The Coils of the Serpent


For every kind of beasts, and of birds, and of serpents, and of things in the sea, is tamed, and hath been tamed of mankind: But the tongue can no man tame; it is an unruly evil, full of deadly poison.

~ James 3:7 – 8


It was not long after the taking of Drachenberg that Lucy, Eustace and half the army, with General Calhoun and his regiment, departed for Cair Paravel. They left Martin behind with the other half of the army to see that the terms of surrender were properly carried out.

"It will be good to get back again," Lucy said, stroking Ashquar's neck "I feel quite properly tired out."

Eva laughed and half-halted her horse, "I have a feeling in my bones that there's more excitement yet to come."

"I certainly hope not," Eustace said, "I have a recipe growing on me that is just asking to be made."

"Oh, what is it?" Lucy asked.

"You'll find out, if it works," Eustace said, grinning, then changed the subject, "I was thinking of a way we could keep the squirrels from throwing all the castle nuts at each other-"

Just then an eagle dropped out of the sky and circled Lucy. Then rushed back up into the sky and was gone.

"I wonder what that was about?" Lucy asked, "He might have stuck around."

"That particular kind is trained not to," Eustace said, "Peter calls them reconnaissance birds. They're trained to get in and get out as fast as they can with their information."

"But milord Paladin would never send one out," Lucy said, then brightened up, "Edmund and Susan must be back! I wonder what's been happening. Why, Peter might even be back!"

It took careful persuasion from Eustace and Eva to keep her from urging Ashquar to a gallop and nearly killing him again to see whether her brothers and sister were or were not at Cair Paravel.

"We'll find out in due time," Eustace had said grabbing her horse's bridle, "We'll arrive tomorrow afternoon, I promise."


The stream ran on, gurgling on its path.

As they came out of the woods, Peter had everyone mount the horses and they continued at a canter, hooves splashing mead. The hill sloped down and the stream led to a road, lined on both sides by marble statues, towering into the blue sky like colossi. Great statues they were, depicting gods and goddesses, some with bows, or drawn swords, others flanked by deer, or bears.

They came to the brow of the hill and Peter pulled up his horse.

Before them lay a great palace, massive, beautiful; symmetric wings spreading on both sides into wide geometric gardens. Windows – there had to have been hundreds of them – lined the front, twinkling at them like crystal. A huge artificial lake lay in front of it and the stream skirted this, leading down the drive. As they approached, the palace only grew huger and they realized that no man ever built such a thing. Only giants had made this place.

They continued down the drive, feeling, under the gaze of the marble statues, that they were only about a foot high. The gardens flanked them, alive with blooming things and meandering bushes that formed some sort of giant maze. To the right, Peter saw a huge birdbath, about the size of a baptismal font. Suddenly drawn to it, he pulled up Mystic and looked into the depths of the pool. He started to see the spreading branches of an oak reflected in the silver surface.

"Hermit," he said with half a bow, seeing the old man's imagine rippling in the pool.

"I forgot part of my instructions," the Hermit said with a smile, "I apologize. Don't look in her eyes when she turns into a gorgon," Then the Hermit started, looking up, "And my visitors are arriving, I must go. Aslan's blessings."

And Peter found himself staring into the depths of a birdbath again. He turned Mystic's head and urged him after the others. They were at the front steps now, each at least three feet high; leading up to the great double doors. One was half open and beneath it ran the stream of mead.

"I suppose we go up there, then," Peter said, looking up.

"Leave the horses here?" Glumkin asked.

"No," Peter said, "We'll bring them with us. We might have to outrun a giant."

With some effort, the horses scaled the steps, one bound at a time, like hurdles at an Olympic race. Then they went through the door. Mirrors, gold leaf, a parquet floor met them; the walls inlaid with amber and a painted ceiling so high it seemed like a great vaulted cavern. The stream of mead flowed on, a trickle of gold on a golden floor. Light slanted from towering windows as they stared up at giant paintings, even larger than the giants had been in life. The horses' hooves rang, but even this sound was swallowed up by the immense space of empty air that surrounded them.

"I suppose the giants who built this place also built that bridge we crossed," Peter remarked. "If we are, indeed, still in Ettinsmoor."

"Seems plausible," Glumkin said.

"But where is everybody? Not," Xenon added quickly, "that I'm too keen on running into someone a couple times my height and then some."

The hall they passed through seemed to be a mile long, though it really wasn't quite that large. Presently, they came to another door and Peter, standing on Mystic's back, lifted the latch, dropping down as the door swung open. An even larger hall than the last met them and Peter was startled to see his own reflection, warped and golden, in the rim of a giant beaten bowl lying tipped on the floor, quite empty but for the last few drops of mead that had made the stream they had followed so far.

But Xenon and Glumkin were not looking at the bowl. The horses snorted as Peter looked up and saw a monstrous table the size of a small house. The builders of that great place were there, heads resting on the cloth.

"Are they asleep?" Xenon asked quietly as the giants, two score or more, lay slumped across the table, their heads in their arms.

"Perhaps," Peter said. He nudged Mystic forward and stood on the saddle, reaching up to pull himself onto the table top. A plate the size of his bed met him and he stepped around it, pausing to feel the giant pulse of the nearest hand. A strong smell filled the air and it only took him a moment to realize what was wrong.

"They're drunk," he said to Glumkin and Xenon where they stood, looking so small on the floor. "It was the mead."

"I'm coming up," Xenon said, and a moment later, both he and Glumkin stood next to Peter on the table, looking around tall wine glasses and goblets, all but empty. The table led on like a highway to the other end of the room, a monotony of sparkling wine glasses, half empty plates and snoozing giants.

"This must be the king," Peter said suddenly, poking his foot at a great hand that lay clutched on the cloth. The owner's head was half in his plate and a heavy gold crown with gems the size of Peter's fist and larger glittering in the sunlight that streamed through the towering windows.

"Though under earth, and throneless now I be; Yet while I lived all earth was under me."

A soft voice spoke, a voice like wind in the leaves in summer, and Peter looked up to see Kloris walking gingerly around the napkin rings, the brilliant green brocade of her skirt in her hand. She was beautiful, beautiful with her red gold hair lit by the sun and her green eyes, seeking his.

"Those are the words," she said softly as she came to stand next to him, "that he will order carved over his grave."

"Madam," Peter said, bowing to her, "We came here searching for our companion, Baeth. Will you lead us to him?"

"Gladly," she said with laughter that lit her face. "Come."

"I thought," she said as they walked, "that you would like to see your future opponents. These giants are not the witless fools you have in Narnia. They are intelligent, fierce and ruthless. You will find them stern enemies."

"They intend to invade Narnia, then?" Peter asked quietly.

"How else will yonder king find all earth under him, may I ask?" Kloris asked, her voice sweet. "Of course they will invade Narnia and overrun it." her eyes danced with fun as she turned to him, "You may be magnificent among your own people, but here you are of no more regard than a forgotten shrimp or an overdone potato."

Kloris took his hands and looked up into his face, her eyes full of expression. How like Eva she was. "Do reconsider."

"Reconsider?" He asked shortly, looking away.

"Marry me?"

He felt a cold hand turn his face back.

"Never madam," his said quietly.

"I hold all the cards, sir," Kloris said, "does his life mean nothing to you?"

And with a sweep of her hand, she revealed something that shined like the moon in a cloudless sky. It sat in the middle of the table on an emptily platter, so bright Peter could barely see that it was a chair, curiously wrought. A dark form was slumped on it and a cold hand gripped at Peter's heart.

"By the Lion," Xenon whispered. "It is Baeth."

"His life is at stake," Kloris said softly, "Narnia is at stake."

"Release him," Peter said.

"On my terms," Kloris said sweetly.

"Release him," Peter said, "the last thing I want to do is hurt you, madam, but it is still on the list."

"I will not release him," Kloris said, "until you accept my terms."

"If I accepted your terms both Baeth and Narnia would be doomed." Peter said, his voice even. "I will never accept your terms. Now turn him loose, madam!"

Peter's voice thundered, ringing off the glassware that lined the table and Kloris recoiled, fear suddenly showing in her big green eyes. She seemed almost to grow larger and with surprising force, she struck him in the face, "How dare you!" she hissed.

She was growing larger and Peter saw that her hair was writhing on her head, whipping like serpents. Her arms grew longer, her face vanished and the writhing serpents grew larger, sprouting from her shoulders. A heavy tail whipped around, crashing into Peter and sweeping him off his feet. With a shout, Xenon drew his sword and charged her. Her claws stretched out to grasp him and Peter's warning shout came too late.

"Don't look into her eyes!"

But it was already done and Peter stared in horror as Xenon froze and his color drained as the sword toppled from his grasp. He was under her spell. Peter bounded to his feet, Rhindon leaping to his hand like a live thing. He could see Kloris, the hydra, in every polished goblet and curving bowl. She was coming for him, her reflection horribly distorted. Now he had to fight his every instinct and strike where his senses told him she was not. The reflections were opposite the reality. Like lighting, he made his first blow and he heard the horrible screech as it met the gleaming scales that covered her green body.

Breathing hard, he dashed behind a goblet, almost upsetting it. Frantically, he slid his shield off his back onto his arm and looked into the mirror-like surface in the back of it – with that, he could see her. The goblet tipped over with a clang and in the back of his shield he saw her coming. He swung to meet her blow, but he wasn't quick enough and her claws sliced through his mail like knifes through silk. He stared numbly as his blood spread in the snow white cloth of the table. There was no pain, it would come later.

Her many eyes flashed green in the burnished surface of the shield and he whirled, Rhindon twisting, an extension of his arm. He felt his blow meet her as the Bism steel sliced through one of her necks as if it were butter. The serpent head flopped to the table, spilling green. One down, he thought grimly, a thousand more to go.

On he fought, his eyes riveted on the reflection that rippled in his shield. He parried and slashed and more of her heads rained down to lay littered among the plates on the table. He grew more daring, dashing from goblet to goblet, as if he were in a forest, dashing between the trees. There was Xenon, still frozen; there was Baeth on that silver chair, slumped there as if dead.

Quickly, he glanced at Baeth again and saw that he was bound in the chair by silver bonds. "Glumkin!" he called frantically, "can you set him free?"

"I'm coming!" Glumkin's voice seemed to come from a long way away as Peter lunged again at the hydra as she closed in on him, heads swimming in the silver of the shield.

The hydra's heavy tail whipped around, sweeping goblets before it. Peter dove as one rolled over his back and toppled off the edge of the table to crash to the floor. He rolled to his feet, then gasped and staggered as the tail struck him full in the chest. He raised his sword one last time and drove it deep into the scaly hide, glittering like green obsidian.

The next moment the world turned upside down. Peter fell in an agony of pain, his sword sliding out of his grasp across the table. A goblet swayed and fell and there was a flash of bright blue.


A/N: I'll be the first to admit that this chapter was remarkably corny...there, I said it. :)

~Psyche

A/N:

Hannah Skipper, I'm glad you are enjoying this!

The kelpies are from Celtic folklore and, in this specific instance; we are mixing in some horses from the Iliad. The chapter title, 'Gemini,' is from the twin constellation.

~Rose