21. – Soul Sick
They cared for the sick through long hours, Lady Isia working every bit as tirelessly as Lucy, always ready to answer a question or direct people to where they were needed. Finally, things calmed enough that the women stopped to breathe, Isia leaned against the wall, exhaustion painted on her face.
"I don't understand," Lady Isia mused, frowning at the sick and the doctors who helped them. While they had yet to cure someone, they were getting worse at a slower rate, their fevers kept low and manageable. The sickness wore on their bodies but did not kill them as fast as they had come to expect and fear. "You are doing what we did at the beginning, when we had the manpower to do so, but somehow they live longer- The stories of your healing skills were true."
Lucy glanced at her with a frown of her own and shook her head.
"I have some training in the healing, but most of those stories are based on gifts I were given- The juice of the fire flower and the silver cordial were not magic of my making, and their healing, while momentarily in my power, were not due to my skills," she told the other woman. "If they deteriorate slower and we're doing exactly what you did, it isn't due to my care."
Isia sighed.
"No matter," she said. "Perhaps it is the magic of the willow then – It is wonderous how much peace her song and the fresh air brings." She leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes slowly. "Perhaps her bark is more potent in healing as well."
"Must be," Lucy smiled, though something about that did not sound right to her, and picked up the blanket beside Isia. She shook it out and spread it over the Lady, not wanting her to get cold as she fell asleep. When she spoke no more, Lucy moved to the weeping willow in the middle of the room and sat down between her roots. The white stag lifted its head to watch her, and then laid it back down after tipping its ears forward.
The wispy shape of Willowispila soared down from the branches to perch beside Lucy – Her song was but a whisper now, but it still brought forth a swell of emotions and brought tears to the young queen's eyes.
"I miss him," she whispered to the dryad, admitting what she had refused to think of. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her hand and rubbed her eyes dry. Her hand shook lightly when she lowered it.
Willowispila's sad eyes met hers, and the dryadine spirit leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Lucy's forehead, before returning to her place among the tall branches – She seemed lighter as a spirit than she did with the full weight of her tree behind her. Paler still than she had been when she first set down her roots in Cair Paravel.
Curled up among the roots, Lucy allowed herself to close her eyes and sleep.
.o.O.o.
Caspian was being torn apart by his emotions. Rage and anger stormed within him, as guilt over the dryads made his stomach turn as he looked through the paper sketches before him. The young soldier they had sent on gryphon back to the how had returned. Already several drawings had been put aside, but Caspian stopped at the sight of scales and venomous fangs-
"What colour did this have?" he asked the soldier.
"Green, Your Majesty," Salden said, arms folded behind his back as he stood at attention. "The next drawing was just beside it, the woman's dress the same shade of green- They seemed to fit together."
Caspian looked at the next drawing and saw a beautiful woman there, with long dark hair, sitting on what looked to be some kind of chair or throne. Behind her was the vague shapes of humans. He passed the drawings to Frostmane, who studied them closely.
"What colour of the chair?" the centaur asked.
"Silver, Sir," Salden said, glancing at the shaman. There was something familiar about him, the young man thought, though he could not quite place it.
"The snake was at the battlefield, Frostmane," Caspian said. "I saw it around the Witch's shoulders- And these human shapes behind the chair, they could be the extra warriors she brought with her."
"Then the White Witch has allied herself with the Lady of the Green Kirtle," Frostmane said darkly. "The legends say that she is a witch in her own right, the ruler of the underground, and of the earthmen. Those which you may call gnomes." The centaur frowned, narrowing his eyes at the drawing. "I do not believe that to be a happy alliance. Jadis must have found some way to force it."
"Is the Lady of the Green Kirtle a good witch then?" Caspian asked.
Frostmane shook his head.
"She is greedy in her own right, and proud. She would as soon invade Narnia herself, I fear, and not wish to share it. Neither would the White Witch. No, if they are working together, it is because Jadis has forced her."
Caspian sighed in frustration and returned to the papers in front of him. He skimmed through them, hoping beyond hope, that there may be something of help to them. Instead, his fingers stopped moving, as he drank in the image before him.
"What is this?" Caspian asked softly, his fingertips touching the parchment with careful gentleness. "You drew this?" He looked up at Salden, his eyes dark with emotion.
"Her Majesty and the mice saved Geriffe and I when we were attacked by Old Narnians by the How," Salden explained. "While Geriffe got ready for the flight back, I- Well-" His cheeks reddened and he looked down. "I meant no disrespect, it was simply, I-" He shook his head. "The image had to be drawn," he ended weakly. It was hard to explain, how he sometimes saw things and just knew that he needed to draw them. The king would never understand-
"May I keep it?" Caspian asked.
Salden looked up in startlement, and it took him a moment or two to answer.
"Yes," he stammered.
Caspian met his eyes and held his gaze for a heartbeat.
"Thank you," he said honestly. "You have a great talent – When this war is over, you may inquire about portrait work at court. I ask that you please do."
The soldier bowed but did not answer. His face was clouded with conflicted emotions, and Caspian chose not to press him on the matter. Instead, he carefully set aside the drawing he had been allowed to keep and returned to the ones of the Lady of the Green Kirtle.
"Jadis' wand was shattered, was it not?" he asked Frostmane.
"It was," the centaur confirmed.
"The designs on this silver chair, they are not unlike the ones on the wand the White Witch carried with her on the battlefield," Caspian mused. "Perhaps that is a part of their alliance."
"We cannot know for certain," Frostmane said and shook his head.
.o.O.o.
The golden gates shimmered with frost, as Edmund and Goldspear pressed against them. The metal hurt and clung to Edmund's fingers, but the gate did not move. He pulled his hands away before they froze in place. Above the gate, two winged horses looked pale in the winter morning.
"It must be locked," Goldspear said, stomping with a hoof.
"It shouldn't be," Edmund replied, his breath a white mist. "It can't be! We need to get in there!"
Goldspear lowered his muzzle to prod at the gate's lock, trying to determine if there really was no way in.
"Maybe it's frozen," he suggested, ears flickering backwards.
Edmund grabbed the golden bars and shook them angrily – His eyes had gone dark, his face closed off and desperate. He looked around wildly, eyes straying to the winged horses above the gate, and then to the top of the wall.
"Come over here," he snapped at Goldspear. "Help me climb this."
The unicorn hesitated.
"Are you sure?" he asked the ancient king of Narnia. "It doesn't feel right…"
"I'm sure!" Edmund told him. "It has to be right! To save Narnia and to save-" He stopped himself. "Just get over here already."
Slowly the unicorn stepped over to the wall, so that Edmund could climb onto his back, and then stand up. From atop Goldspear, he could only just reach the edge of the wall.
"I'm going to jump," he told his companion. "Wait for me here." Then he did as he said he would, grabbing and hoisting himself over the wall, and dropping down on the other side with a thud. Goldspear hurried to the golden bars and looking through them, he could see Edmund on his way in between the trees of the garden, disappearing in the orchard.
He pressed his ears firmly back and flicked his tail, deeply unhappy with the situation.
.o.O.o.
In her dreams, Lucy ran down the dark hallways of Cair Paravel, frantically looking for signs of life. Every chamber was hollow, and black cloths hung from every window. Everywhere she was followed by the harrowing laughter of the Hag, tormenting her, as death clawed her soul.
Lucy woke with a gasp of pain, cramps working their way up her arms and legs, causing her to curl into herself with a cry. Whimpering she felt tears rolling down her cheeks, as the Willow Spirit floated down her tree to lay a cool hand on the Queen's shoulder. It lessened the pain some as Lucy listened to Willowispila's whispers, but not all of it, and when a doctor appeared with a cool cloth for her forehead, she accepted it. She also took the willow bark tea he brought.
Sipping it, she knew that her time had to be running out fast.
The tea made her feel better, same as the whispered singing the airy dryad was doing once more from the top of her tree. It soothed her torn soul enough that she managed to relax ever so slowly.
Leaning back against the willow's roots, Lucy closed her eyes, the pain having left her as exhausted as if she had not slept at all. Now it was all she wanted to do- To slowly sink into the soft oblivion of dreamless sleep. Of rest.
But something kept nagging at the edge of her mind.
Something important.
Shaking her head, Lucy opened her eyes and slowly got up, preparing to help with the sick once more. Everybody was doing everything they could to carry the ill through their sickness, that they may be healthy once more.
In the middle of tying back her hair, Lucy suddenly froze.
Everybody was doing everything they could.
Turning to the middle of the room, Lucy stared at the willow tree, like a deer in the headlights, eyes wide. Then she turned to stare at the sick, and the doctors, and the people helping the ill drink the fever and pain-relieving tea.
Perhaps her bark is more potent in healing as well, Lady Isia had said.
But that was not it, Lucy suddenly knew. The Weeping Willow of the Lantern Waste was no healer of common ills or wounds- She dealt in magic spells and curses and in the matter of souls! Plague had not found Lucy in the waking world to taunt her, but when her soul had been lost, when she had been in the dark in-between, before Willowispila had pulled her back to Narnia; Plague had been there.
No wonder they could not contain the illness!
No wonder it kept spreading!
Like Famine spread his wolves through starvation, Plague spread hers through spirit, and climbed into any crevice and any doubt or weakness, like Rikeety's guilt, Rapachap's grief, and probably fear as well. Fear for the war. Fear of the sickness itself. Fear of not being needed- Of being useless-
Lucy suddenly shivered, hugging herself.
Willowispila had put down her roots and had been stretching herself so thin to help, her voice was undistinguishable from inaudible whispers, but Lucy hurried to the tree regardless.
"Wispila!" she called softly, not wanting to alarm anyone, but needing somebody to confirm her fears. "The plague- it's in the souls isn't it?"
The dryad looked down at her with sorrowful eyes but did not leave the crown of the tree. Exhaustion was painting in the see-through features of her face, and Lucy remembered her warning: Know that I may not be able to shift back for a time.
There was only one other being in the castle who might journey to the realm of spirits. Who might help battle Plague.
Lucy ran to find him.
.o.O.o.
Edmund ran through the quiet orchard, following a rarely trodden path and ignoring the golden sunshine and strange summer warmth. The need to get a silver apple for Lucy was the only thing on his mind as he looked wildly around for the strange fruit.
The deeper into the garden he came, the more he felt the need to hurry.
He needed one of those apples, even if it killed him.
On the inside of his eyelids the image of Lucy in the hospital bed still burned. The knowledge that even here, in Narnia, she was still hurt- Dying- it haunted his every moment.
Finally, he had to stop to catch his breath, still looking wildly around for his quarry as he tried to draw in enough air. The sweet scent of fruit hung in the air, tugging at his stomach. His stomach tugged back hungrily.
That was when he saw them out the corner of his eye.
The silver apples.
Turning to face them fully, he drew in another breath, and again that delicious scent of sweetness and fulfilment warmed his lungs and pulled him closer. One step at a time, till he was almost running towards them. The apples smelled so much like Turkish delight; he could almost taste them…
Suddenly Edmund was filled with horror as he realized what was happening. In his head the story of how the Witch had climbed the wall to steal an apple flashed, and yet, he could not stop himself as he moved towards the apples. He reached up, hand outstretched to pluck one, even as his head screamed for him to stop!
His fingertips touched the silver peel, just before something barrelled into him, throwing him to the ground and away from the fruit.
Goldspear stood in front of him, flanks heaving and covered in sweat, as his legs shook, and he stared at Edmund on the ground with the same abject horror Edmund still felt.
"Don't-" the unicorn gasped. "Don't do this."
Edmund was still too shaken to say much of anything, his entire body still screaming with the need to grab and consume the fruit before him, so he pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes, staying firmly on the ground. His shoulders shook as he sobbed helplessly.
How long the King lay on the ground and the Unicorn barred his way to the tree, nobody could tell. But it was long enough for one to regain control, and the other his breath.
Slowly, Edmund got to a stand, and Goldspear raised his head: Ready once more to block the way to the tree, never once taking his eyes off Edmund to glance behind him.
"I'm sorry," Goldspear said. "But this isn't right."
Edmund took a shaky breath.
"I know," he admitted, scarcely above a whisper. "Thank you, for stopping me."
Goldspear nodded, but still did not move.
"This used to be a peaceful garden," a voice sounded from above, and startled, the two looked up. In between the branches sat a multicoloured bird in varying red and yellow hues, its tail long and golden. Goldspear snorted in surprise, and Edmund took a step forward with sudden excitement.
"A sunset bird!" he exclaimed. "I thought you had all been extinct centuries ago!"
The bird shook its head, but its feathers lifted in a self-comforting gesture.
"My children are all gone," it said. "But I live still, and here I sleep, for here it is quiet. Only these days it is not so quiet, so tell me, why have a human and a unicorn come to claim a silver apple, so soon after the last one left here?"
"My sister," he said. "She was the last to pluck a fruit from here, but instead of eating it, she used it to heal our people-"
The bird nodded.
"Those who eat it for selfish reasons rarely fare well," it said in agreement.
"But now she is dying!" Edmund shouted. "And I cannot pluck the fruit, for my wish to save her is a selfish one, for I cannot bear to lose her!"
The bird nodded once more.
"It would have dire consequences, for both you and her," it said. "But I would not stop you should you try, for I am neither judge nor guard."
"I will stop you," Goldspear said, his voice growing stronger as he spoke.
Edmund's hands opened and closed, forming fists he then forced to open. Turning away from the tree, he roared his grief and anger out, fighting back his tears once more.
"Was this all for nothing then?" he shouted. "Just to return and tell her, tell them all, that she is dying still?" He glared up at the bird.
The Phoenix made a soft thrill of compassion and sadness.
"All things have their youth, and all things pass one day, and here I am, the first and the last of my kind. I am sorry for what you stand to lose, but such is the way of time."
Edmund took a shaky breath, staring at the apples, nauseous at the way their scent reminded him of his betrayal, and yet, longing for them all the same. Disgusted with himself, he looked down to the grass below his feet.
Finally, he met Goldspear's eyes and in them, he found his own strength.
"I am sorry for your loss," he told the sunset bird.
It blinked at him with both eyes, before reaching down and tugging loose a long and silky-smooth tail feather. It then let it fall down for Edmund to catch in his hand, and as he did, it flared its wings.
"For your compassion," it said, and took off into the sky.
They looked after it for a while, before Goldspear worried at the ground with one hoof.
"The gate opened the moment you entered the garden," the unicorn said. "We can leave now."
Glancing back at the apples, Edmund sighed deeply, and placed the feather safely in his satchel.
"Let us hurry."