Happy New Year, everyone!
A/N: I hope I did this chapter justice. If not, tell me you are not satisfied and I shall rewrite it. I am a little worried about this chapter…
A MASSIVE thanks to all my reviewers! Wow, you all liked the last chapter a lot. I hope this one lives up to expectations…it took a long time to write, I kept reading it over and deciding I didn't like a certain aspect, then starting again I'm still not entirely satisfied, but it'll have to do…(sigh)
To Lady Lenna: To answer your question about why the Aslanders are just sitting back and doing nothing, it is explained way back in chapter eight when the witch wrote her conditions to Aslan, as follows:
The sons of Adam will not be harmed, unless the following agreement is violated. If that is so, I will immediately cut their throats myself, without hesitation nor negotiation.
The Land of Narnia shall be split into the North and the South. The upper land shall be owned by me, therefore, I shall own: Lantern Waste, the Great River, Owlwood, Northern Marshes and the River Shribble to the East. The rest belongs to the Daughters of Eve and all Narnian creatures loyal to them. If any such creature were to venture over the border, the truce is violated and my army shall attack, while the Sons of Adam will be executed.
So you see, they cannot stage a rescue because the witch would know as soon as they crossed the border, and both Peter and Edmund would be killed, thus defeating the whole purpose of the rescue. Savvy?
And a congratulations to Capegio and (lazy) Straitjacket, who correctly guessed which side Cifel is on. Well done! You have a good judge of character! (or maybe you're just psychic…)
Chapter twelve
Edmund hardly noticed the cowering statures now, as he was led at an uneven pace through endless passages and passed many doorways. He wondered if they were all empty, devoid of life. There were stalactites and stalagmites scattered everywhere, like wretched needles, eager to impale any living soul which may enter. Cifel and Edmund said nothing to each other, both thinking deeply and silently.
Finally, they reached a wrought iron gate, the rusty bars dripping with frozen rain, stilled in mid-fall. Cifel reached inside his cloak, and retrieved a large, plain iron key and fitted it awkwardly into the lock.
"You must be deeply trusted by the witch, if she gives you the keys to her very sanctuary."
Edmund commented, as he helped Cifel to push the door ajar. It was very heavy, and Edmund felt his shoulder protest and bruise at the weight. Cifel snorted as he grabbed Edmund's arm and pulled them both to hide behind large, reared griffin with wings spread wide.
"Don't be so presumptuous. You really think she would trust me so?"
"Then how-"
"I stole it, fool! Now be quiet and follow my lead."
Edmund stared at Cifel. Precisely what were this strange boy's intentions? Was he an ally, or working for the witch? If so, what was the purpose of all this? Was it a trick, or a trap?
But Edmund's line of thought was disrupted, as he was suddenly jerked forward and moved swiftly from great statue to great statue, until they both stood facing the castle with the gate leading to the great lake beyond. Edmund stared up at the newly erected structure in the centre of the courtyard.
It was a six foot high, slender, sparsely decorated cross. It was raised on a small stone podium, about one foot off the ground. Although it appeared to be quite new, there were already small patches of bright flowers, all pale colours and shades of cream, white and blue, twining around the main cross and over the base podium.
Edmund was jolted out of his reverie as Cifel leant down and placed both hands on the base of the cross, and began to push. Edmund stared, dumbfounded. What was the boy doing now?
"Well, are you going to help me or not, human?"
Edmund bristled, but hastily bent down to assist Cifel. The cross was very heavy, and it only moved a fraction of an inch with each push. Eventually, the structure gave way under the pressure and a dark, open space, like a trapdoor, was slowly becoming visible as the cross moved to the side.
They both stood quite still, breathing heavily, and Edmund pushed back his sweat soaked fringe from his brow, looking at Cifel out of the corner of his eye. The other boy was staring down into the darkness within the trapdoor's depths as though it held some secret meaning; an answer to all his questions. Edmund, unimpressed and impatient, smacked him on the shoulder.
"Are we going or not?"
Cifel glared up at him, before abruptly grasping hold of the sharp upper edge of the cross and lowering himself gingerly into the darkness below, slowly, until his feet apparently hit solidity and he dropped. Edmund glanced once around the courtyard, then up to the castle above, searching for any sign of movement, but found none. Skeptical but determined, he mimicked Cifel and followed the other boy down into the darkness below.
There was a flight of three steep stone steps, leading downwards, but beyond that the light of the fading day above was cut off by a sudden outcropping of neatly cut rock, and there was only deep blackness. Edmund reached down to grab Cifel's shoulder as the other boy began to slowly descend.
"What?"
Cifel hissed, burgundy eyes strangely bright in the gathering darkness, the pupils widened, giving his face an ethereal appearance. Edmund pulled Cifel back by his cloak so they were face to face.
"I can't see in the dark, idiot!"
Cifel smirked, and reached inside his cloak to retrieve a small, spherical shaped object, and held it up for Edmund to see. It appeared to be made of glass (or, more likely, ice) and was paper thin, and apparently hollow. It hung on the end of a thin silver chain, and as Cifel placed it in Edmund's outstretched hand, the chain wrapped itself around each of his fingers in a single loop. It tightened gently, and the sphere hung below Edmund's palm like some obscure piece of jewellery.
Cifel leant down, and blew carefully on the sphere. Immediately, a small blue flame sprang to life within the centre, the light casting dancing shadows upon the sheer walls around them. Cifel bowed mockingly.
"Satisfied, my Prince?"
He said sarcastically. Edmund stared from the sphere, to Cifel, and back again.
"How did-?"
Cifel rolled his eyes and tutted, as though reprimanding a child, and a dense one at that.
"Why, son of Adam, I thought you would have learnt not to question the magic of this realm. Besides…" he raised a slender forefinger to point upwards "I made the flowers grow, did I not?"
Without waiting for an answer he whirled about and descended the last three steps to the bottom, his cloak swirling behind him. Edmund gingerly held the small sphere aloft, and followed.
At first, Edmund could see nothing over the flickering the flame which dangled from his hand, and Cifel's back moving slowly forwards. But as he came to the bottom of the flight of steps, he saw that he was in a small room, a little like a dungeon cell, but more pleasant somehow. There was a niche set into the wall farthest from him, with the glint of metal shimmering in the hollow. He frowned. Why had Cifel brought him here?
And then, he turned his gaze upon the rest of the room.
His eyes traveled from the floor, up the length and width of the raised dais, and then upon the limp figure lying just as Cifel had left him, still and quiet, the navy coloured cloak settled across him like a blanket of water.
His heart stopped beating. All strength left his limbs, drawn inwards to feed the gathering storm of emotions which plagued him in a torrent of pain. Joy, relief, fear, horror. His blood ran cold as he stumbled forwards just as Cifel stepped carefully back, allowing him clear access to the centre of the room. Everything slowed to a terrible pace, as if the world was holding it's breath in anticipation of what was to come.
The moment was broken as Edmund dashed forwards and snatched the makeshift mantle away from the figure, dread and rapture and desperation filling his head, his heart, until he found it difficult to breath. His hand raised, shaking, and hung in midair, uncertain, indecisive.
Before it fell upon the perfectly solid shoulder of his older brother.
He was real.
He was here.
Edmund could touch him.
With the strangled sound of an indefinable emotion, Edmund placed a second hand on his brothers other shoulder and simply stared, wide eyed. He was numb, his heart was barely beating, he couldn't breath…but somehow, none of it mattered. In that tiny fraction of joy, Edmund found a cure for all the hurts, all the pain he had been through since he had first entered Narnia; and he felt the strength return again to him, filling him insurmountable energy.
And then his face fell.
Fear once again filled the bottom of his stomach like lead, ensnaring his senses, throttling his brain. He couldn't think. He could barely speak.
Peter was so cold. Beneath the light, pale blue cotton shirt he wore, there was no warmth. No gentle pulse of blood beneath his skin, no rise and fall of his chest. Edmund's gaze swept up to his brother's face, and he let out a gasp as his heart clenched.
Peter's face was deathly pale, with no hint of a flush of blood beneath his cheeks. His eyes were closed, and small crystallized snowflakes of ice glistened, clinging to his eyelashes. His lips were a sickly blue colour, and were chapped as though frozen. His sandy hair was dulled by a thin layer of dust.
He looked…dead.
Frantically, Edmund placed his index and forefinger under the left side of his brother's chin, and shuddered at how cold and clammy his skin was to touch. He waited. The seconds passed, agonizingly slowly.
There was no pulse.
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Aslan stared at the dark haired boy, as they stood silently together on a cliff beside the sea. The child was troubled. But it could not be helped. Other countries had need of him, other creatures on the brink of destruction.
"I hate you."
The boy turned cold burgundy eyes to the Great Lion, no shred of reverence or fear remaining of the respect and love which once shone in them. Aslan closed his eyes and felt his heart ache.
"Oh, child. Do not despair so."
The boy unfolded his arms and moved to stand face to face with Aslan, whose head was still turned away. The ocean breeze rustled through his wild hair, calming him.
"Why? Of all the times to leave…"
Aslan opened his eyes and turned liquid pools of amber upon the boy. But the child did not flinch as he had done so many times before.
"I am not afraid of you anymore, Lion. You may save your pitiful humanitarian guilt trips for someone who cares."
He paused, and pushed the disruptive locks of dark hair from his pale face, gazing levelly, impassive, back into Aslan's face.
"You trust the fate of my realm to a band of witless weaklings?"
The lion stared out to sea, watching the gulls soar far off on the horizon. Free. Alive. He watched as the boy turned away once again, to hide the emotions Aslan knew he thought weak.
"You leave us alone to wait, fend for ourselves?"
The boy shivered and wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly a child once again. Aslan sighed as the boy continued.
"I will not trust all I have worked for to mere children. I won't."
"My dear child," Aslan chuckled deeply "I fear you shall never understand. It is the blessing, and the curse, of your kind."
The lion nudged the boy's shoulder gently with his nose, and he moved aside obediently, now listening intently.
"The guardians of my realm. My children."
The boy stared unblinkingly down at him, his features impassive.
"It is your duty to defend this country. These children are our last hope. You must wait patiently, as the covenant commands, and be ready when the time comes."
The boy looked disdainfully down at the large, wrapped brown parcel which was held carefully in the lion's jaws. He reached out, wrapped a hand around the coarse binding, and lifted it up.
He ripped the paper off, and stared at the large inky black coloured leather bound book lying in his hands. He fingered the title, which was imprinted with gold leaf into the spine.
"Holy Bible?"
Aslan smiled and nodded approvingly.
"You studied well the language of humans, child. I leave this book with you as a memento of my passing."
He paused, and his eyes grew serious.
"If you ever have need of answers, or are in doubt of your faith in me, simply let the book fall open in your hands, and all will become clear to you."
Aslan smiled fondly as the boy stared skeptically down at the book, and placed a velveted paw beneath the boy's chin to lift his head up to look at him.
"Be well, little one."
Aslan rubbed his soft, furry cheek against the side of the boy's head, and turned, staring once again out to sea, far, far beyond the horizon.
"Be strong, Cifel."
Aslan closed his eyes and laid his head on his paws as the memory faded, the ache in his heart deeping and becoming a terrible throbbing pain his his chest.
'My poor, misguided child. Why did you turn against me?'
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A/N: (various sharp objects are thrown the authoress' way) okay fine, so that was a little evil…next chapter, Edmund and Peter perform a rather sloppy escape, Cifel makes the usual sarcastic comments, the witch gets pissed off, and Susan and Lucy are still as clueless as ever to what the hell is going on.
I know I said I would explain what was up with Peter in this chapter, but it would ruin the story…and the cliffhanger. (evil grin) The last section was
Any comments would be appreciated! Please review!