A/N: Sorry for the long wait. I'm having a problem writing Edmund's story so I decided on Peter first.

Chapter Eight

The Galley Slave

He had lost track of the days. Here in this prison that had almost no light, it was impossible to count. Everyday was the same. The cold, the hunger, the exhaustion, the insults, the stench, and the never-ending lilting of the ship as it moved forward into unknown seas.

The cruel brutality of it all shocked him. He may not remember who he was but he knew he had never been treated this way. He was never forced to eat food that was barely fit for humans. He had never been made to work tirelessly while his feet were in shackles. And certainly he had never been mocked so harshly in his life. Surely, if he did encounter such things before, he would find it easier to bear. But no, each hour, each minute dragged on like an endless nightmare that began when he felt that blade on his throat that must have pierced and torn off the memory of who he was.

When he awoke in this wretched place, he knew immediately he was in the lower deck of a ship. The salty air and the movement gave away that much, as well as the shape of the bare room he was in. Several hours later the man whose hand he cut off came in. He thought he would certainly be killed, but the man who he later learned was named Antinous only came to insult and lay a few blows to him. None of them were fatal, for as Antinous pointed out, he was worth nothing dead. Antinous kept calling him "Emperor Gale" and when he was satisfied with beating him up, he tossed him the wooden sword he remembered carrying before:

"Here's your little toy, your highness!" he said before leaving him alone to moan his wounds. He held on to the sword as if it was a precious object and spent hours caressing the engraving until he had memorized every curve of those four letters.

"Gale," he whispered to himself. Even though every time Antinous called him that it was only to insult him, he found the name appealing. It had a noble ring to it and he decided that until he knew his real name, he would take the name as his own. He tried to recall anything and came up with quite a lot of things, but nothing about his own personal circumstances. He knew this was the Eastern Ocean, he even remembered that he was in the city of the Narrowhaven in the Lone Islands before he was captured. He knew his geography and he could even draw a map in his head. But when he tried to remember a name he knew, a face, nothing came to mind. Well, nothing except one—Aslan.

The Great Lion. He knew it as if it was by instinct. He had a memory clear as day of meeting this wonderful king face to face and he knew that he owed something to him, though the details would not surface in his mind.

It was here in his moment of despair that he called out to Aslan. He prayed solemnly and somehow the cold, his hunger and the pain of his wounds seemed to ease. Later one of the men tossed him stale bread and a cup of water. That was the only meal he had for what seemed like two days. The food came more regularly after that, but the quality didn't improve and it was usually accompanied by insults. The reason for the food rations was not out of compassion, but because of the new arrivals.

Twenty-three men were pushed inside the cell with him—all of them obviously slaves who were captured like him by these filthy band of thieves. He tried to talk to them but it appeared that they didn't speak the same language as he. Or if they did, they simply didn't want to talk to strangers, particularly one whose face they couldn't even see in this dim light.

The next day, Antinous ordered them out of their cell and they were brought to a higher part of the ship where they were made to sit on rough wooden benches, four to a row. Then their feet were shackled together with chains.

Here, there was more light and he could finally glimpse the faces of his companions. They were a mixture of races and of various ages, but somehow they all looked the same. He realized it was the expression of hopelessness that made them similar. He wondered dreadfully if he would one day look just like that.

He was shackled next to a dark young man with long black hair, a little older than himself. He appeared to be just as dirty as the others, but there was something different about him. There was a defiant gleam in his eyes that revealed his spirit was still unbroken.

Their smug-looking supervisor ordered them to row. It was terrible, terrible experience. The heat competed with the pain that his limbs endured as he put all his strength on the heavy oars. Some of the men collapsed eventually after what seemed like hours and it was only the providence of fair wind that met the ship that saved them from rowing on.

He said a silent prayer to Aslan while at the same time he heard a whisper next to him:

"Tash, the inexorable, I thank you for preserving my strength."

He met the Calormene's eye in an effort to strike a conversation, but the darker man simply looked away in an off-hand, seemingly haughty manner.

The chain that bound them was removed but the shackles on their ankles were retained. They were returned to their cell and given a bit more water and food. Again, he knew this was not an act of kindness but a need to keep them alive until they reach their destination—the slave market.

The days that followed were all the same. They were forced to row whenever fair wind could not be had—which was not often. However, this also meant a smaller food and water ration.

None of the slaves would still talk to him and he gave up trying. But he felt something akin to a connection with the young Calormene. They never spoke a word but they always sat next to each other in their cell and whenever they were sent to row. They could always tell how to coordinate their movements so they could perform their task more effectively. He spent most of his time in prayer to Aslan and he could often hear almost a similar whispered supplication to Tash from the Calormene next to him.

There however, came a day when he had reached the end of his despair. His breakfast was a summon to row. As always, he was shackled with four other men and ordered to work. He sensed the crew who supervised them were a bit apprehensive. They were fidgety and were whispering importantly.

"Faster! Faster!" came the order with a crack of the whip.

He forced himself to do so and saw his Calormene seatmate adjusted as he did.

"Faster! Faster!" the order came even more frantically, though he hardly noticed it. He was far too busy putting everything his muscles could give. He was weakening for he had nothing to eat or drink since the night before and it wasn't much.

"Faster! Put it all, we have to go faster!" He noted the desperation in that order, but he had little time to think for the two other men he shared the oar with the Calormene had collapsed. That was something unfortunate. With two less to row, it left him and the Calormene to compensate. Yet, the supervisor didn't let up and the order to go faster went on. He cracked his whip across the two who had fallen but they were unable to pick up.

The ship gave a sudden lurch and all the slaves and even the supervisor was thrown to a side. It was a painful thing for the heavy chains cut through their skin at the impact. The supervisor was up in a moment and he cracked his whip again and ordered them to return to their places.

"Ignore it! Row! Row faster!"

He could no longer think. The pain of his bloodied feet and his screaming tired muscles was too much. His shaking arms let go of the oar and he slumped down into the hard floor. His felt his torso suddenly pulled up and he saw the face of the Calormene.

"Get up and row!" It was the first time he heard the Calormene speak out loud. His voice held a mix of authority and worried urgency. The Calormene placed his hands on the oar then pulled on it to urge him.

He tried to follow, but he simply didn't have the strength.

"Row!" the Carlormene cried desperately. "Row before—"

"Crack!"

The pain of the whip on his back caused him to shudder but he could do no more than cringe at the pain.

"Crack!"

The second whip came as no surprise but it stung him just the same.

"Crack! Crack! Crack!"

He wanted it all to end. He felt complete misery and loneliness, thinking how he had been reduced to the plight of a dog.

No, that's not right, he thought. A nagging memory of a dog came to his head and he found the metaphor to be quite wrong. He remembered dogs were treated better than this.

Where are you Aslan? How I need you now! If it is in your power, end my suffering, take my life now, please!

He didn't know when he began to see it. It might have appeared instantaneously and he was slow to react or it could have been appearing little by little, he couldn't tell. He was so weak by now that he doubted even his sense of sight. But it was there: a brilliant golden light that shone in front of him that was gradually morphing into something that he recognized as a lion. For a time, he thought maybe it was just a hallucination. If it was, he wished it wouldn't end, for the sight was soothing to him who had been in the dark so long.

"My son!" the Lion spoke. It was the most beautiful voice he had heard and it seemed like he could feel no pain or hunger or cold.

"Aslan…"

"Do not despair, trust in me, your deliverance will be at hand."

"But who am I? Why am I here? And why do I not have any memories?"

"Your memories have been erased temporarily for a reason. For you have a task set for you and there is much for you to learn. Do not spend time trying to know your old life, but learn what you can of this life."

He felt a surge of disappointment that he would not know of his past. "But where do I begin? How?" he asked.

"Trust your instincts and have faith. I am always with you." Then he felt the Lion's breath and all at once he felt renewed strength come with him. But at the same time the light was fading and the image of the lion disappeared.

He shut his eyes as if to recall the image back and slowly sleep took him.

He awoke to sharp pain all over his body. It was only a dream, he thought. I am back in the slave ship still alive—still in misery.

But then the sound of a soft calming voice caught his attention. It wasn't Aslan—for it didn't have the same melodious tones, but it was someone kind.

"This one's still alive. He looks young," he heard the voice said. "Can't be more than sixteen, poor boy." He felt something wet at his lips and he realized it was water. Cool, sweet refreshing water. He thirstily drank until the cup that held it was empty.

His feet felt cold and he realized his feet were submerged in water. He felt something hard strike at the chain in his feet and he cried out in pain. Strong but gentle hands however, steadied him.

"It's alright, we just need to get the chains out. It will be over soon. Hurry! Hurry before the ship fills!"

The striking went on, and he felt pain at each one. But then he felt the chains give way and he felt so much better. Another cup of water was held to his lips and he drank until it was empty. It was only then that he managed to look up and met the dark eyes of this kind stranger.

"What's your name, lad?"

"Gale," he whispered.

"Count yourself fortunate, Gale," said the man. "You will live yet. Come quickly, can you walk?"

He found that he could stand up with a bit of assistance, though walking was a more difficult task, especially with sea water filling up the floor. But his rescuer was patient with him and let him lean on him and even half-carried him up the stairs towards the top deck.

When he finally came out into the open deck, he found the sun hurt his eyes. But the open air revived him and he gulped it down as if his life depended on it.

"That's it lad. Deep breaths. You can never have enough of it." His rescuer was an aged man, probably in his fifties, sixty perhaps. His hair was dirty grey and his face was wrinkled. But
Gale likened him to a kind old father—a thought that was quite comforting. The man led Gale to lean at a wooden cask and when he finally calmed down enough and his eyes adjusted he finally took on everything.

The slave ship was quite large but very dirty and it had no banner at all. That wasn't surprising as pirate slave traders usually didn't have one. The ship was lilting to one side and he knew immediately that it was close to sinking. They had get off it soon!

All around him, a few of his fellow slaves were being brought up. He saw his Calormene companion among them. He was able to walk by himself though he too looked as weak as he did. The poop deck was littered with bodies of men, most of them unmoving, some moaning in pain. He knew then a fierce fight had gone on here. Some of the men he recognized as among those of the crew of the slave traders were tied and were forced into a kneeling position. Gale looked away. He hadn't the strength to contemplate what would happen to the slavers.

He turned instead to a more delightful sight. There across the starboard side was a smaller ship whose sails seemed to be in need of repair and its planks and mast were weather-worn. Yet, somehow he thought it looked more inviting than the one he was in. At its fore was the figure of a lady in a flowing dress of white with her long hair painted black that hung behind her. An image flashed into his mind of a beautiful girl in white with kindhearted deep blue eyes. However, it disappeared as quickly as it came and he was back to staring at the ship. He read the name on its side: Suzannah. He rather liked the name.

His rescuer came up behind him and offered his arm. "Come now lad, we need to get off the boat before she goes down." Gale took it and let himself be led up the gangplank to transfer to the smaller ship. He collapsed on the deck and breathed deeply again. His rescuer went back to help the other men transfer the rest of the slaves until finally they pulled the gangplank away and let the ships drift apart. He noticed that there were still men onboard the slave ship. He recognized Antinous as among them. The pirate captain appeared to be looking at his direction, but he didn't know if he could really see him.

Gale watched as the slave ship began to sink, aft side first. Its fore finally rose in the air before it bobbled down into the water with the rest of its body. He wasn't sorry for the cruel man and his crew left onboard. In a few minutes there was nothing left but barrels and planks of wood floating in the reddish purple waters that reflected the sunset sky.

Gale's rescuer knelt down beside him, bearing a metal spike and hammer. Wordlessly, he aimed the pick towards his feet and for a moment Gale was frightened.

"Do not be afraid, I just need to remove the shackles."

Gale nodded and braced himself. The pain was enough to make him scream. The four other slaves that were rescued with him were certainly doing that as their own shackles were being broken. But Gale put up a brave face, bit his tongue and endured it without a sound. He noticed his Calormene companion also accepted his liberation from the metal shackles with quiet dignity.

When it was over, he could see the blood oozing on his raw ankles, but it was just so relieving to be free again. Someone brought down a basin of water and a piece of rag. His rescuer began to sponge his legs as gently as he could, then addressed to his wounds on his back.

"Must have been some beating you had, lad," his rescuer laid him down on the deck and bid him to rest. Gale gave him a grateful look. He knew he could trust this man and for a while he let himself sleep.