Chapter 11
Special Meetings
Peter, Susan, Lucy and the Beavers stood at the bank of the frozen river, watching as enormous chunks of ice drifted away from the large cliff beside them. The noise of the rushing, freezing water was deafening, and Peter had to cup his hands over his ears to hear anything anyone said to him.
"If we could get a big enough piece of ice, we could float across on it," he suggested, and Susan looked at him as though he'd gone completely crazy.
"He has a point," Mr. Beaver replied. "we have no choice but to get across. It's the only way to Aslan's How."
"And I wouldn't mind swimming," Mrs. Beaver joined in, "but I'm not sure about humans. Can you all swim?"
"That's out of the question!" Susan snapped. "Lucy cant swim at all, and Peter…" she paused at the determined look on his face. "Peter, please say you won't…"
Peter swallowed, attempting to step out onto one of the enormous chunks of ice that had broken off. It nearly sunk into the frigid river, and he leapt back with surprise, clinging to Lucy who shrieked with fear.
Mr. Beaver moved forward, peering closely at the river, and then his whiskers twitched. "Perhaps I'd better test it," he suggested, and Peter, who was still breathing rather hard, nodded quickly.
"P'raps you should," he squeaked, watching as the animal raised it's great tail, and began to slap down around the edge of the ice.
"You've been sneaking second helpings haven't you?" Mrs. Beaver asked, as the force of Mr. Beaver's tail cracked the surface.
"You never know which meal is going to be your last," Mr. Beaver retorted. "Especially with your cooking!" He started to tell Peter that it was safe to climb aboard, when Susan suddenly cried out in alarm, pointing upwards. Lucy followed her sister's direction, and to her horror, saw several wolves dashing along the top of the cliff, slowly making their way down towards the bank of the river. They were growling and barking, and bearing their great, sharp teeth.
"Peter!" Lucy cried as Mr. Beaver explained to them that it was the White Witch's secret police. Peter watched as the head of the pack leapt towards him, snarling, it's white and grey fur raised high on its back. He reached for the hilt of his great sword and withdrew it from the leather sheath, amazed at just how easily he could hold it. It had felt so heavy when Father Christmas first presented it to him.
When Mrs. Beaver cried out, the girls realized that another of the wolves had seized Mr. Beaver around the middle, to keep him from giving Peter any aid.
"Put that down, boy," Maugrim growled in a low, gruff voice. "someone could get hurt."
"Run him through! Don't worry about me!" Mr. Beaver cried, but Peter continued to hold the sword steady, not making any movements.
"Leave now while you can," Maugrim continued; he was practically foaming at the mouth with hunger; "and your brother leaves with you."
Susan grasped Peter's arm, her heart hammering in her chest. "Stop, Peter! Maybe we should listen to him!" she cried.
The wolf chuckled. "Smart girl," he replied, and she glared.
Peter stood frozen to the spot, at a bit of a loss of what to do. His eyes went from Mr. Beaver who still lay in the other wolf's clutches; to Maugrim, who was staring at him through daring, yellow eyes, and Susan, who looked ready to cry if he so much as raised the sword.
"Don't listen to him!" Mr. Beaver hissed. "Kill him! Kill him now!"
"Come on," Maugrim snarled. "This isn't your war. All my Queen wants is for you to take your family and go."
"Look at me," Susan hissed, and Peter dared not turn his head. However, he did peek at Susan out of the corner of his eye. "Just because some man in a red coat hands you a sword…it doesn't make you a hero! Just drop it!"
"Peter!" Mr. Beaver yelled. "Narnia needs you! Gut him while you still have the chance!"
Peter closed his eyes, feeling his fingers loosen on the hilt of the sword, but he couldn't drop it. He wanted to be sick; he wanted to faint, but he just stood standing there, holding the weapon.
"What is it gonna be, son of Adam?" Maugrim continued, leaning back on his haunches. "I won't wait forever. And neither will the river!"
The rushing of the water grew louder and louder, and Lucy suddenly had instinct to glance upwards. "PETER!" she shrieked, and when he finally lifted his head, he saw spurts of water bursting through the cracks in the cliff. Maugrim wasn't paying attention, and was a bit startled when Peter raised his sword after a moment.
"Hold onto me!" he ordered, and Susan and Lucy each grabbed a chunk of his coat, holding their breaths. He raised the sword even higher, and with a swift movement, stuck the tip into the chunk of ice. They began to move at a rapid speed, though not fast enough. The cliff began to crumble at that very moment, enormous pieces of ice and rock tumbling into the river below. The force of so much debris falling at once caused an enormous wave to form, and the Pevensies barely had time to shout when they were engulfed by gallons upon gallons of ice cold water.
As he they went under, Peter felt all his breath being taken away; and as though his body were being stabbed with thousands of knives. He couldn't see, nor hear anything at all, except the bubbling of the water all around him.
He was still clutching the hilt of his sword, which seemed in a sense, almost frozen to his fingers. So this is what dying is like? He thought, as blackness clouded his vision. I suppose I'll see you soon, Ethan…
But he suddenly felt Susan grab him from around the waist, and felt a burst of sweet air finally fill his lungs again.They appeared at the water's surface, still clinging desparately to the chunk of ice and to each other. The Beavers were nestled tightly against the children, though occasionally, one would slip off and paddle quickly through the rapids.
Lucy yelped as she started to slip off the other side of the ice, but Peter managed to hoist her back up again. He was relieved when they caught sight of land about ten feet away, and with a gulp he ordered the Beavers to paddle with their tails for it.
He was so drained by the time the chunk of ice bumped against the bank of the river, that he just lay there for a moment, heaving. "Peter," Susan sobbed…she'd climbed up onto the bank already, sopping wet and shivering. Her teeth chattered as she knelt down and attempted to pull her brother onto the bank, but he only succeeded in sliding back into the water again.
"Peter!" she cried suddenly. "Where's Lucy!"
Peter suddenly raised his eyes, which were stinging, and he realized he was no longer clutching his youngest sister. The Beavers scurried about calling for the small girl, and, after Peter forced himself ashore, he frantically peared into the waves. He was still holding onto Lucy's coat, which was almost as heavy as she had been due to it being filled with water.
"LUCY!" Susan screamed, and Peter attempted to yell himself, but he collapsed to his knees, the energy nearly gone from him. "LUCY!" Susan cupped her hands over her mouth and yelled again, nearly hysterical with worry.
After a moment or two of silence passed, the four of them heard a small voice ask, "Has anybody seen my coat?"
Peter lifted his head weakly, and saw Lucy coming towards them. She wrapped her cardigan around herself, sniffling and shivering as she slipped a little in the slush. Susan eased Peter to his feet, and the Beavers watched with relief as he pulled Lucy into a tight hug, wrapping her with the enormous fur coat.
"Not to worry, dear," Mr. Beaver chuckled. "your brother has you well looked after."
Lucy clung to Peter, staring at the monstrous waters that nearly swallowed her up. "You can't swim for nuts?" he asked, reminding her of her one great fault in England, and she gave him a sheepish smile, shrugging.
"I s'ppose I can here in Narnia," she replied softly, and he hugged her again.
"Well," Mrs. Beaver finally spoke up, "I don't think you'll be needing those coats anymore. Look!"
Everyone raised their heads, and Lucy gasped. Ahead of them stood a great cherry blossom tree, which, initially covered with ice, now bloomed with great, pink flowers. The snow around them was starting to melt, revealing lush, green grass. Mrs. Beaver was right; it was growing rather warm out…almost as it had felt when they were back in England.
The group trudged onward towards the forest, smiling as flowers and grass seemed to pop up instantly when they passed banks of snow. They found a tree trunk to lay their wet coats on after it grew too warm to wear them, and they decided to sit and rest a while.
"Isnt it beautiful?" Susan breathed, closing her eyes and lifting her face to the golden sunlight, and smiled when a rabbit peeped its little grey head from a hole beside her. "Oh, hello," she greeted, and it immediately ducked back in again. Lucy giggled, watching as butterflies danced among the tulips and daisies; and as bluejays and cardinals leapt from tree branch to tree branch.
"Peter…" Susan turned and saw her brother staring up at the sapphire sky. "Peter, are you all right?" she asked, and he turned to look at her.
"I feel as though I could run several miles at once," he said, and she beamed as he hopped to his feet. "Let's go," he ordered. "we're wasting time sitting here."
"You're feeling better again, aren't you?" Lucy asked, beaming, and he lifted her into his arms, kissing her on the cheek.
"He is most certainly the true King," Mrs. Beaver whispered to her husband, who winked, and they scurried after the humans towards Aslan's camp.
Edmund stood between the witch and the dwarf Ginarrbrick upon the bank of the great river. The weather had taken a most marvelous turn; at least, in Edmund's opinion. He had never been more thrilled to see grass or flowers in his life, and was quite sure he never wanted to see another winter again in a long time. His toes were still slightly numb from the endless hours of trudging through the snow and ice.
The witch, however, was furious as her eyes were fixed on the rainbow forming from the waterfall's mist. She clutched her wand, as though just waiting for some creature to appear so she could zap it to stone.
"It's so…warm out," Ginarrbrick gasped, unbuttoning his great coat. He was about to say something else, when he saw Jadis' warning look. "I'll go and…prepare the sleigh." He gave a nervous chuckle and dashed off. Edmund smirked a little, and then slowly glanced up at the witch. He heard a growl from behind and turned to see her secret police approaching.
Maugrim carried something large in its mouth, and Edmund realized that it was a fox. Jadis turned slowly as the wolf pack approached them, Maugrim dropped the fox at the witch's feet. Edmund raised his eyes as the animal hung its head, its dark eyes focused on him.
"We've found you a traitor," Maugrim growled, a noise which always made Edmund shiver.
Jadis lowered her wand and loosened her grip on the weapon slightly, her lips curling into a satisfied sneer. "Ah," she began coolly, "how nice of you to drop in. I understand you were so helpful to my wolves last night."
Edmund swallowed, recognizing the tone of sarcasm instantly. He knew the wolves had come back empty…well, jawed. He was tempted to ask the fox what became of his siblings, and if they were all right, but he dared speak a word.
"Forgive me, your majesty," the fox said quietly, and the witch gave a laugh.
"Oh, don't bother with flattery," she began, and the prisoner raised his eyes.
"Not to sound rude," he said slowly, "but I was not actually talking to you."
Edmund stepped back a pace, swallowing hard, and unclenched his fists; the fox meant him! He was starting to inquire what he was talking about, when Jadis raised her wand, pointing it at the fox. "Where is Aslan?" she asked, and dead silence followed her question. She let out a yell of fury and started to aim the wand at the fox, when Edmund cried,
"No, please, wait! They said something about the stone table!" he gulped. "and an army!"
Jadis turned to stare at him, her eyes raised, and Edmund caught sight of the fox shaking his head sorrowfully.
"Thank you, Edmund," she replied with a bow of her head, and he felt relief spread through his body. "I'm glad this poor creature got to see a bit of honesty…" Edmund stared as she suddenly turned towards it, her wand bared. "Before he died!" she finished, and a flash of light protruded from the end, turning the fox into stone.
"No!" Edmund cried, horrified, and Jadis dealt him a blow across the face. He fell to the ground, clutching his cheek with surprise, and watched as spots began to form in front of his eyes. Jadis grabbed him by the scruff of the neck again, hoisting him into the air. He gagged; she was practically choking him.
Peter, Peter I'm sorry, he thought, as he struggled against her grip. Please forgive me, Peter…
"Think about whose side you're on, Edmund," Jadis hissed, turning his face so he was staring directly at her. "Mine…" she turned him towards the stone fox, "or theirs."
He choked on a sob as he continued to stare at the poor fox, because… for the first time, he felt sorry for someone besides himself.
After Jadis dropped him to the ground again, he was immediately tied up tightly in rough coils and dumped back into the sleigh. "Gather the faithful," she began. "If it is a war Aslan wants…" her lips curled into that terrible sneer again, "then it is a war he shall get."
Emund felt tears spring to his eyes as he lifted his head; he gasped…he saw a familiar figure standing by one of the great bushes, a figure he'd not seen in over two years.
We are coming for you, a boy's voice spoke, as though inside of his head, and the figure came closer, as the sleigh began to move. Do not worry, Edmund.
Through the gag, Edmund couldn't respond, but he was shocked. You'll have to trust me, the voice spoke again, sensing Edmund's fear.
Meanwhile, Peter, Susan, Lucy and the Beavers had just arrived at Aslan's great camp. It was a brilliant sight; groups of tents spread over acres of flat ground. Peter walked a little ahead of his sisters, trying to take everything in, though he walked slowly…a bit achy and exhausted from having been in the ice cold water for so long.
The tents surrounding them were red and gold; the same color as the symbol of the lion on his shield, and there were miniature smithies, and camp fires spread about.
Peter had never seen such an array of creatures in one gathering, either; Fauns of all sizes smiled at him through their steel hemlets, dwarves, dyrads, great birds with the bodies of a mountain lion.
"Why are they all staring at us?" Susan whispered everyone paused in their work to greet the royal precession.
Lucy giggled, "maybe it's because they think you look funny," she teased, and even Peter had to laugh at Susan's expression. They at last approached the largest and sturidest of the tents, wose flaps remained closed. A great Centaur stood before it, staring curiously at the newcomers.
Peter looked at his sisters, and eventually unsheathed his sword, raising it high. "We have come to see Aslan," he said in a loud voice, and a soft murmer rustled through the crowd. Susan and Lucy glanced over their shoulder, and saw suddenly that every body in the camp got onto one knee, bowing their heads low.
Peter swallowed nervously and watched as the main flap of the tent began to rise; he then saw a great furry paw step out from beneath it. Soon, the great lion appeared in his entirety, bearing his great golden eyes at them. Lucy gasped aloud in awe, and Susan took her hand.
"Welcome, Peter," Aslan spoke, his voice deep and firm, but gentle all the same. "son of Adam. Welcome, Susan and Lucy, daughters of Eve." He turned to the Beavers, who were gaping, and smiled at them. "Welcome to you, Beavers. You have my thanks. But…where is the fourth?"
Peter looked up, frowning slightly. "We had a little trouble along the way," Susan replied for him.
"Our brother was captured by the white witch," Peter added, and a loud gasp through the crowd followed his words.
"Captured!" several creatures exclaimed, and Aslan lowered his head gravely.
"Captured…how could this happen?"
Mr. Beaver cleared his throat, stepping forward timidly. "He…betrayed them, your Excellence."
The Centaur who'd greeted them at the tent narrowed his eyes, his dark hair flowing in the wind. "Then he has betrayed us all!" he shouted, and a murmer of agreement answered him.
"Peace, Oreius," Aslan told the Centaur calmly, "for I am sure there is an explination." He turned his eyes to Peter, who felt suddenly weak again.
"It's…it was my fault, really. I was too hard on him."
Susan touched his arm comfortingly. "We all were," she added softly, and Aslan nodded his head in understanding.
"Sir," Lucy began, "he's our brother…"
Peter felt faint, but kept himself standing upright.
"I know, dear," Aslan told her, eyeing Peter worriedly, "but that only makes the betrayal all the worse. This may be harder than you think." He stepped forward as Peter swayed, nearly falling (Susan cried out and covered her mouth with her hand), and encouraged the boy to take hold of his mane. "Come with me, son of Adam. We must talk in private."
Susan bit her lip, and watched as the great lion led Peter off into the distance.
"Please, sit," Aslan encouraged, once they were standing on a great hill, overlooking the entire camp. "You are tired."
"I am all right," Peter whispered, and Aslan gave a chuckle.
"Even the bravest of all Kings does not turn down a chance to rest a little," he said, and Peter sat upon one of the nearest rocks. "Peter…do you doubt the prophecy?" he asked, when he saw Peter's frown. "or dare I say, there is a matter that goes much deeper than that?"
"Aslan…" he looked up. "I do not doubt the prophecy, but I…I do not think you have the right person."
Aslan smiled. "Peter Pevensie, formerly of Finchley?" he asked, and Peter stared at him, surprised. "There is a deep magic, Peter, that rules all of Narnia. It defines right from wrong, and governs all of our destinies. Yours, and mine. And…Peter…"
Peter looked at him. "There is something else I wish to discuss with you. It will hurt, yes, but sometimes we need to feel pain before we can come to ourselves again."
"Aslan, please, I cant…" Peter began, and the Lion let out a low growl that caused him to stop at once.
"Two years ago, Peter, you lost someone very close to you, did you not?"
Peter stared. "Yes…" he squeaked, wondering how on earth Aslan knew about Ethan.
"I know of Ethan very well in deed, Peter," Aslan told the bewildered boy calmly. "But in order to come to terms with anything in Narnia, before anything must begin properly, you…"
There was suddenly the sound of a great horn in the distance, and Peter gasped. "It's Susan!" he cried in alarm, and Aslan watched as Peter took off after the noise, immediately unsheathing his sword.