The Few


We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;

For he to-day that sheds his blood with me

Shall be my brother

~ William Shakespeare


Treve didn't really leave.

He only slunk into some dense bushing and lay there watching as the Centaurs and Hawks stood on the ledge and discussed what they were going to do. He intended to go with them, of course. He knew they'd send him back if they saw him, but he was determined that they wouldn't…maybe he would even save their lives and be a hero! After all no one had said he couldn't go with them.

Hours passed and he dozed, half awake, as only a fox can, watching through slitted eyes, his paws twitching in excitement.

There was a hint of light in the sky in the east and as it grew and the edge of the sun burned beyond the sea, Elah, Jafa and Ergo took off, circled and disappeared into the sky.

~o*o~

Lucy woke.

She was lying on a low bed, buried in blankets and furs and deliciously warm. She was in a largish, round room, hollowed out of the hillside, the massive roots of an ancient tree forming the beams of the ceiling and curving around the walls. Golden light flickered across the ceiling as the logs crackled and fell on a great hearth. There was a low murmur of voices behind her.

"Susan?" she called, "Peter? Edmund?"

"We're here," Susan's voice was comfortingly near and Lucy sat up to see Peter and Edmund sitting on stools by the fire, their hands around mugs of coffee. They were playing chess on one of the largest board Lucy had ever seen; the chess pieces were obviously hand carved, each different then the last with funny expressions and all carved like bears.

Shard lay on his side by the fire, his coat washed with golden light and the great, comforting form of Bruinhild cast a great shadow on the other side of the room.

"Where are we? What's happened?"

"You must have been very tired," Susan said, kneeling down next to Lucy's bed, "You fell asleep on Bruinhild's back and Peter had to carry you the rest of the way. You never woke."

"Where are we?" Lucy asked again, sitting up slowly.

"In Bruinhild's den. We heard the bay of wolves again on the way here and a very friendly person came and covered our tracks all the way."

"Who is she?" Lucy asked.

Susan leaned close; "she's a skunk," she whispered.

They sat there on Lucy's bed, watching the others. There were a great deal of different sorts of people all around, talking in their own special way. Lucy felt that she could never grow tired of looking at them all. The main chamber of Bruinhild's den was very large, but it seemed rather small with all the company she had.

"Isn't it nice?" Susan asked quietly. "They all came to say hello. Bruinhild isn't happy, because she says the less people who know about us the better. But just look at them all! Moles, rabbits, badgers, foxes! It's simply amazing to be so close to them."

The animals didn't say a great deal to the children, they only looked at them with bright, eager eyes the way drowning men look at water. Lined up on a curving root, a choir of sparrows sang a traditional Narnian folk song, flapping their wings to the beat.

While Lucy ate a breakfast of dried fruit and bread spread over liberally with butter and golden honey, an aging faun with a gray beard came forward and offered to give Peter and Edmund a short lesson in swordsmanship.

All the animals squeezed themselves around the sidelines to make room and under his direction Peter and Edmund learned the basic parry positions and a few tricks with thrusts.

"You have a fine sword," the faun said partway through, and Peter stopped to let his eyes run down the length of his blade.

"It is a dark one." He replied.

"But a beautiful one, nonetheless; it is its very starkness that makes it beautiful. The lines are clean and true and it has no adornment to weigh you down. It is light as a feather and swift as the wind in winter."

"Father Christmas said it had a hidden light," Peter said. "I haven't seen it yet."

"Perhaps in looking for it you will find out something about yourself," the faun replied, "Now, back to what we were doing."

The others watched eagerly as they practiced. Practice was a hard thing, it required patience and patience was a virtue of which neither Peter nor Edmund had a large supply. The faun chided them when they went on too fast.

"The key to swordsmanship is to learn the moves so thoroughly you can do them in your sleep," the faun explained, letting the point of the poker with which he had been demonstrating, touch the ground, "Parrying will become a reaction, leaving your mind free to plan your attack. You've had a good start; I only hope you will continue."

He came to Edmund and touched him on the shoulder, "Though your brother is taller and stronger and seems to have a gift for swordsmanship, you also have a gift; because you are left handed you will always take your enemies by surprise."

"Thank you for all you've done," Peter said seriously, then turned to the others, "We should probably be leaving as soon as possible. We haven't any time to waste. The longer we are here, the harder it will be for us to get out."

"I'm so tired," Lucy complained.

"At least you slept all night," Edmund said, with a grin as he came over to tousle her golden hair. "I agree with Peter."

"Of course," Susan said, "I just wish it wasn't so cold."

"It will warm up once we start walking," Peter said and laughed as Lucy made a face.

~o*o~

Their bodyguard had increased since leaving the Beaver's little house on the dam. They were now accompanied by a rather frightening white Wolf, two fierce looking Squirrels and a massive Bear.

The faun, the only of Bruinhild's guests who had known anything about the martial arts, had offered to accompany them as well, but Bruinhild had vetoed this idea.

"Your heart is still strong, but your body is old and will slow us down."

In the end he had stayed, but all the animals stood and watched them leave, in their hearts cheering for the humans that they now looked on as liberators.

"They're going to come back and set us free," Peter had overheard one mole maid tell her little brother.

The words had had a strange effect on him.

Up until now, his only thought was to reach a place of safety; but now he began to think of what would come after. These creatures really believed that they were going to come back and save them and unconsciously, Peter began to believe himself that they would. There was such a look of hope in their eyes that in his heart he could not bear to let them down.

All around them Narnia spread out, vast and beautiful. Each cascading hill dazzled them with the early morning sunlight flashing off their icy tops and in the distance the mountains between Archenland and Narnia rose, a foreboding range.

Lucy was the only one of the four that was really happy. She sat perched high on Bruinhild's back, like a little red cardinal in her winter coat. The cold wind blew over the ice and the happy sound of her laughter lit the sky in a way it had not been lit for a hundred years.

Edmund walked beside Peter, subconsciously trying to match his brother's stride, Shard caught his eye and Edmund almost thought the wolf smiled.

After about three hours of walking they came to a frozen river and passed over it. The land changed and became hillier and there was a scattering of ice-covered trees that thickened into woods. They had been walking so long now that it almost seemed natural to swing the next leg forward; but they were desperately weary.

Oakheart cheered them up by saying that they had walked a long ways since they left the beavers' house.

"Of course," he added a bit glumly. "There are twenty miles more to go before we reached the foothills."

To keep them company, Twang talked; an exercise he seemed to have no trouble executing.

"Narnia is a small land," he announced to his silent audience. "It's about two hundred miles along the sea coast from the boarder of Archenland to the boarder of Ettinsmoor. No one really knows how big Ettinsmoor is, but it adds at least another hundred miles to the length of Narnia. The other way, it's a hundred and fifty miles from Cair Paravel to the boarder of Telmar. We've started our journey from near the middle of the southern half of Narnia."

Trees were far more interesting then fields of snow, though the going was harder because there was no ice crust under the sheltering branches of the trees, but here at least, they could watch the fat little chickadees flutter through the branches, calling loudly to one another. They saw chipmunks dashing light-footed between tree branches, their stripes melding with the shadows and once, they saw the dim outline of a deer, stepping soundlessly between the rough-hewn trunks that stood mightily around them.

Edmund walked ahead of the others, his eyes on the virgin snow. The trees wore white cloaks where the snow had been driven into their bark in the last snowfall and dancing all across the forest floor, Edmund saw the tiny footprints of little animals, all different and all wonderful. There were the long, padded leaps of squirrels; the sharp, careful marks of deer; the great, bounding hops of rabbits; and the teensy, tiny, twittering feet of mice. Once, he knelt down to trace the little unshod hooves of a moor pony and the soft, careful tracks of a fox.

There was no wind, but the trees seemed to rustle and sigh on their own.

"They were awake once," Twang said, gesturing to the trees, "all of them, except the ones that are on the Witch's side, are asleep."

"The trees are alive?" Lucy gasped, "How wonderful!"

Edmund looked with new respect at the trees, staring up into their great, silent branches, frozen in the sunlight.

They came out onto a field again and with a burning flash the sun came out from behind a cloud and seemed to be sowing the earth with diamonds, how beautifully the snow flashed. Now a dead world seemed to be alive.

"Look!" Edmund said suddenly pointing at the great blue sky, "There's a hawk!"

"Hawks in Narnia?" Twang searched the sky, puzzled, "are you sure they aren't vultures?"

"No," Edmund said, "they're hawks. The wings are tapered and they're too big to be anything else."

"But there aren't any hawks in Narnia!" Twang exclaimed, slightly miffed.

"He's right," Oakheart said, pointing as he saw one, a dark spec, banking above them, "they're hawks!"

~o*o~

The day passed and evening came, sweeping his cloak over them, to smother them in darkness.

"We'll have to stop soon, won't we?" Susan asked at last, stumbling along next to Peter. He glanced at her and realized as he walked that he could no longer make out her face. The glittering crystals of moonlight seemed all around them, sparkling like tiny lights, only to be winked out again the moment one drew near them. They were like will o' the wisps, drawing them ever onward with a shimmering path of white light in the darkness.

"Yes," Oakheart said. "We'll have to stop soon… but tomorrow! Tomorrow we will reach Archenland."

"Where do we stop?"Bruinhild asked. "I know many bears in these parts who would welcome us."

"Just beyond the Tanglewood lives a wise old faun who is the one of the last links of the chain. If we can only reach him we will have done well," Oakheart said.

They trudged on; cold had become part of them. Very feel people realize just what cold is. It is dry and hard; crackling in the pith of the trees and burning raw skin like fire. It is a life taker; sucking the warmth from the living the way a vampire sucks blood. It is a gentle caresser; its numbing touch reaching the very heart and wringing it dry.

In the darkness, they heard an explosion, cracking through the silence like a thunderbolt. Lucy jumped and screamed, nearly falling off Bruinhild's back, "What was that?!"

"A tree just froze," Oakheart replied calmly. "If it gets cold enough their branches often burst when their sap freezes."

"I will be perfectly happy never to see snow again," Peter said with a laugh.

"I'll be perfectly happy never to be cold again," Edmund muttered.

"Cold? Who's cold?" Peter asked, cuffing him on the shoulder.

The stars were looking down at them, glimmering between the branches of the trees as they went. They could look up and see them and wonder about the people who saw them miles and miles away in very different places.

"Well, there's Archenland," Oakheart had said when asked about other countries than Narnia. "And Calormen to the south. It's a hot land, deserty, no trees," he shivered. "Imagine life without trees…"

"Telmar lies on the western border," Twang took up where his cousin left off. "And then there's Cathay, which is a land of pagodas and silk and lotus flowers. And then there's Ruska, I've never seen it, but I've heard that they have buildings that look like giant confections, all painted with dots and spirals."

"It sounds nice," Lucy said sleepily from her high perch on Bruinhild's back. "Tell me about the stars again."

So Bruinhild told about the stars.

"There's the Lion and the Ship," she said, her great, low voice murmuring through the silent wood. "This is the winter sky, but in the summer you can see the Twins frolicking in the courtyard of the Castle-"

"The wolves are on our trail again," Shard said suddenly, his voice sharp. "I recognize Fenris' scent."

They all stopped and looked back into the tall shadows of the woods, fear blowing low and chilling everything in its path as they turned.

"The wind has just shifted," Shard said, his voice quiet, smothered by the darkness that crouched around them. "They'll be catching our scent next."

"What should we do?" Susan asked and hated how her voice shook.

"Keep moving," Bruinhild said, swinging around and breaking into a slow lope.

They followed after her, moving at a dog trot, they gasped for breath and could taste blood in their throats as the cold bit them. Out of the muffling darkness, the first long, haunting, heart-broken wail rose and moaned like wind on ice.

"Sometimes they can cover ground faster than a horse," Shard said as he swung along easily next to them. "Nothing holds them back."

Peter listened and ran and felt Susan's hand reaching out to catch his, cold as ice and shaking…but it was his hand shaking. The moaning followed them, a chorus rising and falling, twining in the trees. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw flickering, dark forms racing soft-footed through the trees, one with the shadows.

"They've caught up with us!" Edmund gasped.

"They've been waiting for darkness!" Shard replied.

No one else said anything. There was nothing to say; they could only see those flickering shapes just out of the corner of their eyes, shadow on shadow, keeping pace as they ran. There was moonlight ahead and quite suddenly, the travelers burst into a wide clearing, strangely level, the snow spreading out like a calm sea of silver.

"Dancing Lawn!" Oakheart exclaimed.

"We should stop here," Shard said swinging around, panting, drops of spit hanging diamond like from his flapping tongue. "Stop here and face them. You can't outrun them."

"He's right," Twang said. "Our only hope is to meet them in battle."

They all turned and stood in a little group in the middle of the clearing, watching the line of dark trees opposite. The wolves had stopped, just in the gloom of the forest, but they were silent now, hovering ghostlike and dark.

They could only see their eyes, bits of moonlight floating in the darkness, drifting like a sea of sinister stars.

Slowly, Peter unsheathed his sword and held it ready, looking into the blade. The moon touched the blood channel with cold fire, seeming to drip from the blade like silver blood, but even in the full blaze of the moon, the steel was dark as the night. He looked at it long and hard, his heart puzzled, will you ever show me your light?

He glanced at Edmund and saw that he had also drawn his sword and was looking at him, his face serious and pinched.

"Ready?" Peter asked quietly, letting his hand fall once on Edmund's shoulder.

"Ready," Edmund replied, smiling, though his heart did not.

There was nothing left to do.


Author's Note: I forgot to mention at the end of the last chapter that the tale that the Bear tells Lucy about tails is not something of my devising, but is a traditional American Indian narrative. Now that is clear. As always, thank you so much for all your comments and questions!

~Psyche

Production Note: Writing was disrupted today when Captain Jack Sparrow appeared unceremoniously on set. It turns out that the maw of the kraken is a portal into Narnia. Some time was spent directing the good captain to the correct pool in the woods between the worlds.

Poll: There is a new one on our profile. Curious to know what you think! Lucy won the last one with Peter and Edmund as runner-ups. ;)