Younger: Part IV
"We must live together as brothers or perish together as fools."
~Martin Luther King Jr.
Peter's legs took him west, if he had any sense of direction at the moment. His mind felt stiff, as if it was physically hurting. Peter shivered, the chilly wind piercing his skin like a thousand tiny needles. Just like his brother's words had cut through his heart. Saying goodbye? Peter shook himself. He had been delirious, hardly aware of where he was. It did not mean—
If only Susan and Lucy were here!
But Peter sighed, pulling the hood of his cloak over his head, hoping it would shield from the pattering rain. The droplets felt icy on his bare arms. Of course, he had forgotten to wear his tunic! He was running away. From reality. From the hideous, hideous reality. It was lucky he had seen the cloak when he had. Otherwise, he would have died of the cold hours ago. Had it really been hours? Peter mentally laughed at himself. At his utter foolishness. At the miserable condition he was in. Brought here because he could not handle the truth.
The trees swayed, lashing and dancing in the rushing wind. The wind seemed to sigh, cutting through the tiny droplets of rain, producing a slashing sound. His teeth were chattering, the cold was shaking him. But he urged on. No destination. No definite path. Just run. Run away. He could not face it. He just could not face it.
But it seemed that nature had a different wish. The clouds above boomed. They collided, producing sparks of pure white lightning and ground-shaking thunder. The sky was suddenly a swirling mass of grey shrouds; and the rain poured down without a stop, bringing hail with it. An icy stone hit Peter's head, numbing his skull. He rubbed the back of his head, and glanced around, searching. And without much effort, he found it. A cavern. Just a little way off, right behind the tall oaks.
He hid there, hoping it would guard him against the hailstorm. But the storm brewing wasn't a small one. It could simply rip the small cavern apart, taking him with it. He smacked his head, cursing himself aloud. It seemed he was going to die before his brother. Because of his own weakness. Not strong enough. Vulnerable. So weak. He hadn't even told anyone where he was going! No one would come looking for him. At least not before dawn when the healers would come to check on Edmund.
He wrapped his cloak more securely around himself, curling against the stone wall, digging his knees into his chest. He propped his chin on them, swaying. Weeping. Praying. The dark shadows faded when the thunder growled, and the lightning illuminated the grey ground, reflecting off the pools of silver water, glinting in the corner of his sore eyes. Peter wrapped his arms around his legs, rocking. It all seemed so silly now. He should be with his brother. Holding him as he died. He suppressed a shiver, but the cold running down his spine made him chatter his teeth. He felt his fingers go numb; his feet were asleep, buzzing, prickling.
And then he heard it. The growl. More of a howl. A wolf's howl.
The fell.
Peter actually laughed. It seemed he would not die of hypothermia after all. He hadn't even brought Rhindon with him! An utter fool! He closed his eyes, waiting for the wolves to sense his presence, smell him out. And then tear him to shreds. Finally achieve their long due objective of killing one of the false sovereigns. And who better than the High King himself!
But the wolves never came. Not an hour later. Not when the storm flew away with the winds. Not when it stopped raining. Confused, Peter let his eyes flutter open and gazed around. The moon still stood high in the western sky. It was surely past midnight?
Then an odd smell whiffed in the air. Like wet sand. Pleasant and almost soul-filling. Peter took a deep breath, taking the amazing scent in, savouring it. But then he realised why it smelled odd. His head felt light, mind numbing, all sense fading away, clear thoughts drifting from grasp. Nausea and dizziness hit him like a wave. His head swirled. Walls spinning. Hard to focus. Hard to keep his eyes open. Too heavy. He let them droop. And let his head limp to his side. Let oblivion consume him. But darkness hadn't claimed him fully yet. For he heard two feminine voices.
"It's rather cruel, Lena."
The words echoed off the stone walls.
"You know he likes to have his fun."
"But he would stay like that forever!"
Something touched his cheek. So warm. So gentle. He dissolved in the touch.
"And why him? Why this world?" the same voice continued.
"He says this one's special."
Something cold and metallic touched his lips, staying there. The sharp edge cut his bottom lip, letting him taste the coppery blood. Its taste mingled with another sour liquid. It quenched his thirst. And he drank it all.
"Should take about five minutes to work."
"It's not nice, you know. For him to play with these poor mortals' lives like that, just so he could have something to entertain him."
"Oh, do shut up, Hera! He's saving the other one, isn't he? He was as good as dead if he hadn't blessed him."
"I suppose that was nice of him. Oh! Oh! Look!"
It was such an odd sensation. So unsettling. He was shrinking. Feeling his bones grow smaller and smaller. Even years later, when his siblings would ask him to recount the tale, he would not be able to explain it. For he didn't understand it.
"Oh, my! Look at him! Isn't he just adorable!"
"Shut up, Hera! Come on, quick. We ought to take him back."
Gentle arms picked his limp body from the ground.
"Where's the next stop?" the same voice asked.
"Texas."
"Earth again?! I'm sick of that planet, Hera. Why not Andromeda? That's a brilliant galaxy. So many more wonderful things to see."
"I think we should ask him to raise our pays."
The last thing he remembered hearing was an exasperated huff.
"...and the rest you know," said Edmund, sighing after reciting the long tale again.
"Edmund?" came Peter's small voice from one corner. The six-year-old stood in his nightclothes, clutching to a soft-toy he'd borrowed from a faun girl. He sniffed, rubbing his red nose, and then wiped his watery eyes.
Edmund was immediately on his feet. He ran to his brother, and wrapping an arm around his shoulders, he led him to the armchair beside the window. He sat down and took Peter into his lap, stroking his hair. Susan and Lucy looked concerned but he turned to his brother. "Why are you crying, Pete?"
"I miss home."
Edmund gulped, and looked at his sisters, seeking their counsel. They only shook their heads. He took a deep breath and said, "You want to go home?"
A tear fell on his hand and Peter nodded. "I promise I won't tease Susan about her drawings…"
The younger siblings glanced at their sister; she shrugged.
"...and I won't make faces at Eddie when he cries…"
Edmund smiled grimly and kissed the top of his brother's head.
"...and I'll even play with Lucy!"
Edmund glanced at his younger sister; she looked close to tears. "But Peter, you are home, see?"
His brother looked up at him. "But what about Eddie, and Su and Lu?"
Edmund swallowed, dreading the words. "What's my name, Peter?"
Peter blinked. "Edmund."
"And her name?" Edmund asked, pointing at Lucy; she smiled solemnly.
"Lucy?"
"Yes. And do you know what her name is?" he asked, motioning towards his elder sister. Susan shifted in her small chair. "She's Susan. Do you see now?"
Peter abruptly jumped off. He moved back, clutching more tightly to the bear. "I want to go home!"
"Peter, you are home!" Edmund exclaimed, extending his hands towards his brother, who was still stumbling back towards the door. Susan and Lucy had left their chairs.
Peter shook his head. "No! I want to go home!"
"We're here, Pete. We're all here. Just older," said Edmund in a soothing voice.
"No! Ed's two!"
"Peter-" Lucy tried, but she was cut off.
"And Lucy can't even eat on her own!"
"Peter, please-" Susan said.
"Susan's not that tall!" Peter yelled, sauntering away with small steps.
"Peter?" Edmund said when his brother started weeping silently.
"I just want to go home…"
The wind soughed through the window and its cutting sound was all that echoed through the room for some time. As Peter continued to cry, holding the bear close to his chest, the three siblings only watched, all at loss for what to do. The wind seemed to whisper to them as the silence stretched, only broken by Peter's quiet sobs. Edmund's heart throbbed. But he let him be, knowing he needed it. And what could say to comfort him anyway? How was he to explain the mess of a situation that they were in to a six-year-old child? Peter was supposed to be his older brother. Not the other way around. Edmund blinked rapidly, refusing to let his tears fall.
How had this happened? Why? Would they ever be able to turn him back? Edmund wanted—no, needed—his brother back. Narnia needed her High King. Without Peter, the older him, they would fall apart. But there was no way. They had no idea what to do. And Edmund only stared, letting his own heart clench at the sight of his weeping brother. Peter sobbed one last time, then threw the bear away, letting it catch the flapping curtains and then fly out to the balcony. Before any of them could react, Peter rushed out of the room, crying as he stomped away.
Edmund immediately resolved to follow him but he was stopped by Susan's gentle arm.
"Let him go," she said.
Edmund did.
And he would regret it.
Peter's eyes were sore from crying, corners red and rheumy. He rubbed them, making them burn. And he ran. Where to? Peter didn't know. He just ran, going where his legs took him. Maybe he'd find his way home.
Home.
Home was his siblings, and mum and dad. Oh, how he missed them. But what Edmund had said...
It couldn't be true! He had to be lying. Maybe just joking? Peter wiped his cheek, still running through the dark hallways. Lines of the dulled moonlight filtered in, shaping long, eerie shadows on the tapestried walls. Peter ran even faster, feeling his heart sink in fear. The dread of the night was devouring him and he hurried on. Run. And only run. Two turns, one left, the other right. Then run down the stairs. A familiar path. The same corridor. Go left, he heard his subconscious say.
And to the left, he went. The walls ended. The sky stretched above, stars twinkling, the moon shining. And the apple trees scattered before him, their fruits still lush and mouth-watering. Their acidic smell pleased him. He gazed at them with admiring eyes, stepping forward on trembling feet. He rested his hand on one of the trees' trunk, brushing his fingers against its coarse surface. It was such a pleasing touch. He sighed, forcing down the sobs. And he sat with his back against the trunk, sniffing, suppressing more sobs. If only Edmund would let him go home!
He smiled, thinking of his baby brother. Edmund. No, Eddie. He'd named him that on the day he was born. Peter remembered distinctly. How could Edmund be his Eddie? He'd been the one taking care of him all this time. But Peter was the big brother. Shouldn't it have been the other way around then?
Thoughts like that flooded his mind, enveloping him into grimness. He frowned; more tears leaked out of his eyes. But he wiped them away.
Then something covered his mouth and nose.
Peter struggled.
But then a strong smell reached him.
And within seconds, darkness took him.
"Did you find him?" asked Edmund, panting, hands resting on his knees.
His sisters shook their heads, so did Orieus and Tumnus. Edmund's spirits fell, his heart clenching with worry. He ran his hands through his damp hair and turned away.
"No…"
"Ed-" Susan said.
"NO!" Edmund yelled, turning again; his sisters flinched. He gave his elder sister the sharpest glare, piercing through her. "Why didn't you let me go after him! It's all your fault!"
He knew his words were unfair. Cruel. But her sister's were gentle. Warming. "I'm sorry." And she crumpled to the ground. Lucy fell beside her, shaking her head at him. Edmund wanted to apologise, to console Susan. But it would have to wait. He turned to Orieus.
"Prepare a search party. I'll go ahead."
"But, my King-"
"It was an order."
It was almost midnight. The air was cold, the shadows bigger, the sounds more echoing and eerie. Everything was dissolved in the moon's silver glow. The green of leaves, brown of woods, all now silver.
Edmund whipped the horse's reins, and it quickened its pace.
"PETER!" he yelled for the hundredth time.
"Peter, come on! Peter!"
Absolute and total silence answered him.
Edmund bowed his head, trying to bite back sobs. "Please…"
"I want to go home!"
Edmund's breath caught in his lungs. He whipped around, searching desperately for the source of the cry. His brother's voice.
"Oi, Bran! Shut 'im up, will ye?"
Edmund had already dismounted his horse, now sprinting in the direction of the voice, sword unsheathed.
"He won't stop crying, chief! Are ye sure they'll pay good ransom for him? I mean, he don't look too important to me."
He was hidden behind a tree now, watching the eight men, all settled around a fire, one guarding his brother. His brother. Right there. Hands and feet bound, a gag dangling around his neck, eyes red, cheeks wet with so many tears. Rage consumed Edmund. But he clenched his fist, waiting.
"Ye're an amateur, Bran. Look at 'im. What de ye see?"
Bran eyed his brother. Peter drew away, almost digging into the tree he was tied to.
"Don't know, Chief!"
The Chief slowly moved to his brother, then grabbed his face, shaking him. Peter's racking sobs shattered Edmund's heart. But he still waited.
"Ye see, Bran, ye judge a man by his clothes."
"But he is a chi-"
"Shut up, ye! Listen now. He's dressed in silk robes, ain't he? And these don't come cheap. Meaning?"
Bran remained silent.
The chief shook his head. "Meaning he's a lord's son! Worthless chaps I've got 'ere. Worthless! Up, all of ye. Let Bran guard 'im."
"But why me?"
"It'll serve ye well. Come on now. More work to do!"
The men took mere minutes to get up and follow their chief out of the small crowd of trees. They were heading towards the river. To wash up? Catch some fish? But it didn't matter. Because things had been made a whole lot easier for Edmund. Bran circled Peter, keeping his eyes fixed on him. Peter whimpered, sobbing uncontrollably. He could not even wipe his tears with his bound hands.
Edmund's heard twisted, anger rising. He moved silently, going around the trees, hiding in the shadows.
"You're delicate, ain't ye, boy?"
"I want to go home…"
"You-"
"Shh…" Edmund whispered into the man's ear, pressing the cold blade to his throat. "Now, I really want to kill you. For tormenting my brother like that. But if you cooperate, I'll think about sparing you."
"Edmund!"
"Hush, Peter!" Edmund whispered. Peter frowned but went quiet. "Now, put down your sword," he said to Bran. He drew out his sword and then gently let it drop to the ground, and raised his hands in surrender. "There you go. Now, I'm sorry about this."
"About wha-"
Bran's limp body dropped to the ground just as Edmund struck his head with the hilt of his knife.
To be continued...
Author's note: I did intend for this to be the last chapter, but it was getting too long. So, I split it into two parts. Tell me what you think. Especially about the strange first part. It's supposed to be confusing and vague. It's open-ended. But I won't lie, I had Loki in mind when writing 'he'. And Lena and Hera are dryads. I had some Greek god in mind, opening portals to different worlds, playing with people's lives. Poor Peter was another victim of his. If you have any ideas about this, and would like me to expand on this, I'm all ears!
Response to P: I'm so sorry I didn't include this earlier, but there's some kind of glitch. And the site won't display the new reviews I get. So, I have to check the mail. Anyway, I'm so glad you're enjoying this story, too! Hope this chapter answered some questions. And probably raised some new ones?