Chapter 13: Edmund
Like other crimes, maleficia must be proved with two witnesses or a confession. Yet witchcraft is an invisible crime; its operations occur far from villages, in the dead of night, and through the operations of spirits that can melt into the air. An inquisitor must therefore abandon witnesses and place his trust in confessions. We shall now enumerate several methods of persuasion that do not leave obvious wounds, but which nevertheless produce the desired effects...
-- From the Sigerite manuscript Directorium Inquisitorum
Fyren's men panted behind me. Steam formed from their breaths, but it was the sound that worried me. Even in the moonlight, no one could see the wisps of steam. After a few days in Narnia, you learn just how dark a world without electricity can get. Witches don't dance under Zardeenah's Moon because they like the atmosphere. Moonless nights need too many torches, and torches bring visitors.
Like us.
We'd been climbing Felimath's Great Crag for an hour, and hadn't lost anyone yet. That was no mean accomplishment. We'd discovered broken bodies at the Crag's base, which meant that a few of our opponents had slipped on moss or slush. Once in a while, I heard a stifled cry when someone's numb fingers missed a handhold. And the rocks cut. Most of us were bleeding. I remembered the days on Earth when I'd complained during a hike up the local hill. Somehow, though, the contrast didn't seem funny.
Jadis floated alongside me, wearing her perpetual smirk.
"Almost there," Fyren whispered.
And we were. I heard ululating cries that reminded me of Algerian women in a newsreel I'd seen once. I checked for the tenth time to make sure I'd blackened my sword enough that it wouldn't reflect any light. Good. One of the men tossed something over the cliff. When I didn't hear an impact, I exhaled.
"Pickled sheep's foot," Jadis said. "He's been nibbling on it for half an hour, in case you wondered."
I didn't. An animal bellowed a short distance ahead.
"Swords out," Fyren said. "They're sacrificing the bull."
A figure stood at the summit, and the fire at the Crag's center painted her orange and black. Three arrows and a knife caught her before she could cry out, and the body tumbled as soundlessly as the sheep's foot had done. We filed behind the rocks.
As soon as I peeked over a boulder, I realized that I had been wrong. The orange glow hadn't come from a central fire, but a thousand candle wicks that hovered a yard above the ground. The mist around them reflected the moonlight, so that the entire scene reminded me of lightning bugs flying through foxfire. The bull was already dead. Its carcass rested on an altar.
Pale bodies danced between the lights. They clasped hands in a long chain and threaded their way way around the wicks without touching them. Snakelike, almost.
Fyren pointed.
"Behind the altar," he said.
That's when I saw the dog. Large. Bear-sized. Worshipers clustered around him and performed rituals that I won't describe in detail.
"Tash," Fyren said.
I nodded and mumbled something like "yeah". Jadis's breathing quickened behind me. I wondered why I'd noticed, and explained it to myself as another symptom of the hypersensitivity that always comes before violence.
Five...
Bows bent. Arrows notched. Swords out.
Four...
Arms rose and fell in unison. The dance continued. A fleshy woman hammered a drum.
Three...
A goat bleated. The second sacrifice. Shadows passed over the dog's face. His fur gave off an oily shine in the firelight.
Two...
A woman held something white and polished over her head. I squinted. Jadis sneered.
"A child's bone," she said.
One...
"Peasant magic," she continued. "They substitute sacrifices for skill. Pathetic. I wouldn--"
"Now!" I shouted.
Twenty men rose and fired their first volley into the crowd. Screams of pain and surprise. The dog rose on his hind legs and growled at me, while all around us, the candle wicks vanished as if someone had turned a switch.
"Torches!" Fyren yelled.
Ten globs of pitch and straw burned to life. Their flickering caught our enemies halfway through their transformations. Men stared at us through cats' eyes. Women bared fangs at us that stretched past their chins. We fired two more volleys, and heard half-animal howls in response. The survivors fled to the far side of the Crag and leaped off. Their bodies shrunk. Their arms thinned and hardened as gossamer wings sprouted from their backs. Within a few moments, a swarm of flies had buzzed out of Fyren's reach.
...But not mine. Tash's servants lived far away from Narnia and its Talking Beasts. The night had always sheltered their activities from human eyes, but they had forgotten that Narnian kings employed servants who could spot their gatherings better than any human.
I can't tell you what happened next, because I was too far away to see the battle or hear the squeaks and fluttering of wings. All I can report was the aftermath, when Percival DeWinter alighted on my shoulder with a full belly.
"All dead?" Fyren said.
Percy shrugged his wings and flashed Fyren a smile. A thicket of white needles.
"Most of them," he said. "My bats'll take care of the rest."
Fyren frowned.
"Most of them?" he said.
Percy preened his chest and claws. He replied in that precise, overly enunciated tone that he saved for correcting young bats during their first flight.
"That was the first part of my statement, Majesty. However, I should like to draw your attention to my subsequent clarification, where I made it clear that the--ahem--remainder will be dealt with in due time."
I should add that Percy had kept me updated on Fyren's interrogations. He'd assumed the responsibility because, as he put it, "It would not bode well for morale if my subordinates observed the activities of our--hem--allies."
Fortunately, Fyren hadn't lived in Narnia long enough to learn animal expressions. Bats--Percy included--usually do not bare their teeth.
"Permission to continue the hunt, Majesty?" Percy said.
I granted it. As Percy flew off, Fyren stepped over the pincushioned bodies and passed the torch over each of them in turn. He peered into each face as if he was looking for something, and then his muscles would relax again.
"Looking for somebody?" I said.
Fyren wheeled around.
"What?" he said.
"What are you doing?"
His fingers stiffened around the torch.
"I...I'm counting the dead," he said. "Seventy-one so far."
"It can wait until morning," I said. "The bats haven't come back yet, remember?"
He seemed to consider this for a moment, and then nodded.
"King Edmund, you're...er...interested in old things?" he said.
"Eh?"
Fyren nodded toward a clay pit. A few of his men were sitting on its edge, feet dangling. Beyond them, I could see the outlines of a cistern.
"From the ancient days," Fyren said. "When Felimath's people still hunted unicorns and sold their horns to the Calormenes, my ancestors used this place for ceremonies to Tash. Rituals like this one. Made the sheep grow fat and the fish breed."
Fyren shrugged.
"...So they thought, anyway," he said.
I watched the flame dance at the end of his arm for a while longer. It was better than seeing the half-human bodies all around us, at any rate. More nightmares tonight...
He turned to go.
"Fyren?" I said.
"Yes?"
"We got most of them tonight."
"I suppose," he said.
"Your witch-hunt isn't necessary anymore," I said. "You'd just kill more innocent people."
Fyren shrugged his broad shoulders.
"We'll see," he said.
When Fyren had wandered off, I lay down and huddled into a ball against the cold. Jadis sat beside me.
"It becomes easier, you know..." she said.
I almost laughed, but nobody would have heard me anyway. Like me, most of Fyren's men had curled up and were pretending to sleep while their fellows stood guard. The triumph of optimism over experience. My hands were still shaking.
"Easier?" I said. "How can this possibly get easier?"
Jadis shrugged and traced spirals in the dirt.
"You learn to feel less," she said.
I didn't reply.
"Edmund?"
"What?"
"Fyren won't stop the trials," she said. "Your little expedition tonight didn't change anything."
"Shut up," I muttered.
I'd said it in a bleary mumble, as if I could convince myself that I was half asleep. It didn't work. I could hear the smile in Jadis's voice.
"Did you ever watch Sigerites at work?" she said. "Fascinating, really. They can do marvelous things with water and a few ropes. Especially water..."
"Please shut up," I said.
"You can stop him," she said. "Just ask me. Nicely, of course."
I turned over and opened my eyes. Jadis wore a red brooch whose facets reflected my face back at me.
"No," I said. "There'd be civil war--"
She laughed.
"Who said anything about killing him?" she said. "I'm just offering you information, little king."
I rolled my eyes and turned away. The mud was cold, and it smeared onto the back of my shirt.
"Not interested," I said.
"It will work," she said. "I swear it on the Deep Magic."
Information. Not a spell. And lots of people saved. Alarm bells went off in my head immediately. It was too textbook, like the plot of one of the fairy stories my parents had read to me when I was young. The evil gnome or wizard would always ask for such a little thing...
...Narnia, though, was never a fairy tale. Innocent people died.
"What do you want in return?" I said.
Jadis licked her lips and smiled.
"Well?" I snapped.
"Two hours in your memories," she said. "I'll even stay out of places where you don't want me."
"It'll stop the trials?" I said.
"Guaranteed."
"And it's not magic?" I said.
"A political move," she said. "Nothing more."
I opened my mouth to voice another objection, but Jadis cut me off with a raised hand.
"I'll only collect my price after you've followed my advice," she said. "If you listen to my idea and choose not to use it, the deal's off with...ah...what's the phrase your people use? 'With no hard feelings'."
I remembered the first witch I'd seen burned. It had happened in Archenland during a diplomatic mission when I was eleven. I'd wondered at first whether she was innocent or guilty.
A real witch? I'd thought. Like in the history books?
Yes, as it turned out; just like the history books. The bloody, violent, plague-filled history books. As I'd watched her walk to the stake--head shaved, crying, praying--I'd stopped wondering whether she was a "real" witch or not.
"Let's hear your idea," I said.
And Jadis told me.