Dragon of the Lone Island Chapter 4: Dark magic, a chronicles of narnia fanfic

Dragon of the Lone Island

I do not own any of the land of Narnia or the surrounding islands, Aslan, or Prince Gale; they belong to C. S. Lewis. I do not have permission from the author to use these, I am not making money on this story either.

An old chapter with a new ending...

Chapter Three: Dark magic

By: Idaho Shepherd

Bending close to her polished black witch's stone she eased her mind into a trance like state. Eyes closed, vivid pictures flashed past her vision with much more reality and depth than her normal, mortal sight allowed. Shaping her thoughts, she sought about for the royal family of the island. Lord Grey, his wife Lady Gwen and their daughter Lady Whitney sat in their garden enjoying the summer sea breeze; Lady Quin, Lord Grey's eldest daughter, was missing. She smiled, "enjoy it while you can, there's little you can do to stop me!" The witch cackled with delight.

Her evil heart filled with glee, her thoughts wandered over the country people; all weak-minded and superstitious, it would take little to bend them to her will. With one exception, Joanus; he could cause trouble. She had clashed with the young fisherman before over a matter of a thieving beggar he had befriended. A man who had withstood her fury and rebuked her for it, Joanus was the only man alive she feared. The only other, her Uncle, was dead. He would have to be watched carefully.

Honing in her senses on Joanus' hut she thought to penetrate his thoughts and stop any foolish plot. The rain prevented fishing but Joanus stayed busy fixing nets under a wide tree. In his rich voice he lustily sang a sea song about a beautiful mermaid and her sailor lover. How she hated the beautiful mermaid! A great gust of wind arose and carried the sound from the man's lips before it was heard. "How can he be so happy? He will not sing when he learns what I have plotted, I wish to see his face when he sees I am stronger."

Golden dust glimmered around Joanus. The dust was a sign of magic done by or done on a person. No one had magic but herself on the island, in this case it was done on Joanus. Gripping the globe, she examined the strange magic. It was stronger, stronger that her own, alive and infused with wild electrical currents. Seeking it's source she entered the magical flow. Magic is always drawn to other magic, the pull is even stronger from dark magic. Golden tentacles reached toward the black power amidst itself, grasping strongly then sparking with hatred at what it felt.

Where she stood in the her witch's tower, she screamed as the power seared her mind and hands clutching the witch's globe. The pain nearly broke her concentration but gradually her mind cleared and her hands stopped smarting. A blazing fire of molten gold and gleaming silver surrounded Joanus. Cautiously, she approached again. Leading away from the fisherman led a silver moonlit thread of magic. Through the island, avoiding her tower, down the road and out of the town it, across the sea; still it led on. Intrigued, she followed the trail as it joined others forming larger ways which all ended in the land of Narnia.

Narnia, the land of talking beasts, unnatural beings and free magic. The entire country burned with the fire of golden and silver magic. Ancient tales told of Aslan the lion singing the world into exsistence-first creating Narnia; and then the surrounding world. The name Aslan always made shivers travel up and down her back. Whether it was the power of Aslan or another great magician, the land lay under a power too great for her.

Among the many silver and gold magical threads, she traced Joanus' to a great castle on the coast. The power blazed more fiercely here, nearly blinding her; ancient magic, ceremonies and protections lay around like gathered snow. Through the castle to another young man it led her; the prince. Apart from the protection of royal blood the Prince was helpless against her. She reached to his mind, his father, the royal marriage yet to be arranged, and a trip to the Lone Islands; she gathered from his thoughts. A prickle of fear touched her mind, he could spoil all her plans.