Chapter Thirty-Seven: Five Days
"Phillip, how far from Narnia would you say we are now?"
The Horse paused, looking around. "I think we passed this place a week after setting out, King Peter. No. Five days."
"Five days," I echoed softly, forcing my exhausted mind to focus. I looked up at the gathering clouds. The wind carried a scent of rain and I knew it would be upon us by evening. My voice was raspy from a sore throat as I said, "Five more nights for Edmund. Phillip, I don't want to stop and make camp again. We'll rest at night, but during the day we cannot delay. Five days, Phillip, and we're home."
He thought for a few moments. "Take off the saddle, my king. We'll leave all the gear we don't need. Keep the blankets."
It didn't take long for me to sort through what was left of our equipment and supplies and Phillip tore at the faded grass as I worked. I kept the smallest of the saddlebags, the hatchet, Phillip's saddle blanket, the flint, and the last few handfuls of nuts. I was already wearing all the clothes I had brought - that I had tightened my sword belt two notches past its normal spot again despite all the clothes was sad testimony to my state of health. The pile of abandoned equipment seemed pathetically small.
"Look, majesty," said Phillip, indicating something on the ground by his hoof. I looked at the small, faded green plant and smiled.
"Wild fresney," I said, absurdly pleased at the sight of the familiar herb.
"Eat it, King Peter," he ordered. "You have not eaten today. You cannot go on like this for five days more. Eat it all."
In truth I wasn't hungry, but I knew full well he was right and I carefully dug it free with the knife Edmund had made me. The whole plant is edible and it boasts a long tap root that tastes somewhat like parsnip, only better. Phillip found two more and made sure I dug them all up.
"I'll wash them in the river and eat on the way," I promised, tucking them into the saddlebag. Raw vegetables did not appeal right now, but I would eat every bit of every root. I spread the blanket across his back, threw the saddlebag over his flanks and climbed on, taking up the reins.
"Much lighter," commented the Horse. "Come. We'll stop at the river, then press on."
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My feet slid a bit before gaining purchase in the mud as I tried to press myself further back into the meager shelter of the overhang of rock and earth. Another storm raged overhead, turning the river into a mighty torrent and forcing us to hide in the only cover we could find before the lightning started. Phillip shifted nervously. I think he was more anxious for me than the storm even though I know he disliked thunder. He said something to me, but I shook my head, unable to hear him above the roar of wind and water. I clutched my right arm close to me, panting as I tried not to pass out from pain. It was broken, I knew, and there was nothing to do for it now except suffer.
"Sit," Phillip finally made himself heard. He nudged me with his nose and I turned too quickly, triggering such nausea that I doubled over and was sick. My stomach was empty and I spit up naught but bile before collapsing to my knees in the mud. Phillip stood close enough to brace me against the back of the shelter. I leaned my head against his leg and gasped for air, trying to pray and failing utterly as fresh pain pressed down upon me and high wind and rain lashed us both.
Three days after deciding not to stop we had gotten caught in a rock slide. If we both hadn't been so very weary we might have avoided it, but somehow I doubt it, for the slide had been wide and sudden. We were passing through the jagged, rocky canyon we had seen thirty miles west of Caldron Pool when a small river of broken stone and dirt and vegetation had swept down upon us. Phillip had bolted and I had fallen off just in time to catch a large rock against my arm and side. My ribs were already heavily bruised and the added blow was absolute agony, but I knew instantly that the bones in my forearm had snapped. It took me most of the afternoon to rig a means to splint it using some maple saplings laboriously cut down and strips of the blanket, tied taut with two spare bowstrings I found in the saddlebag. Phillip had suffered a few minor cuts to his legs and right flank, not enough to stop him. Having nothing else, I used the last of Lucy's handkerchiefs to bind the worst cut on his fetlock. Just as I finished tending him the storm kicked up and we had hastened to find shelter.
Thirty miles. Thirty miles until Narnia and home. It didn't matter where I was in Narnia: Glasswater or the Dancing Lawn or the cellar Cair Paravel, every inch of it was home to me. We could do that in a day, two at the most. If we were lucky, we could get back to Caldron Pool before I was laid low by fever, because I knew it was inevitable with such a bad break. If we weren't lucky...well, Phillip could go on ahead and get help.
The apple was a small bulge in the satchel on my hip. My thoughts touched on it briefly, more because it was uncomfortable than I had any interest in what it could do for me. I had come too far, too long to be swayed by temptation. In truth I couldn't even concentrate on it very long, I just knew it was not for me. Besides, though it granted immortality, who was to say it also granted good health and freedom from pain?
I looked out at the storm, too cold and wet and sick to try to move. Lightning illuminated the landscape in weird contrasts of dazzling light and shadow. Was it midnight? Were Susan and Lucy sitting up with Edmund, waiting for that awful gasp and the gush of blood? Were they wondering where I was now, praying for me to return? I could use those prayers right now. I couldn't think of anything else that would keep me moving. I hoped Aslan was with them still, watching over Edmund.
Despair settled upon me and I smiled, leaning against the Horse's muddy leg in the heart of a storm.
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The next thing I clearly remembered was waking up on Phillip's back, riding slumped with my right arm cradled on my lap and the reins loose in my left hand. He was walking slowly to balance me. Each step jarred my arm slightly.
"Phillip?" I rasped, trying to straighten.
"Twenty miles to go, King Peter. How are you? Did you sleep?"
"I suppose. I think I have a fever." My clothes were damp and the wind was bitterly cold, but I didn't care. Twenty miles. Less than a day's ride. The only thing I had to do was not die and all would be well in just a few days. I wanted to cheer, but even breathing deeply enough to talk triggered dry heaves in my stomach and I barely managed to slide off Phillip's back before I fell to my knees and vomited. The spell seemed to last forever and I wasn't sure I'd be able to get on his back again.
"Peter," whispered Phillip, nuzzling my neck, sharing my misery.
I sat back on my heels. "I can't get up."
"Lay hold of my bridle. I'll help you."
I gripped his bridle in my left hand and he managed to haul me upright. I wavered, my vision darkening a moment. I only managed to get back on him by standing on a fallen tree trunk.
"Hold on. I'll walk carefully."
I could only stare at his mane and ears, seeing nothing around us, too sick and weary and close to starvation to do much else. My arm was burning hot and pure agony. I was sweating despite the cold and more than once I almost fell off, lulled into a stupor by pain and fatigue.
"Peter! King Peter!"
I roused with a start. It was late afternoon. We were out of the gorge and following the Great River over the rocky terrain dotted with low blueberry bushes and scrub pine. I glanced around, lacking the strength to be alarmed. If we were being attacked I was going down. I couldn't even draw my sword, having forgotten until that moment to shift it to my right hip.
"Majesty, look up! Look to the east!"
I obeyed, squinting at the darkening horizon. I saw a fluid, graceful form dark against the sky, weaving through the pinkish clouds with amazing agility. On the breeze I heard a shrill screech like an Eagle's cry.
"Cyn," I breathed, recognizing the Gryphon scout even at this distance. He had a distinct way of folding his wings to dive, unmistakable to miss. Hope surged in my breast and I didn't even try to stop my tears. "Phillip, it's Cyn."
I was completely startled when Phillip let out a loud whinny, then another, and I seized his mane for balance. I saw Cyn hesitate in mid-air, then come wheeling back west. He swooped low over the trees and water, keen eyes searching for the source of the sound. Phillip neighed again and the Gryphon twisted on the wind, screeching out his excitement and joy as he spotted us. In less than five minutes he was overhead, one of the best sights I have ever seen. With another exalting call the half-lion, half-eagle creature came to a landing just a few yards away, jogging to a stop.
"King Peter!" he cried. "Phillip! King Peter, thank Aslan!" He bowed low to me, then his eyes grew wide as he took in my condition. If I looked half as awful as I felt then I was a truly frightening sight.
"Well met, Cyn," I said hoarsely, my throat and ears aching. "How is my brother?"
"He awaits you in Cair Paravel, sire," he replied, not really answering my question. I hoped it was simply a case of Cyn just not knowing. "King Peter, are you injured?"
"Yes," I said softly, "and I am ill. General Oreius said he would post soldiers by Caldron Pool."
"Oreius is there now, Majesty, at King Edmund's command, and he has sent scouts out continaully in anticipation of your return."
I nodded, trying to think of what to say next. I could barely think, let alone form a plan of action.
Phillip spoke up, bless him. "Send for him, Cyn. The king can ride no further. Have Oreius bring food and medicines to treat his majesty. His foreleg is broken and he has a fever. We will wait in this exact spot. Hurry."
"Can you build a fire?" asked Cyn, casting a nervous look at the swiftly darkening sky.
"I'll try," I replied, feeling faint. I slid off of Phillip's back, staggering as my legs almost gave out. I clung to the Horse with my left arm, fighting to stay conscious.
Cyn looked anxiously at Phillip, panic in his yellow eyes.
"Hurry," Phillip ordered.
I didn't even notice that Cyn had left until Phillip nudged me. Between us we gathered some fallen branches and old wood and after many attempts, I managed to produce a spark against the blade of the hatchet. The fire was small, but it was warm. I wrapped the blanket around me and moved close to Phillip where he settled by the little blaze. I was very cold and I finally laid me down, unable to go on.
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"Shh. Shh, my king. All is well."
I woke with a gasp and a violent start, struggling against the hands holding me. I heard voices. Who were they? Where was I? My arm ached. My throat was afire. Fever dreams scattered as wildly as my thoughts.
"Rest easy, King Peter," said a deep voice. I looked over and saw Oreius by the light of a large fire. He rested on the ground beside me, one hand on my chest. Closing my eyes in relief, I dropped my head down and landed on a pillow. I was clean and warm and dry and wrapped in soft blankets. This was the finest bed I had ever slept in.
"The apple -" I breathed, remembering and trying to sit up.
"Your things are safely here," he promised, still pinning me with one hand. "Nothing has been touched or moved."
I dropped down again with a sigh, seeing the satchel with its bulge of cloth-wrapped apple.
"Before you sleep you must eat something," the Centaur said gently but insistently, the familiar voice of my sword master as he taught me and Edmund to be warriors.
I shook my head, and he returned the gesture.
"I know you don't feel hungry, my king, but you are starving and weak. Eat a little now and more at dawn. We will be in Narnia on the morrow."
Someone, a Holly Dryad I think, brought him a bowl of food, then helped to prop me up with blankets and saddlebags so that I could eat. Oreius set the bowl in my lap and handed me a spoon and watched sharply until I started eating. It was venison stew and delicious beyond words. I ate slowly and awkwardly with my left hand. My right arm had been splinted anew and was far less painful than before, though I was reluctant to talk because my throat and ears hurt so very badly. Still, there were a few things I needed to know and I rasped,
"How are the girls?"
The good general was used to me referring to my sisters the queens so casually and he smiled faintly. "A little older than you left them but otherwise unchanged save for worry over you and your brother."
"And Edmund? How is he?"
His face, usually so hard and controlled, softened visibly. "He is as weary as you, King Peter."
I closed my eyes, unable to eat any more. Poor Edmund. Oh, my poor little brother.
"Phillip?"
"Full of oats and dreaming. Now sleep," whispered Oreius, easing me back down and handing the half-empty bowl of stew to the Dryad. He drew the blankets closer around me, smoothing the hair out of my eyes with a gentle hand. "Sleep, Majesty. You'll be home tomorrow and all will be well."
I could do naught but obey.