Chapter Twenty-One: Vow

"Can you make just a little further, Phillip?" I asked, hurrying back to him along the trail. "There's a small dale up ahead that's very green and out of this wind. We can rest easier there."

He didn't lift his head, sure indicator that he was in pain. "I can make it, Majesty."

I nodded and pulled the saddlebags off his back, throwing them over my own shoulder to spare him the weight. He limped on, favoring his right foreleg. I hoped it was nothing more than a pulled muscle but I couldn't be sure. We had been picking our way through a rocky gorge no more or less remarkable than all the others we'd picked our way through on this quest when Phillip's hoof slipped on the rain-slicked stone. He hadn't fallen, but I had been thrown. I did my best not to let him see that I was a mass of bruises and scrapes and that I had rapped my head sharply on the ground. Phillip had righted himself, but now he was limping.

The drizzle of rain stopped as we entered the sheltering trees. This patch of green wasn't very large, but clearly it was well situated because it was guarded from the cold and wind. A small stream, a tributary to the Great River, ran through the vale, collecting in a deep pool before rushing out to join the mother river. Trees and grass and plants such as we had not seen for weeks grew in the little valley, a little slice of a more temperate zone here in the mountains. It seemed an oasis in the desert.

I had already scouted out a warm and level spot for our camp and I lead Phillip there. Beneath the evergreens thick enough to divert the rain I pulled off the saddle and bridle and looked to his leg. His cannon and ankle were swollen and he assured me he would be fine in a few days if I could keep the spot cool and clean. I followed his instructions for making a poultice and I bound the soft, cool mass to his leg with one of Lucy's handkerchiefs. I brought him water in the cooking pot, making six or seven trips back and forth to the stream until his thirst was satisfied. He was content to graze on the plants within reach while I explored a bit further afield, hoping for a bit of variety in the edible plants. I was very happy to find some arrowheads growing by the pool and it was worth being cold and wet to root up some of the starchy tubers however tough they may be. I also found some nettle and sorrel, neither of which I actually liked but I would eat anyway.

It was on my way back to the camp with my treasures that I found the strange little bush growing in a clearing. It wasn't very large, no bigger than an apple tree, with dark brown bark and rounded leaves that were thin and papery and the palest green. Hanging on it were small brown fruit that reminded me of dates in their appearance, though I had thought dates only grew on palm trees. Perplexed, I smelled one.

It smelled like toffee candy.

I stared, remembering Fledge's account of his flight to the Garden with Lord Digory and Lady Polly. He had mentioned a toffee tree in the valley where they had spent the night, grown on the first day Narnia was brought into creation from a piece of candy Polly had brought in her pocket. Glancing around, I saw more of the little bushes, some larger, some smaller, all with those papery leaves and heavy with fruit scattered about the clearing and up the slope.

Giving in to temptation, I plucked one, then nibbled on it. It was chewy and moist and tasted very much like toffee. I waited, but there seemed to be no immediate ill effects and I ate the rest of the fruit in my hand. I savored the flavor and sweetness and my senses seemed to rejoice at so much wonderful sensation at once. It seemed an eternity since I had tasted anything so delicious. I picked several more, noting the spot for a return trip, then gathered up the greens and arrowheads and returned to Phillip.

We lingered in this little valley two more days as Phillip's leg healed and I ate everything edible I could find, including such large amounts of the toffee fruits I gave myself an upset stomach. I slept remarkably soundly and it wasn't until the second morning, as I ground the leaves I'd gathered for a fresh dressing on Phillip's leg, that I realized that I was recovering from a minor concussion. I didn't mention anything to the Horse, he was fretting enough over time lost as he recovered. I reminded him that I held the record for days squandered and promised once he was recovered we could make up more miles.

The concussion, I believed, was the reason behind the extraordinary dream I had the last night in the dale.

I rarely remembered my dreams. They simply held very little interest for me. Edmund had been subject to vivid nightmares even before the war and I learned from his example not to be too curious about what went on in my mind at night. This dream was different from any I could recall simply because it seemed so very real. Every detail was perfect and it seemed more a vision than a dream, even though I was very deeply asleep.

Aslan walked slowly down the halls of Cair Paravel, his huge paws making no sound on the thick carpets. Beside him, pale and thin, strode Edmund. He had one hand buried deeply in the Lion's mane. I knew it was night and Edmund was pacing in his anxiety, waiting for midnight to strike him down. Aslan watched him and I somehow understood that Aslan wasn't walking with Edmund just to comfort his fears.

He was trying to keep my brother alive.

In my dream I stepped closer to Edmund. He couldn't see or sense me, so consumed by pain was he. His eyes frightened me. Normally bright with unspoken sarcasm and insights, his dark eyes were dull and he looked like a worn down, defeated little boy, not a king or knight. I felt my heart break at the sight, and I reached out for him even though I couldn't touch him.

Aslan's eyes seemed to linger on me as they passed by. I looked back at him desperately as Edmund paused, his free hand covering the area of the wound as he winced, a twinge of agony almost dropping him. He leaned heavily against Aslan. The Lion purred soothingly.

"Aslan," asked Edmund quietly, "will Peter make it?"

I was crushed to hear doubt in his voice and I felt anew the crush of guilt over time lost with the Lake King's Daughter. I tried to speak, but in this dream I was mute.

"I would not have sent him unless I had every faith that he would be successful."

Edmund sniffed and wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. "I know. It...just...hurts," he admitted breathlessly. "I wish it would end."

I gasped, horrified at the thought that Edmund might be tempted to give up. He was one of the steadiest, strongest people I knew and I needed him in my life desperately. He must not give in. Not my stubborn, keen, unbearable little brother. I had never known him to surrender anything to anyone.

Until Jadis.

I wanted to shout out to him, let him know I could see and hear him, beg him to hold on until I returned. I looked to Aslan, but at the moment the Lion's attention was on Edmund.

"Do not despair, Edmund," whispered Aslan. "Know that he loves you and will not rest until you are freed."

"I miss him,"admitted Edmund in a small voice. He looked like neither warrior or king, but the sweet little brother that had so often crawled into my bed when he was frightened or cold.

"And he misses you and thinks of you always. For his sake, you must endure and believe. Come. It is almost midnight. Your sisters are waiting."

Edmund sighed and turned away, Aslan moving with him.

I woke with a gasp. Darkness, the sound of the river, the wind in the trees, Phillip's slow breaths beside me. It was midnight, and I knew at this exact moment Edmund felt the stab of jagged crystal as the air was driven from his lungs and once again he fell, mortally wounded and praying for an end.

The pain would end, but on Aslan's terms, not Jadis's.

So I vowed anew.