Ch 10: A Wiser Being Than I
Long after Edmund had fallen into slumber—curse him, how could he sleep so easily?—Asha remained awake. She'd tried all the things he probably expected of her—smashing the chain with a stone, wetting her hand with spittle to relieve it of the manacle—and nothing worked. She'd have considered using his own sword to attack him, but he'd wisely removed any weaponry from his person before lying down. If she meant to attack him now, she'd have to resort to her own strength to do it. And against him, broad—shouldered and well—muscled, with battle experience, she knew she wouldn't fare well.
The manacle bit into her wrist, chafing her skin. She squirmed, desperate to get the thing off. Ed's arm twitched when she tugged on the chain. She froze, fearing he'd wake, but he simply rolled onto his back and went on sleeping. Grumbling, she picked up the stone she'd tried using to smash the chain. She had half a mind to hit him with it.
But he'd let her sleep near the trees, as she'd wanted.
She stared at his sleep—calm face. His features had lost any trace of his usual sternness. What sort of dreams did a king have, when he already had everything? Riches, land, family. Gold held no great lure for her, nor for any of her kind—but land. Land would always be meaningful. As would family.
Edmund had family. Would his sisters cry inconsolably when they lost Peter and Edmund to a giant attack?
Of course they would.
Pummeled with guilt, Asha renewed her struggle against the manacle.
"Be still, daughter of the forest," called a deep voice. The sound struck a chord within Asha that hadn't been plucked in years. She remembered being very small and watching her father, her tall, proud father, as he trained for battle. She remembered pride and awe and a sense of things out there in the world, much greater than she knew. The voice echoed among the trees, which wriggled as though they were dogs being stroked by a loving owner.
And she went still.
"Who are you?" she called. "Where are you?"
"I am he whose claws and teeth smote the witch who would be queen," said the voice. Into the clearing walked a great Lion. Moonlight shone on his fur and regal mane. His tail lashed back and forth. Even in the darkness, his eyes were sun—bright. "I am Aslan, King of the Kings of Narnia and the son of the Emperor—beyond—the—sea."
The very weight of that voice bent Asha to one knee. "Are you—Are you here to punish me?" she asked, looking at the grass instead of him.
"No, forest—child. You have done that well enough."
"The king, then. You want to speak to him?"
Aslan—Great spirits of the wood, she could hardly even form his name in her head—walked toward Edmund's prone body. His whiskers bristled in the moonlight in what Asha swore was a smile. He opened his mouth, revealing dagger teeth, and breathed across Edmund's face.
The fringe on Ed's forehead fluttered. He murmured something in his sleep and rolled onto his side. His face, solemn before, was now positively serene. Asha watched in fascination, but then the Lion turned to her, and she froze like a spooked rabbit.
"I have spoken all to Edmund that he need hear during his time in Narnia," said the Lion. Asha wondered at his choice of words, but Aslan neared her, and it took every last bit of her resolve not to cower. "My words are for you, Asha Faywater."
"Yes?" she prompted in a very small voice. The grass at her feet absorbed all her attention.
"Look at me, Keeper of Trees, for I know what you are."
Asha lifted her gaze. She didn't even question how he knew she was a dryad.
The Lion opened his great toothy mouth and breathed on her as well. It was warm and sweet, as of a summer wind carrying the scent of cherry blossoms. Whole forests of them bloomed back home in Selbaran, and she imagined dancing in it, helping the trees grow wild and strong. She remembered how good life had been before the war, when her parents were alive.
"The dryads of Selbaran are unlike those here," said the Lion. "You are able to stray from the forests you love. Do you not miss your home?"
"Yes," she said, "but—"
"Your errand has taken you on a dangerous path that leads only to despair," Aslan said. "You are meant for a greater task."
"Me?" What could be greater than justice for her parents' death?
"There is no better aim than that of peace," said Aslan, "and you are meant to help the king win it. And when his task is done, and Narnia has lived the full summer of his reign, you will see him home."
"Home?" She felt impossibly stupid, echoing everything the Lion said. What could he mean? She stole a look at Ed's sleeping form.
"The kings and queens of Narnia were not born to this land. They have lives to lead elsewhere, and one day they must return to them, for their wisdom will be needed greatly. Never let them know it, child of the forest. Never let them learn that you will be the guide to send them back when the time is right."
"I don't understand, As—Aslan."
Instead of answering further, the Lion turned away. "Remember," he said, and vanished into the trees.