Chapter Thirty-Six: Deliverance

I didn't dare stop. If I stopped, I would succumb to the cold and I'd never be able to start up again.

My first order of business had been to free Rhindon from its sheath. It seemed as if this should be a simple task, but the metal sheath was indented and jammed full of mud and filth and I couldn't get it out. Finally, after minutes of fruitless struggling, I took off the belt, braced the sheath between my knees, and yanked for all I was worth. With a horrible squeal of metal from the sword and a loud grunt of effort from me, the blade came free. I tumbled to my rump in the mud and tried to see the sword in the moonlight. I was sure it had to be scratched, but I had armorers back at the palace that could deal with that. I anxiously inspected it to be sure the blade wasn't bent and regained my feet. I checked for the apple again. The satchel was still secure under my clothes, held fast by my sword belt. I pulled it out and unwrapped the small fruit. It was beautiful, perfect, unblemished and unwithered and glowed faintly silver. I wished I could prove half as resilient. I shook the dirt from the linen handkerchief wrapped around it and tucked it away again. I checked my knife, thanked Aslan that I had somehow survived intact and prayed Phillip had done the same, and set off eastwards as quickly as I could manage.

I stared at the empty ground along the river. Everything had been swept away, scoured down to the rock. Not a tree, not a stick, not a hint of life along the banks. The flood, for all its violence, had wiped the valley clean. The surface of the moon could not be more desolate. I hoped the flood had taken all the Slinn with it. The stench was less, replaced by the stink of mud and death, so it was simply replacing one reek with another.

The clouds cleared rapidly, whiskey away by the biting wind and showing the brilliant white stars beyond. My hair dried rapidly, my clothes, caked with mud and whatever other filth was swirling in the water, less so. I kept moving at a fast walk, jogging when the terrain allowed. I couldn't manage more and wanted to keep some energy in reserve in case I needed to bolt or fight. I scanned the ground before me without pause, alert for Slinn behind every rock. To my right the Great River raged and splashed as the effects of the flash flood died down. Nothing looked familiar and I was very exposed as I moved alongside the river. Occasionally I paused to check behind me, but there was nothing.

I prayed as I walked, a desperate mantra racing in a jumble through my mind. I doubt even Aslan could make sense of more than the fear coursing through me. At least it gave me the strength to move on, that and his command to hurry.

Aslan, protect me from the Slinn. Be at my back. Guide me and warn me, mighty Lion. Keep me from the Slinn and the Slinn well away from me. Help me, Aslan, help me through this valley. Protect Phillip. Let me find him whole and well. Deliver us from this place. Aslan, what happened to Lucy? Save her. Please, save her from the storm. Save us all from the storm. You said it would be difficult and dangerous but I had no idea. Not that it matters. I still would be here. Phillip, where are you? Aslan, is Edmund alive? Is Lucy? I can't live without them. I love them and I love you and please get me out of this place! Did you reach her, so she could reach him? Watch over my brother. He's more fragile than he'll ever admit. Aslan, protect my family. Please, please, keep them safe, I need them, I need you, oh, Alsan help me, what was that?

I skidded to a halt in the mud. A hissing noise met my ears. I looked around, terrified, but saw nothing, and so I carefully picked my way forward, Rhindon at the ready and my heart racing. Gradually the noise grew louder and I saw movement up ahead in the moonlight.

It was the Slinn.

There were several dozens of the creatures assembled and it was a minute or more before I realized not all of them were alive. There was a slight bend in the river and heaps of refuse had built up. Twisted amidst the wreckage and stretched out on the rocks were the huge, pale carcasses of several dead Slinn. Smaller versions of the fox-headed eels were ripping at the bodies, fighting for better access as they cannibalized their dead...and the nearly dead.

I stared in horror, feeling sick and cold and not just from the weather. Fighting my revulsion and trying not to hear or see more than I needed to survive this terrible place, I pushed on desperately, darting from cover to cover as best I could. The feeding frenzy was going on far up enough on the bank that I had room to pass if I could make it undetected. They were so engrossed I probably could have strolled right by, but I wasn't inclined to test that theory. The mud beneath my feet was slick and clinging, and my sore and abused body couldn't respond as I would have liked. I fell more than once, jarring my knee and discovering a thousand other ways to hurt above and beyond what I felt already. I barely noticed.

Suddenly the mud before moved and a Slinn about the same size as I reared up. It hissed savagely at me, its breath foul and its sinewy body shivering with ferocity. I let out a shout, laying into the hideous thing with Rhindon before it could strike. It dropped, wounded, thrashing in the mud, and our cries drew the attention of the others. I didn't pause. I didn't dare. I struggled through the thick mud, fighting to reach higher ground.

Aslan, keep me alert. Help me out of this awful place. As you love me, great Lion, be at my back-

I whirled, swinging Rhindon in a wide arc.

Another Slinn dropped with a splat! into the mud, dead. I looked around, but the only live Slinn in sight were busy with their obscene feast. Slowly I lowered my sword.

"Thank you, mighty Aslan," I whispered.

OoOoOo

I saw no more live Slinn until the crack of dawn, though I stumbled across many more dead than I cared to count. I could only guess that part of the reason this place was so desolate and blighted was because they were grossly overpopulated. No more, it seemed, and most of the ones I saw that had survived were on the small side. I suppose that's why I survived as well, at least in part. I attributed the rest to Aslan's protection and his warning to high-tail it out of there while the Slinn were too busy cannibalizing their own kin to take much note of me.

I was so cold I couldn't believe such a thing as warmth existed anywhere in the world and I'm certain if I hadn't been moving my clothes would have frozen. I did find a spot to cross the river - a narrow ford where several downed trees formed a rude bridge. I wouldn't advise crossing slick tree trunks with a naked sword in hand, but once drawn there was no way I was going to be able to return Rhindon to its sheath without some repairs. The trail we had followed was wiped out, but that didn't matter.

I only realized exactly how far I had been swept down river when the land began to rise again. I was almost at the far end of the valley. I was so surprised that I stopped for a moment, looking back the way I'd come. The yellow sunrise gave the valley a sickly haze.

Then I heard a shrill scream that thrilled and frightened me in equal measure.

Phillip.

I ran as fast as I could, forgetting my knee and my ribs and everything else as a rush of anxiety gave me speed. The scream came again, closer, and I skidded to a halt and dashed up the slope to the newly carved tree line. The dead forest looked like the bones of some great dinosaur and I wasn't hampered by undergrowth as I plunged into the woods.

"Phillip!" I called as loudly as I could. My voice cracked with the effort. Where was he?

Another long, angry whinny echoed off the hills. I needed to go further down river. I forced my way through the brittle woods, ignoring the new scratches I acquired. As the light increased I could see through the trees and there was movement in a clearing ahead. With a shout of fury I threw myself shoulder-first through the branches barring my path. I landed heavily on stone and gray mud that looked as if it had been made from ash.

Phillip. The Horse's long reins were tangled in the branches of a fallen tree and he fought against the restrains to defend himself against four Slinn that were trying to draw close enough to strike. There were two small Slinn trampled to death at his hooves and one of the remaining four was bleeding from its eye. They slithered this way and that around him, avoiding his sharp hooves and getting into each other's way. They didn't notice me.

Yet.

A kind of fury took possession of me. I was exhausted, sore, and I wanted not just to go home, but to be home. No fuzzy, fox-headed snake was going to stop me or my friend. I had felt this sensation before at Beruna and against the rebel trees - a controlled burn. It wasn't anger, but pure power. My body moved on its own accord, with a grace and precision I could match only rarely outside of pitched battle, and it felt as if I was detached from my own form and watching myself move. Oreius said this was a state of pure instinct, the mindless mind of a warrior, and it was for this that Edmund and I trained so constantly. It came easier to Edmund than to me, which was why he excelled at duels. Our teachers were astonished that we could reach it at all, given our ages.

But oh, when I reached this state! Not even Edmund wanted to come near me after he saw me disarm Celer and back Oreius into a corner.

The nearest Slinn I sliced from head almost to tail, killing it instantly. Rhindon's keen edge cut through hide and flesh and brittle bones. I didn't stop, but brought the sword straight down onto the next monster's neck. The awful creature screamed and turned on me even as it collapsed into a bloody, dying heap. The remaining two split apart to my left and right, hissing at me. One was fairly large - about twice my size, the other slightly smaller.

"Slinn!"

I stood between then, Rhindon at the ready. I could just see each beast at the corner of my vision. Phillip was behind me, his breath coming in loud gasps. I waited, knowing they would move first.

"Ssssss!"

Left went high, right went low.

I jumped backwards.

Both Slinn checked themselves, hissing savagely at each other before turning on me. They switched roles this time and right went high. I lunged to the right, sweeping the tip of my sword upwards until it was just under the Slinn's rounded jaw, then I thrust it far forward, driving the sword through its throat.

In those precious seconds, the other creature got too close to my good cousin, Phillip. The tone of his horsy scream was no longer afraid as he smashed and slashed the Slinn with his hooves. Rearing up, Phillip brought his full weight down on the thing's head. It raged and hissed and pulled away. Blood splashed in the gray mud as I reversed my grip on Rhindon and plunged the sword into the thing's side. It thrashed a moment then dropped like a stone.

"Peter!"

I yanked my sword free and rushed to loosen the reins from the tree branches.

"You're hurt!"

"So are you," he replied breathlessly.

I shook my head. "We have to get out of here. We're almost at the end of the valley. The ground was rising when I crossed the river."

"The apple?"

"We should be so indestructible. Can you move?"

"Yes."

I took a moment to unstrap his saddle and straighten it and the blanket beneath. I gathered up the reins and mounted up, still carrying Rhindon and not about to put the sword away until I had a good ten miles between me and this hellish valley.

We didn't speak. I listened and watched as Phillip picked his path, cold seeping back into my body. My confused prayer to Aslan ran through my aching head.

See us clear of this place, Aslan. Please, see us clear. Thank you for Phillip. Thank you for our lives. We won't waste them or this opportunity. Keep them safe, Aslan. Is the storm past? Oh, my head! I'm bleeding? Oh, Aslan help us both.

And on and on, my thoughts and reactions and feelings spilling over into an endless litany.

I almost cheered when I saw leaves blow across the trail. Phillip had been climbing the gentle slope for some time now and through the blighted trees we could see color beyond. I had never thought of brown leaves as glorious, but the valley of the Slinn gave me a whole new appreciation for color.

At the edge of the valley I dismounted and slumped along to spare Phillip, who walked with increasing difficulty. We finally talked. I learned that he had struggled above the wall of water after I was swept away, then followed the swell as quickly as he could, keeping just above the high water mark. The Slinn had been caught in the flood, their dens awash, and they had been too occupied devouring the drowned to pay much heed to Phillip until the reins had caught and pinned him. I supposed he was too tempting a target for the beasts to pass by.

"I was on the other bank," I said. "I got smashed into a pile of branches."

"I should have seen you!"

"I was out cold, Phillip."

We reached the crest of a hill far down river from the Slinn. To our left the Great River wove past the hill, still rapid, but turning back to its lazy self as it exhausted its supply of rain and runoff. The sun was up, the wane sunlight bringing little actual warmth. I was grateful for it nonetheless. I was even more grateful to find a downed tree housing a squirrel's cache of nuts - black walnuts and walnuts and even some hazelnuts in great quantities among the acorns. Phillip ate browned grass as I cracked a few handfuls of the nuts with a rock, the black walnuts staining my gloves yellow.

After we ate it was time to take stock of ourselves and our situation. I pulled the saddle and bridle off the Horse to inventory our supplies. My cloak was gone, but my heavy wool blanket had been tied to the saddle and that would do as well to keep me warm for now. Most everything that hadn't been tied down - the bow and arrows, the cooking pot, the hammer for the horse shoes, the shoes and nails, Phillip's combs, among other things - was gone. I was particularly discouraged to see the iron was missing, though I found the flint wedged in a fold of the leather pouch. When we made camp tonight I'd try the stone against every scrap of metal we carried - from Rhindon to Phillip's horseshoes - to try to produce a spark. I dumped every single one of the edible nuts into the saddlebag, the bulge they caused comforting to my spirits and stomach, and as I did so I discovered we still had the hatchet. I laid our blankets out to dry and peeled off my boots the leather jerkin, laying them on some flat rocks in the sun. They needed to be dry before night or I'd have hypothermia by dawn tomorrow. Shivering, I tried to keep busy and moving.

Phillip was in approximately the same shape as I. Bruised, battered, swollen, boasting dozens of cuts and splinters - every square inch of him ached for one reason or another. His tail in particular was painful, and I think he might have broken or dislocated some of the bones in it. He had a nasty scrape on his flank which I cleaned as best I could, and there was a long cut across his nose that looked painful. He had lost a shoe and I used a stick to clean the packed mud and grit out his hooves.

"King Peter?"

"Yes?" I looked up from his hoof.

For all his fatigue there was a smile in his brown eyes as he said, "I remember this place."

I couldn't imagine how, since everywhere looked pretty much the same to me. "Do you?"

"We were but nine days out of Narnia when we camped here."

I gasped, my mouth falling open and I dropped his hoof. "You're certain?"

"Yes."

I stared at the mid-morning sun. We had the whole day before us. I looked back at him and in that moment we had the identical idea.

"Let's go."