Chapter Twenty-Six: Release the Kraken
Whoever thought quests were the things of romance had obviously never been on one before.
It had been raining for five days without stop. I was soaked to the skin and shivering so badly I could barely speak. I had not had hot food in a week, and what food I had eaten was raw. I stank of myself and wet horse and leather and lanolin. Mud abounded in this land and the river turned into a churning, dangerous guide that swept over its own banks and flooded every hole and dent and furrow in the ground. We picked our way most carefully through sullied waters and over slick rock and prayed for a shelter out of the wind each night. I had fallen more times than I cared to admit and I was filthy from head to toe. I couldn't even dry off my sword and knife, and my bowstring was going to be hopeless for days after this, and the rain had even reached the spare strings tucked deeply in the saddlebags.
I bet it never rained on Sir Lancelot.
At least the terrain was somewhat familiar. We were two full weeks into our return trip. We had spent a night back in the sheltered little vale with the toffee trees and now we were approaching the first of about a dozen small lakes where I had greeted the sea serpent. It seemed ages ago since we had been sitting by the fire with Rhye, a lifetime since Cair Paravel. I was trying vey hard not to let Phillip see how anxious I was becomming over the issue of food and time. We didn't have enough of either, but in conditions such as these there was no rushing. One misplaced foot and either one of us could fall, possibly be swept into the river and drowned or injured too badly to continue. A broken bone so far away from Narnia would be death.
The series of pretty little ponds had swollen over their banks to form big, sloppy, muddy swamps the color of weak tea where bare trees stood in deep waters and our path was swallowed whole by the deluge. I was limping alongside Phillip, blisters on my feet almost crippling me they were so very painful. We had to dry off and soon. I knew I wouldn't be able to take much more of this. My head ached intolerably, my throat was sore, and if it got much colder I was going to drop from exposure.
"Majesty, ride," said Phillip. Clearly he had had enough of watching me slump along through the mud. "You cannot walk."
I thought about being stubborn but saw no point to it. "Phillip?"
"Yes, King Peter?"
"I am never going to do this again."
"Do what, sire?"
"Go on a quest. At least not right before winter. Or in any place that gets this much rain."
He chuckled. "What if Aslan asked?"
"I'll strap Rhindon on Edmund."
"And if he is away?"
"Susan."
Then I just gave in and climbed back into the saddle. Phillip resumed his careful walk, clearly amused at the oath he knew I'd break in an instant. We both kept an eye on the water for the same reason: the sea serpents. I was hoping to see one while Phillip was waiting for them to attack and eat me and possibly him as well. I couldn't convince him the large, graceful creature had not been threatening.
It took a long time to traverse the first pond, so unsure was the route, and we were both tired by the time dusk began to fall. We found shelter beneath an overhang of rock sheltered by trees recently downed by the rains, the earth washed away from their shallow roots. It may not have been the safest place, but there was nowhere else and it was out of the rain and most of the wind. I had nothing but plants, old thistle and nettle, and a few arrowhead tubers and toffee fruits for my dinner, and eaten raw they are no feast and rather hard on the stomach. Why are the most bitter greens also the thoughest and most enduring? Even plantains would have been welcome at this point.
I set the bow and extra strings out in the hopes the string would dry enough to be useable tomorrow. Despite my great care almost half the arrows were gone, though most of the missing ones had been shot at the Slinn. I considered them well spent in that case. At least we were more than halfway through with this journey, though unless we found a way around the Slinn valley I could expect to use up the rest of them.
After rubbing Phillip down as best I could in the limited space I made myself a bed of evergreen fronds cut from the downed trees and curled up under the blanket. Cold and wet though I may have been, I was more tired and I slept soundly the night through, waking feeling stiff and sore and with a stomach angry at me for the nettle greens of the night before. At least my clothes had gone from soaking to merely damp. The rain had stopped overnight, and though the sky still threatened as soon as Phillip was saddled and camp broken down we set out.
The ponds had not receded at all. If anything they were even more spread out, runoff churning the dank waters and debris moving slowly across the surface. Still, we made good progress that day and the weather held off. I remembered the shape of the rock formations along the trail and knew we were halfway past the series of ponds when a terrible, wailing cry echoed across the water.
I sucked in my breath, startled. Phillip's ears perked up.
"It sounds like grief," he said.
"Or frustration," I added.
He picked up the pace a bit, curious and cautious. We heard the sound several more times, growing louder as we approached the far end of the flooded pond. Here the water had risen to swallow trees and bushes far past the edge of the banks, creating a massive swamp with a wall of debris - vegetation, for the most part - built up where the land rose and caught the flotsam. It was all very miserable and two-toned: gray sky reflecting off brown water, gray trees, brown leaves.
Then I saw something moving against the slow current.
"Kraken!" hissed Phillip, turning away. He recognized the creature I had called a sea serpent.
I used the reins and turned him back, something I rarely did. He didn't make it easy, either. "I thought Krakens lived in the ocean."
"They do. This must be some freshwater cousin. They're dangerous creatures, majesty."
"How so?"
"Legend says they can destroy ships and swallow men whole."
"I doubt very much they've ever seen a ship up here," I replied. "What is it doing?"
As we watched the long-necked dragon was searching the shallows for something, coming as far as the flood would allow. Another long, lonely wail escaped it as it peered among the water bound trees and brush, and I realized one of the Kraken must have been trapped in the swampy shallows. I searched as well and saw faint movement in a pile of debris washed far away from where the banks of the pond would have been. Several more Kraken joined the first, all of them anxious and keening.
"Phillip, they need help."
"King Peter, you can do nothing."
He was probably right and I might have listened to him if, at that moment, that pathetic, anguished cry not had not reached my ears.
"I can try!" I dismounted and rummaged in the saddlebag for the small hatchet I used for cutting firewood.
Phillip rounded on me, yanking the saddlebag from my hands as he moved. "You cannot do this! Those creatures could kill you! You could drown!"
"So could that Kraken!"
"These are not your subjects!" His voice rose in anger.
"Since when does that matter?" I snapped right back. I planted my fists on my hips. "I can act and so I should. It's something my father taught me, Phillip. Rhye isn't my subject either but I would help her just as quickly!"
That took some of the wind out of his argument. "What of your quest?"
"You're right." I pulled off the small satchel holding the apple, wrapped the strap around it, and thrust it into the saddlebag, pulling out the hatchet as I did so. I was more cross than not. "If I get killed, get this to Edmund."
"No! Peter!"
I gazed at the good Horse, understanding his point of view and wishing he could see mine. Knowing these creatures were helpless before a problem I might easily solve was motivation enough, and if I did nothing now I would never forgive myself. Edmund would understand. Yes, he'd roll his eyes and say I had an overdeveloped sense of nobility and that knighthood had addled my head, but in the end he himself would do no less only with much dragging of feet and sarcastic commentary. In fact, I knew he'd do it better than I because he tended to apply logical solutions with greater skill than I could.
Still, Phillip and I had never disagreed so completely before and I didn't enjoy it. I gazed at him sternly and demanded, "Phillip, what did you promise Oreius?"
He let out a loud groan of frustration and stamped his hoof with a muddy splash. "To keep you from doing anything as foolish as this!"
"It's not foolish. It's the right thing."
He sighed, unable to keep from agreeing with me. Despite his protectiveness, his was a very noble character and he didn't like to argue with me any more than I did with him. I did not like to think that he would question my decisions. My expression must have said as much because he backed down.
"Wait here," I ordered, tucking the hatchet into my belt at the small of my back. I removed my wet cape and tied it to the saddle.
"I'll come."
"No. Only come if I call, and then be very cautious."
"Promise me you'll do the same."
"I will."
I turned back to the muddy pond. A handful of the Krakens had noticed us bickering and had gathered along what I assumed was the actual dropoff for the pond, watching with detached interest. The frigid water I walked through came up to my calves and I remembered the ponds were all surrounded by low, level ground. I angled towards the object moving in the debris and my audience moved along the edge of the pond with me. The water was murky and full of leaves and bits of roots and it smelled badly from all the mud stirred up from the bottom of the river and lakebeds.
The wailing grew louder and more desperate as I got closer to the figure trapped in the debris and clearly the Krakens thought I might intend some harm. It was then that I realized there were several dark forms in the brush. Three, in fact.
They were baby Krakens.
About the size of a Rotweiller I was well aquainted with in Cair Paravel, their smooth hides were pearly gray with a scattering of black spots. Other than their color they seemed perfect copies of the adults. The distraught Kraken must be the mother of the three. The flooding waters had plainly washed them up here.
I moved slower, trying to make less noise. Two of the babies raised their heads and stared at me with wide, frightened eyes. They were bloodied and terrified and exhausted. I could sympathize. The third one didn't move. It was dead, impaled on a broken branch. I understood the mother's desperation even better. Twisted branches and roots made their cage, pinning them in the water with their heads and backs just above the surface. If the water rose any more they would drown.
I looked back at the adults where they were trapped in deeper water. The mother was trying desperately to reach her babies, exhausting herself as she struggled in the thick mud. Trying to convey my intent, I did the only thing I knew they would recognize out of me.
I bowed.
That confused them, even the mother. They looked back and forth amongst themselves and finally, hesitantly, one bowed back. Perhaps he was among the first I had seen, but certainly they were taken aback.
Pulling out the hatchet, I approached the babies, studying the mess of branches holding them. One would be fairly easy to release, the other less so, so I started on the easier of the two. It panicked and thrashed and its brother or sister let out a god-awful howl of dismay, but a few blows with the blade and the branches pinning it were released. The little Kraken let out a scream and lunged out of its prison, bowling me over and smacking me roundly with its flippers and tail as it struggled through the shallows towards it mother using me as a springboard. I stood up, drenched and muddy and spitting at the mouthful of water I'd accidentially swallowed. It took a few moments to find the hatchet and as it waited for deliverance the other baby began to panic. It thrashed and flailed and began to bleed again.
"Stop! Stop!" I begged. "I won't hurt you! Stop, you silly thing!"
I had to act fast. I yanked away as much of the debris as I could and set to work with the hatchet, lightening the weight pinning the little one in the water. It screamed in pain and fear and I winced at the sound. I cleared a path, but the baby didn't struggle free as the other one had and I realized something else must be pinning it. Getting to my hands and knees in the water, I reached in and felt down the baby's back, pinning it as best I could and praying it wouldn't bite.
One of its flippers was impaled on a branch sticking up from below. No wonder it panicked so. I felt the branch. It was smooth, tapering to a point, and about six inches of it protruded through the base of the flipper. I knew this had to be abrupt and cruel, but there was no other way. I worked my hand under the Kraken's flipper and yanked up before it had any idea of what I was going to do.
It howled and thrashed and burst free. For the second time that day I got bowled over and trampled by a huge baby. I lifted my head out of the water and watched the little ones as they lunged and stumbled and splashed towards their mother, making a racket every inch of the way. The first one got stuck behind a clump of bushes and began to cry again. With a sigh and a grumble I gave chase, bodily pushing the little thing around the plants. It was satisfying to see it reach its mother, though, and she bent her head down protectively as the other Krakens greeted it happily. The second baby was having more trouble moving with an injured flipper, so I slogged back through the water to it and urged it along, moving what I could out of its path until the water got deep enough that it could actually swim. Its powerful tail lashed my shin as it passed and I staggered and almost fell back into the swamp. The mother crooned gently and both babies stayed right against her side. I doubted they'd ever get out of her sight again. She slowly swam away, calling to them all the while.
I sighed, exhausted, freezing, stinking worse than before, and bleeding in half a dozen spots. My face and body were sore from the unintentional beating I'd just received, I could taste blood, and sure enough, it started raining again. Still, I was relieved to see the babies reunited with their mother. I thought of my own parents, thought of the reunion with them I'd envisioned countless times, and suddenly the bravery of both my father and my mother astounded me - one for going away, the other for sending us away.
The remaining Kraken turned, studying me intently, not exactly sure of what to make of me. One of them bowed, then another, and then I had almost a dozen of the water dragons bowing deeply to me in thanks.