A/N: Since I've started school up again, I won't be able to post as frequently. I'll still try to post once every other week at the very least. I hope y'all enjoy this episode! Part Two of this scene will hopefully not be long in following. :) Stay tuned! ;)
UPDATE: THANK YOU to the reader who pointed out that I used "Edward" where it should be "Edmund." That's what I get for writing late at night :P It's fixed now. Sorry!
I stand in the tunnels of the How, gazing at the images carved and painted along the smooth rock surfaces. These are pictures of times I have heard and read of often before, in secret lessons with my tutor, and yet I have never fully grasped the reality of them. Not until Susan and her family stood before me in the woods did I truly realize that these are more than stories or history lessons. They are real, living, breathing people. And they are here to fight with me.
Worry seeps through the corners of my mind as I stare at the picture of the Pevensies' coronation. Susan's faceless figure stands beside her throne. That kiss, merely hours ago, broken by Edmund's calling for me from the mouth of the How... I long to speak with her again, but I have not seen her since that moment. Preparations for battle have prevented me from sharing with her what I discovered sometime between the attack on the castle and our kiss: I love her. I could not bear to lose her if the next battle goes so terribly.
Last time the Pevensies were in Narnia, they fought with Aslan by their side. Our first battle against the small number of troops at the palace lost us so many lives and gained us nothing. I nearly lost her then. How can we hope to win against the entire Telmarine army without the great lion?
"Are you so glad of that magic horn now, boy?" Nikabrik startles me and I turn to face him. "Your kings and queens have failed us. Your army's half dead. And those that aren't, will be soon enough."
What is his aim in this conversation? "What do you want? Congratulations?" It takes a great amount of control not to sneer or spit at him as I speak. Why does he come to gloat over our failures - my failures? And he claims to be on our side.
A slow, sickening smile stretches over his scraggly gray beard. "You want your uncle's blood. So do we."
I stare at him. We?
He speaks each word with purpose and clarity. "You want your uncle's throne. We can get it for you." With another smile, he passes in front of me. I turn to watch him walk down the tunnel. What is he suggesting? Is there something I have overlooked that might win this war - that will keep Susan and her family safe? I give the picture on the wall a final glance before following the dwarf.
I catch up to him, and we walk along the carved walls of the center of the How, Aslan's tomb. He explains as we walk. "You tried one ancient power. It failed."
I glance up at the image of Aslan. Has he truly left us?
"But there is a power greater still. One that kept even Aslan at bay for near a hundred years." We stand in front of Aslan's image and he stares down the main tunnel ahead. A low noise like a rumbling growl begins to echo through the How, and I draw my sword. I hurry down the steps to Aslan's carving.
"Who's there?" I demand.
A rasping sound fills the tomb. The voice scratches over my soul like a palace spoon scraping against a porcelain dish. "I am hunger." A small, cloaked figure, hidden under the black cloak save for the snout of a strange, brown-furred animal, steps forward around the Stone Table. I reign in every ounce of temperance to keep myself from jumping back from the repulsive creature. "I am thirst." I notice movement in the shadows behind the Stone Table and glance in that direction, but the hunched figure moving slowly towards me seems to call for my attention at the moment. "I can fast a hundred years... and not die."
The figure on the opposite side of the Stone Table walks towards me as well. I can see that it is short, hunched over, and hidden under a black cloak as well, but the face is visible. The skin is wrinkled, shining with moisture, and pinkish. A tiny, shining black beak takes the place of a mouth and nose. A shudder dances down my spine at the sight of her. The first, bearish-like figure continues speaking as they both advance.
"I can lie a hundred nights on the ice... and not freeze. I can drink a river of blood... and not burst. Show... me... your enemies!" He tears off the hood to reveal a long, narrow face that does resemble a bear and lunges at me. I hold my sword before me and jump back, no longer able to remain still.
The bird-like figure removes her hood more slowly and begins to speak with a rasping feminine voice. "What you hate, so will we." She has scraggly black hair slicked back over the top of her head; her speech and movements are more gentle and smooth than the bear's. She glances at him with the next sentence. "No one hates better than us."
I stare at her. It's true; Aslan has left us. With only a tiny, amateur army to back me up and an entire country's troops to face, I have no other options. I must protect my people and the Pevensies. I must defeat my uncle and keep Susan safe. While the bear-creature is not one I could speak with without revulsion, this bird-woman seems a bit more sensible. I lower my sword, but do not sheath it yet. "And you can... guarantee Miraz's death?"
"And more." She bows. I slide my sword into its sheath. Perhaps we can win this war. I glance at the bear and the bird-woman, then back at Nikabrik. He smiles that sickening grin again and nods, then looks at the bird-woman. She turns to the bear. "Let the circle be drawn!"
The bear reaches down and begins to scratch a large circle into the dirt with one black claw. She paces around the circle, chanting with a strange rhythm in foreign words. Her voice grows louder as the chant progresses. The words are both enchanting and eery; I feel drawn to them and warned away in the same moment. The bear draws the circle around me, growling as he passes in front of me. I turn to watch as he completes the circle. Nikabrik is now standing behind me with the bear, and the bird woman stands in front of me, between myself and the carving of Aslan. From someplace in her cloak, she draws a long staff, with silver scrollwork along the sides and pointed, carved ice at the tips. Waving the staff before me, she completes the chant, then with a foreign cry she drives the staff into the stone steps in front of us.
Ice races over the stone steps and up the sides of the arch, creating a solid ice wall in the archway. The bird-woman steps back behind me and I watch the strange phenomenon, accompanied by an odd crackling sound. What magic is this, so unlike Aslan's? A chill comes over me as the ice emanates cold. Then a familiar face appears in the ice, smiling down at me.
No.