled quizzically back, he tackled the High King. The two wrestled for a few minutes before a voice interrupted them.

"Emad? What on earth are you doing?" Edmund and Peter untangled themselves from each other and looked up at Phillip who was standing nearby and looking at them as though they were the craziest humans he had ever met.

"Phillip!" Edmund smiled brightly and ran over to him. "You don't have to call me that anymore, we're safe now. I thought Mahir had killed you?"

"Who's Phillip? Emad, what on earth are you talking about?"

Edmund's smile quickly faded and a frown took its place. "What do you mean 'who's Phillip'? You're Phillip. Are you okay?"

"Emad, it's Nash. Snap out of it." Edmund watched in horror as Phillip changed into a human, and then into Nash, who was violently shaking his shoulders. "Come on, let's get you inside before you die."

Something in Nash's voice told Edmund he wasn't exaggerating in the slightest. He followed the slave weakly, tripping over his own feet and trying to find out where he was being led. Every now and then he would be able to spot something he recognized – a part of the gardens, the front door, the parlor, the stairs – but he couldn't figure out how to put two and two together and realize that he was being led into the bathroom. Before he had time to ask any questions, Nash pushed him into the bath and doused him with a large bucket of cool water that was meant for someone's shower. Edmund sputtered and coughed and wanted to demand answers, but he couldn't remember what words he was supposed to say to do so. He watched as Nash raced down the stairs and waited for him to come back, but he seemed to take forever and Edmund, completely and utterly drained, fell asleep before he returned.

When Edmund awoke, he felt exhausted and stiff. He looked around weakly, taking note of how dark it was. He spotted Nash, fast asleep and leaning against the foot of Edmund's bed. He realized all too quickly what had happened. He had suffered heat stroke. Peter had never been there. Phillip had never been there. The two suns, the gardens, all of it was a hallucination. Poor Nash had had to save his coworker once again, and he looked exhausted from it. Edmund bit his lip lightly, jumping in surprise when Nash's eyes shot open. He sat up weakly, his entire body shaking from the effort, and his friend jumped as well when he saw that Edmund was awake.

"I thought I was going to lose you for a minute there." Nash smiled weakly, the first time Edmund had ever seen him smile.

"Oh…sorry…" Edmund was still too weak to think clearly.

"You had it pretty bad. Who's Phillip, by the way?"

"The Horse I arrived here with." Edmund looked down, biting his lip once again to keep from crying.

"The one that ran off?"

Edmund nodded. "Mahir killed him…"

"Oh…I'm assuming that's why you've been so quiet, then. You two were close, huh?" Once again, Edmund nodded. "Why were you talking to him if he was just a horse?"

"He wasn't just a horse…"

"You mean…do you know what Mahir would have done if he knew Phillip was a Talking Horse? If he is dead, he's better off that way. At least you'll see him again in Aslan's Country. If Mahir had known, he would have sold him in Calormen, more likely than not, and his life there would be nothing short of humiliation at the worst level. Dead or not, now that he's free he's better off, and you'll see him again. Not to worry."

Edmund nodded meekly. "But I miss him…and if he is dead, it's my fault."

"It's not your fault and don't you think that for one moment," The always-angry Nash that Edmund knew, or thought he knew, so well had finally showed up again. "Mahir hated him from the start and probably would have wound up killing him or selling him to a slaughter house eventually. I'm assuming you're the one who set Phillip free. By doing that, you might have saved his life rather than doomed him. We don't know if he's dead or not, and there's a good chance he's not. Mahir is a terrible hunter. It's why he always sends one of us to hunt for him."

Edmund glanced up at Nash. "But…he brought back Phillip's meat…"

"Did you see the body for yourself?"

"Well…no, but…"

"Then you have to assume he's alive and well. If you don't, then Mahir has already won, and I'm sick of him winning. I've seen too many slaves go insane or die at his hand. Don't make me watch another one fall." Edmund blinked, wondering where this sudden support was coming from. "Anyway, you best have something to eat and drink. You're working today, whether you're still on the verge of death or not. You can have my breakfast. I stole some meat from the smoke house while everyone was asleep."

"Thank you…" Edmund stared at Nash, more than a little surprised. "Why are you being so nice to me when everyone else looks scared of me?"

"They're scared of everyone. You live with this family for a few months, you learn to be scared."

"How long have you been here, and you haven't answered my question."

"I've been here for five years, since I was fourteen. I learned to be scared, then I toughened up. The others haven't had a chance to learn how to toughen up yet. And I'm being so nice because you look new to the slave business and I want to show you its plus sides."

"Sides plural?"

"Okay…well…plus side."

"I see. Well…thank you. I really appreciate it."

"Hey Emad, can I ask a question?"

"Sure, go ahead."

"What's your real name?" Edmund hesitated. He wanted Nash to know his real identity, but he couldn't risk Mahir overhearing and killing him.

"Eamon."

"I'm Nath." Nash sighed softly. "I think it's time you got more rest. Enough questions tonight. You have a couple of hours before work in the morning. I suggest you take advantage of them."

With that, Nash faded into darkness. Edmund heard him slip into his own bed. He listened to the darkness, silently writing letters to his siblings. He wondered what they were doing now. Peter had probably stopped looking for him. It had been forty days since Edmund and Phillip had gone missing. If they had wandered off, they would have been found by now. That meant that they had to of been attacked by some unknown enemy, and if remains weren't found after forty days, there was little hope they would ever show up. They were all probably insane with worry or grief. Peter was probably sleeping in Edmund's room rather than his own. Lucy had told Edmund once that, whenever Edmund was gone, Peter always kept his bed warm for him. Edmund wouldn't be surprised if Lucy and Susan were sleeping in there too. He had to wonder if they had held a funeral for him. The thought made him shudder. He didn't want to be able to visit his grave site. He didn't plan on having a headstone with his name on it anytime soon. He was only sixteen.

By the grace of Aslan, Edmund fell asleep before he could think any more of his siblings. He slept well, and come morning he didn't remember any dreams he had had. After Mahir had shaken everyone awake and sent them on their way, after Edmund and Nash had parted ways, and after Edmund was halfway to the barn, he decided he was going to listen to Nash. He wasn't going to let Mahir win. He was going to fight until there was nothing left of him. He wasn't going to give Peter and the others a reason to plant his headstone.

For four weeks, Edmund continued to do his chores in the stables and gardens. He started out doing a better job than he ever had, getting everything done by dusk. For two weeks his performance improved greatly, as did his mood. He was convinced that Peter wouldn't give up. There was no way his brother would forfeit him to Death before he had solid proof. It would probably take him awhile before he thought of the slave trade, and he would probably spend quite some time in Calormen after the idea dawned on him, but Peter wouldn't stop searching. Edmund had to hang on to that.

However, time dragged on, and after fifty four days in captivity, Edmund's spirits began to wane once again. Even though autumn was on its way, the days weren't getting cooler. At least, not noticeably so. A drought had hit the islands, and less water meant more heat exhaustion. Edmund learned ways to keep himself cool during the worst of the afternoon heat, but even the best of tactics could only last for so long. The abuse from Mahir wasn't letting up either. There was a new problem every day that gave Edmund a new black eye or busted lip or broken rib. Once, on the hottest day of the year so far, Edmund accidentally dropped a bucket of water meant for some of the plants. Mahir had seen, and he wound up dislocating Edmund's shoulder.

Finally, exactly 68 days after Edmund had been kidnapped, the weather began to cool. It was time for harvesting, and after that, Edmund's work in the gardens would be over until spring. With so many crops that needed gathering, Edmund was grateful to see that Asha, Mahir's wife, had convinced Mahir to allow several slaves to assist him. Nash, Akmal, Basam, and Calla were recruited. Each slave was given a specific garden to tend to per day, and after three days, every garden was picked clean. Over those days Edmund learned much more about the slaves he was living with.

Basam, whose real name was Balir, was a young man, just three months older than Edmund. He was tall and muscular, "from working with a bunch of hardheaded bulls and the cattle too", as he put it. Despite the fear Mahir had instilled in him, once Edmund got to know him, he really opened up. He had been a farm boy in Archenland, once upon a time, the second of five children. He had had one older brother, two younger brothers and one younger sister, all of whom he spoke of dearly. His mother had passed away giving birth to his sister and Basam seemed to miss her greatly. He wasn't worried, though. His father, he said, was a tough man and knew how to raise his children well. He had been away from home for two years, but he was convinced that one day he would break out of slavery and return home.

Calla, known by that name both at home and under Mahir's rule, was a spunky child. She was eighteen years old and, though extremely jumpy at any loud noise, very talkative. She had been born into the slave business, she said. Her father was a Calormene and her mother was an Archenlander servant in his household. One day, when the Calormene's wife was away, he took advantage of the female slaves in the house. Thus, Calla came about. She said her mother never minded, though. Her mother secretly loved the Calormene, and Calla didn't dislike him either. He was sweet when the wife was home, she insisted, and always made sure his own were well cared for when she wasn't. Calla was sold when she was ten years old, but she heard through the grapevine that, a year after she had left, the Calormene's wife was killed and he took Calla's mother as his new bride. She was happy for them, though she never did see them again. After that, Calla bounced from home to home, never staying for more than a few months. That is, until Mahir bought her. He had owned her for a year and a half, and she hated him. It had taken just two months for him to break her, and though she was beginning to toughen up, she still reacted severely to any sudden movements or noises and she hated feeling weak.

Akmal remained quiet, and Edmund learned through the others that the rest of the slaves, all female, were known by Mahir as Hanah, Jenae, Lamis, and Nasrin. Little was said about them, as it was a general consensus among the slaves that, unless they were present and gave their consent, no one would reveal any information about them. Slavery was a risky business, they said, and you never knew whom you might be trusting valuable information with.

Despite his new friends, Edmund's mental footing began to falter. He grew quieter, thinking more about home and less about the jobs at hand. Once the harvesting had ended, Edmund had been moved from the gardens to the household, though he was still charge over the right corridor of the stables. Hanah, he was told, was the one who worked the left, where the new or sick horses were stabled. She was a sort of miracle worker, they claimed. Horses could have been sick or injured for years, but when she worked with them, they recovered in just a few weeks, sometimes a few days. People would pay Mahir for her services, and she loved her job.

Edmund wasn't sure how he felt about his chores. He liked tending to most of the horses, though the black stallion at the end continued his attempts at murder. None of the stallions were very well tempered, though, so Edmund simply contributed it to testosterone, dominance, and breeding and went on his way. He was glad to be rid of working in the gardens, though working in the house was hard in its own way. Apparently Mahir's wife and daughter had taken a liking to the way he looked, just like Tahj had said long ago. They insisted he work as their server. Nasrin, the youngest of the girls, had been their server over the summer, but when Edmund took over she went on to become the full time nanny for Mahir's daughter Sanaa. In the house, Edmund had several very strict rules to follow that covered everything from what place settings went where and what time to set them to what person got which specific piece of silverware. Any mistakes, and the mistakes were frequent, were met with severe punishment, more often than not a crying Sanaa, and even more punishment after that.

Despite the upsides and downsides to each chore, there was one thing that Edmund hated all around. No matter where he was, Edmund had a hard time breathing. He had spent six years living in sweet, clear, light, cool Narnian air. Now, the air was heavy and hot with dust and weather. It seemed almost thick, as though Edmund could reach out, close his hand, and have a puff of smoke hovering in the palm of his hand. It sounded silly when he thought about it, but the air seemed almost tangible, animated, like it was its own living organism. He hated the air, and he doubted he would ever get used to it, no matter how long he lived a life of slavery in Mahir's household.