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Chapter 7
Everyone looks around, staring at everyone else and showing surprising self-control for the situation. Instead of rushing the Witch and chopping her head off with an ax, our army just kind of stands there, murmuring amongst themselves and making way for her carriage, as if she really is the queen she claims to be. Some of the fauns clench their fists and centaurs grasp their weapons tight, but no one makes a move towards the woman who caused a hundred years of misery.
They just stare at her, going with the whole "if looks could kill" thing.
No one seems too worried about me, either, but I guess I don't care. It's not like I could explain anything to anyone anyway.
My throat is too choked with fear.
I guess Edmund notices, because he puts a hand on my shoulder, whispering, "It's going to be all right, Zaylie. Aslan will take care of us."
But what about what I saw? And the horror and the pain that followed it?
I don't know how I know and I don't know why I've been cursed with the knowledge, but I am absolutely positive that the situation is far, far worse than it appears, and that everything may not be "all right" after all.
The White Witch barely gives the rest of us a glance; her eyes are all for the Great Lion as her cyclops servants lower her carriage from their shoulders to the ground. Rising slowly, she pulls herself up to a grand height of nearly seven feet and looks the Lion square in the eye. "You have a traitor in your midst, Aslan."
I know everyone's eyes flick over to Edmund, and I know he knows it too, when his fingers brush his not-quite-healed bruise and his eyes glare at the ground. Slipping my hand into his, I force an encouraging smile, reminding him that no one blames him for his mistakes. He does smile back, but still, the guilt is written all over his face.
"His offense was not against you, Witch," Aslan says calmly, though there's a hint of annoyance in his voice. "And here, he has been forgiven."
"Be that as it may," the queen intones. "But have you forgotten the ancient rules on which Narnia was built?"
Aslan growls, annoyance turning to anger. "Do not cite the Deep Magic to me, Witch. I was there when it was written."
Though she's been rebuked, Jadis looks pleased, and a half-smile drapes itself across her pale lips. "Then you'll remember well that every traitor belongs to me. His blood is my property."
Peter steps forward, and the shriek of a sword sliding from a scabbard resonates in the quiet. "Try and take him then."
The minotaur takes a step as well, as if to defend his queen, but the Witch just rolls her eyes and laughs, a sound like funeral bells ringing. "Do you really think that you and your pitiful sword will deny me my right, little king?"
Peter doesn't stand down, but she turns away anyway, looking back to Aslan. "The Lion knows that, unless I have blood as the law demands, all of Narnia will be overturned and perish in fire and water." She turns a slow circle, staring each of the Pevensies in the eyes before pointing straight at Edmund's heart. "That boy will die on the stone table, as... is... tradition." She lowers her finger, looking back to Aslan. "You dare not refuse me." She says it so slowly, so simply, but beneath the nonchalance is an anger hot enough and fierce enough to burn us all to bits.
She scares me, but at the same time, I'm infuriated. How dare she walk into our camp and threaten us? I clench my free fist. I'd love to hit her one good, just to show her who's boss.
Then again, she probably is the boss. After all, her magic is far greater than whatever's inside of me.
And anyway, Aslan has a plan. Didn't He say so in my vision?
I squeeze Edmund's hand harder, trying to reassure him - and myself. But the fear in his eyes is clear, too clear to be taken away by a simple handhold.
"Enough." Aslan turns towards His tent. "I will speak with you now." The Witch holds her head high, striding inside behind the great Lion.
I hope He rips her to itty bitty bits and pieces.
The rest of us stare at each other, unsure of what to say or do. Our army turns inward, away from the Witch's, and they keep murmuring, keep casting these looks in the Pevensies' and my direction. Admittedly, they're not bad looks, not hurtful or accusatory. Their faces are more sad, their eyes reflecting a sort of helpless dread.
Like the Witch may actually have the power to take their king away from them.
At some point in the agonizing wait, the five of us get tired of standing and drift to sitting on the ground. Still, we don't talk.
I'm beginning to think I'll scream if someone doesn't say something, when finally, Edmund opens his mouth. "I did the wrong thing," he says slowly, dragging the words out as if he has to taste them for decency before letting them into the world. "I have to go to save Narnia."
Peter looks straight at his brother, fire in his blue eyes. "That is not an option."
"But Pete, you heard what she said! And Aslan didn't deny it, so it's got to be true. I made the wrong choice, Peter. Me!" Edmund stabs at his own heart with a pale index finger. "I have to pay the price, not the whole of Narnia."
Peter shakes his head again. "No. Aslan will find a way out for us. And I'm not letting her take you. Not ever." His eyes are firm, though a quivering sadness hides underneath. "I lost you to her once, Ed. I won't do it again."
Edmund stares back at his brother, his expression not changing from a steely resolve that seems far past his age. "All right," he says, settling down a little bit. "If Aslan comes up with a solution, then of course I won't go. But if not... I'm not letting Narnia perish just for me, Pete."
Peter looks as if he'd like to argue more, but Susan shakes her head and wraps her arms around Edmund, letting her lips touch the top of his hair. "Let's not think about it right now, all right?"
No one replies, and Edmund doesn't pull away. But we all know that soon, very soon, we'll have no choice but to think about it. A horrible choice will be staring all five of us in the face.
And there will be nowhere to run.
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