Chapter 8: Dreams and Slumber
A couple of days later, Edmund was on the fighting top staring out over the sea, when he saw a dark mountain off to the port bow. It looked odd to him; in those waters the light was so good and so clear that he had been able to see very distant shapes quite clearly, but this land was an indistinct blur. Nevertheless, land was land and adventure was adventure, and the Dawn Treader made for it by oar.
Edmund came down from the fighting top. As they drew near, he saw why the island was so indistinct. Indeed, it was no island at all, or if there were an island, it was in the midst of a black darkness. To Edmund it seemed like the yawning mouth of an abyss.
He was glad to hear Caspian call out beside him "Keep her back!" The boatswain stopped the splashing of the oars and Caspian asked to the company in general "Do we go into this?"
Drinian said, "Not by my advice," and several sailors said he was right.
"I almost think he is," Edmund agreed, staring ahead of them and discerning nothing. He cast a glance to where Lucy was standing close by with Eustace and saw that she was rather pale. Eustace was white as paper.
Caspian nodded and Edmund was sure he was about to give the order to turn the ship about when Reepicheep asked "And why not? Will someone please explain to me why not."
Drinian still objected, pointing out that it would be of little use. Edmund thought this was rather a poor argument, especially when debating with the most impractical mouse in the world, and of course Reepicheep seized the opening and declared that it wasn't about use but honor, and to turn away would be dishonorable and cowardly. Edmund very nearly smacked his forehead. Reepicheep was wonderfully valiant, but he lacked foresight. Edmund had traveled into darkness for more than curiosity's sake and he was lucky to come out of it alive. What he really wanted to do was shake his head and quote Shakespeare by saying "Discretion is the better part of valour." But he remembered that Falstaff had said this, and Reepicheep would be little moved by the arguments of a former fool. He would much sooner take up Henry's cry of "Once more into the breach, my friends, once more!" Still, Edmund hoped that Caspian had the sense not to listen, but the young king said "Oh, bother you, Reepicheep. I almost wish we'd left you at home. All right! If you put it that way, I suppose we shall have to go on. Unless Lucy would rather not?"
Edmund knew that he said this out of more than mere courtesy, and he also knew that however white her face might be she would agree to go on. If she hadn't said, "I'm game," that would have surprised him.
He bit his lip uncertainly. To go into this darkness was folly; he knew it. He had been down that road before and it had brought him and his family not honor, not adventure, but a battle with death. It had caused Aslan's death. Reepicheep's thirst for honor and gallantry was his Turkish Delight. Edmund knew this dark place would bring them no fulfillment, no joy, but would instead suck those things away. Yet to explain this would be to admit his own grievous fault to Narnia. Reepicheep might be at his throat for his betrayal, and he was sure the confidence Caspian bestowed on him would be shattered. No, he couldn't do it. So he reasoned that perhaps one had to travel to the darkest places to learn, and that Reepicheep could use the lesson. He said nothing, and he tried not to look at Lucy.
She went up to the fighting top armed with bow and arrows. Edmund stood in the bows with Rynelf and Eustace and Caspian and Reepicheep. They had put on their mail when the island grew nearer in preparation for exploring, and now they stood armed, their drawn swords reflecting the last of the sunlight. Edmund saw the lantern in front of him grow brighter as the darkness loomed closer. As they plunged forward, he twisted round and looked at Lucy on the fighting top. She was still in the sun, and her hair was glowing like a halo around her face. Then the mast and the fighting top slid into the blackness, and he could no longer see her face, but the masthead light reflected a little of the gold of her hair.
"If Reepicheep has proposed anything that brings her harm…" Caspian left this whispered threat vague.
Those were the last words Edmund heard for a long while. He could hear Eustace breathing heavily beside them, and he could hear the monotonous splash of the oars, but these were small sounds which were quickly swallowed up by the blackness. Edmund closed his eyes and didn't like that it made so little difference whether he kept them closed or open, and he waited apprehensively for something to come out of the darkness. He peered into the water, and in the dim light of the lantern it looked thick and oily. He began to shiver with the cold.
Then there was the scream. An inhuman scream so full of abject terror that Edmund felt everything inside him shrivel. There was a space of moments where he nearly fainted away, the sound of it frightened him so. He heard Reepicheep and Caspian speaking but he couldn't understand them. He had only just pulled himself together when they helped the man aboard.
The man was wild and savage looking, as though he was losing his intelligence, his humanity, as well as his mind. What is this place that we are sailing into that it robs men of their very being? He stared with such wide, dilated eyes that it looked as though his pupils had absorbed the blackness that surrounded them and took all the color out of his eyes. He looked directly at Edmund and he nearly screamed "Fly! Fly! About with your ship and fly!"
When he explained "This is the island where dreams come true," Edmund's breath came so quick he felt winded. He did not need the explanation that it was not daydreams that came true here but real, honest dreams. He was not a daydreamer, but he was one whose nightmares haunted him.
"Your Majesty, your Majesty," protested Reepicheep, "Are you going to tolerate this mutiny, this poltroonery? This is a panic, this is a rout."
Edmund wanted to find the words to express the horror but they couldn't come. He wanted to hug Caspian when he heard him bellow "Row, row! Pull for all our lives. Is her head right, Drinian? You can say what you like, Reepicheep. There are some things no man can face."
"It is, then, my good fortune not to be a man," Reepicheep answered, and just then Edmund agreed. He would give anything not to be afraid in this moment, even if it meant surrendering all his intelligence. He prayed hard that they might burst forth into the daylight, but all the while he kept his open until at last he heard the sound that churned his stomach and stopped his heart. He heard the sleigh bells. They were somewhat in the distance, but they were hollow and empty of music. He knew whose sleigh they belonged to. He wanted to scramble up to the fighting top to make sure that Lucy was safe, but he feared that if he did she would be stone by the time he reached her. He could barely bring himself to glance up to where she was and assure himself that her hair was still reflecting gold.
If the White Witch came aboard it would happen all over again. She would kill Caspian and Drinian, she would turn Lucy and Eustace to stone, and—he could hear this now too—she would sharpen her stone knife and the dwarf would jerk his head back.
If his dreams were really about to come true then Susan and Peter would suddenly appear. He never wanted to see them less in his life. He waited as the bells drew nearer for the sound of Peter's footfalls on the deck. He closed his eyes and he knew that they weren't any closer to the sunlight, and he couldn't even pray anymore through the sick dread that filled his heart.
Then Rynelf cried "Look!" and though his voice was hoarse, his cry sounded very loud above the unsettling whispers and imagined sounds. Edmund followed the line of his arm and saw ahead of them a speck of light. A great beam emanated from it, illuminating the whole ship. Edmund blinked in the sudden light. Peter was not there. Caspian was still alive and Eustace was still human. Among the gasps and cries of the crew, he could no longer hear the sound of bells.
At the same moment, both he and Caspian turned around to look at Lucy. She was gazing at the end of the beam with her steady eyes, and because Edmund was looking so closely at her, he didn't realize that the light was coming from an albatross until it fluttered around her. It must have said something to Lucy, because even as it flew ahead to guide the ship her whole face lit up with hope and surety. Edmund knew then that Aslan was with them.
Caspian took a step towards the fighting top, and the expression on his face echoed Lucy's. He didn't say anything, but the strength and courage was back in his eyes.
Relief had barely begun to surge through him when they burst into the sunlight. Everyone crowded around the newcomer, and only the interest he created kept Edmund from hugging Lucy as she came down from above. Even still, he couldn't stop a couple of tears from rolling down his cheeks. The day and the summer sun had never felt so good to him.
After this, Aslan sent them a boon of a steady but gentle wind, and sun-drenched days which warmed the deck of the Dawn Treader. The weather was so mild that nearly everyone slept on deck. Edmund stayed on the poop deck those nights with Eustace and Lucy and Caspian and Reepicheep, and the chatter of the sailors diminished as the night wore on and they dropped off to sleep. Edmund found he could lie still for hours with his hands tucked behind his head, staring up at the wide Narnian sky. He didn't sleep much; he found when he was this contented he didn't need much rest. The gentle rocking of the ship was lullaby enough.
On one of these nights, Edmund was staring up at the moon, which was setting above him. The whole deck was bathed in its gentle glow, and he was thinking of the nights when he was king and he would take long walks on the beach by Cair Paravel. Those hours had been his few precious moments where he was truly alone, and sometimes that was a nice thing. Of course, he realized that solitude was a luxury only when he could leave it at will and return to the warmth of his family.
He thought he was awake by himself, enjoying one of those solitary moments again, but then he heard them whispering together.
"I took many astronomy lessons from Doctor Cornelius, but I never learned of these stars," Caspian said softly.
"I can't remember them either, and I knew the stars so well when I was here. Do you know, Caspian, I think we are looking at stars that no Narnian has seen before?"
Caspian didn't reply, and Edmund wondered what he was thinking. But presently he heard Lucy say "I know. When I think of things like that—that of all the people in the world since its beginning only three at most have seen these waters, the most delicious thrill runs through me."
Caspian was still silent, and Edmund raised himself up on his elbows so he could see them. They were clear in the pale moonlight; Lucy was looking up at the sky, and Caspian was looking at her with a gentle expression in his eyes it was fortunate Lucy could not see. Eventually he said, "How do you know, Lucy? That's exactly what I was thinking."
She turned to him and shrugged. Edmund raised an eyebrow. That elegant toss of the shoulders was something she had definitely borrowed from Susan, and he wondered if she did it knowingly. She said, "Caspian, I've just realized: do you know what we can do if we are the first to see these stars? We have the right of explorers. We can name the constellations."
"That's a wonderful idea. If I had worked a little harder on my astronomy with Doctor Cornelius, we could even make a star map."
"Better still, we can ask Coriakin to do it for us when we get back to his island. I'm sure he would," Lucy replied. Edmund noticed that she was talking about returning now too.
"Yes, he would," Caspian agreed. "So then, my lady, I leave it to you to name the first constellation."
Lucy giggled a little but studied the sky carefully. "All right, I have one. Do you see those stars over to the north? There are five of them in a line, very bright, and two just off to each side."
Caspian leaned his head closer to Lucy's to see it from her point of view. "Yes."
"Then I would say we should call those the Sword—Rhindon."
"After the High King Peter's sword," Caspian murmured. "That strikes me as a very good name." He was silent for awhile, searching for the sky. At last he said "I see another—or two, rather. They're close together." He lifted her arm and traced the patterns in the sky for her. "Those I should call the Cordial and the Dagger."
"Caspian! You shouldn't flatter me so!"
"I don't flatter. There they are, clear as the High King's sword. And what, do you not deserve your place among these new constellations? You are one of the four monarchs of the Golden Age."
"Do you know, it's odd, but there are moments where I don't really think of myself as a queen? I mean, I know I am, and I love Narnia, but it seems so strange that I should be a ruler. I'm only Lucy Pevensie. I'm just a girl."
"I know exactly what you mean," Caspian answered. "I feel so much more natural out here at sea than I do in my throne room. I know I can't give up my duty to Narnia, but it's good to be free for a little while."
"It's easier to do your duty when your people love you. When you see how happy they are to see your return, you'll be happy to be home, too," Lucy said wisely. "Even if you do have to go hunting for a wife."
"Hopefully I won't have to look too far," Caspian said. Edmund watched him carefully, but Caspian kept his voice light and he avoided any significant looks at Lucy.
Even so, Lucy turned to look at him again, studying his face carefully for a long moment before agreeing, "No, hopefully you won't."
Edmund's heart jumped into his throat. He had thought this was impossible, that it would be years before Lucy gave Caspian any serious thought, but the look in her eyes and the softness of her voice told him otherwise. He wanted to get up and shake her and drag her away to her cabin and lock her up until she was old enough to understand what she was doing.
He stopped himself. What was the problem, after all? He himself had acknowledged how well Lucy and Caspian were matched. But Lucy was so young. She was blind to all of Caspian's faults: his willfulness, his impetuosity. He was good and kind and noble, but he hadn't grown into his kingship yet. He needed wisdom. Edmund kept wondering what Peter would say if he were there, and he couldn't help but think that his brother would frown on this match at this moment. Lucy couldn't give her heart away yet. And she was so giving of herself, what would happen to him? Would she still be the same sister she'd always been if she gave her love to Caspian? Would he still have his place in her heart?
Presently Caspian spoke again. "I've found another constellation. Look by the moon, and you can see the Horn."
Lucy clapped her hands lightly. "That's perfect! But we're missing one."
"Edmund is harder. He had no gifts, and that's the obvious symbol. Why is it that he had no gifts?"
Edmund held his breath, but he should have known it was needless. Lucy was steadfast. "That's a long story for another time," she said. "But look. This one is more abstract, like our Draco back home, but look carefully just there. You can see a figure dividing a staff in two." At first Caspian couldn't see it, and she spent a minute guiding his eyes. Once he did, she announced "I should call that the Broken Wand, after what Edmund did at the Battle of Beruna. I never saw that moment, but I always imagined it was incredible. He did what no other Narnian, not even Peter, could do."
Caspian laughed a little nervously. "It's a wonder that any man had the courage to ask for your hand or your sister's. Not only did they have to meet your brothers' approval—a daunting task—but they had to find some way to match your esteem of them. Else how could they coax you away from your family?"
"You'll notice that no one did," Lucy said with a smile.
Edmund grinned and lay back again with his hands behind his head. He stared at the constellation Lucy had picked out for him. At first he was smiling, for what did he have to worry about? Lucy clearly wasn't going to just give her heart away; she never had. But as he considered everything, he realized she was far closer to it now at thirteen than she had ever been as a full grown woman in Narnia.
A/N: I had a very productive weekend: I almost fell off the side of a mountain, but lived to post another chapter (which I wrote prior to my near death episode).
The author might be responsible for some exaggeration on this point.
Chapter 9 is also almost complete, and that should be up v. shortly. I also want to say thanks to all of you for weighing in on my AU dilemma. I think that this story will end canonically, but I'm already dabbling in the AU...it's just too tempting a possibility.
