Chapter the Thirty-fourth: The Northern Seas
Authoress's Note: many thanks to all my dear reviewers. I am ever grateful for your kind encouragement.
12 Fairdawn 2076
A clear, rosy dawn saw the Jewel two days' sail from Terebinthia, heading north-northeast under a fresh breeze. Its Narnian passenger greeted the dawn as he did most mornings—at the ship's bow, his arms folded over the rail as he gazed past the eastern horizon, wondering what lay beyond it. As he absorbed the quiet morning's peace, Galen's thoughts wondered to his friend, who had not left her cabin since boarding the ship two days prior.
The journey from the embassy to the Jewel that night had proven mercifully uneventful. They departed just after two in the morning, half the embassy's marines accompanying them. It had seemed strange to the young Narnian as they traversed the same route he and Lyra had taken more happily the previous afternoon. Upon reaching the beach, he could make out the Jewel's proud silhouette anchored some distance out. Commander Randolph awaited with several sailors on the beach, ready to transport Lyra, Galen, and the marines who belonged to the Jewel's contingent back to the Archen vessel by longboat. Galen recalled fondly how Lieutenant Grant and his men had farewelled their sovereign.
"It has been our honor to serve you, your highness. May the Lion's light guard your way," the young officer had spoken a traditional Archen blessing, then brought his right hand to his heart and bowed deeply. His men did likewise.
"It has been my honor to receive such noble service," the Archen princess had replied. "May Aslan's might strengthen your arm," she completed the blessing, curtsying deeply in return.
His friend had endured the journey with her customary stoicism, but Commander Randolph, who had learned of the evening's events from one of the marines sent ahead to secure the beach, called for the ship's doctor as soon as they reached the ship. Upon a brief examination, he had instructed the princess to rest as much as possible for several days. To his surprise, she followed his directive without protest. Indeed, perhaps too diligently, thought her Narnian friend as he looked out on the glassy, gold-tinged waves.
"Fair morning, Sir Galen," a voice greeted, and Galen turned to see the now-ranking officer of the ship's marines, a thoughtful man of about twenty-eight years, standing beside him.
"A fair morning, indeed, Captain Anderson," the young knight returned his greeting warmly. "Please, join me. It is too fair a dawn to waste."
The Archen officer accepted his invitation, leaning against the rail beside the Narnian and looking to the east thoughtfully as the breeze tousled his stubborn brown hair.
"How fares the princess?" Anderson asked at last.
"She mourns a great loss," Galen answered with a sigh.
"As do we all," the Archen marine responded softly, looking down. "Colonel Grey was a great man, and we sorely feel his absence. I shall endeavor to lead the men well, but, alas, I fear I am a poor replacement."
A moment passed in silence.
"I wish I could explain to her that none of us would hesitate to give our lives in the same way; indeed, we would do so most happily. The colonel met the most honorable of ends," the marine continued at last, his brow furrowed.
"I think you can, Captain," Galen smiled slightly and, with a nod, left the officer at the rail and proceeded below deck.
As he passed Lyra's cabin, he hesitated, then knocked softly.
"Enter," came the prompt, clear reply.
"Good morning, my lady," the young knight spoke as he stepped inside.
"Good morning," she answered with a melancholy smile, but a smile nonetheless. "Please, sit," she indicated the chair in the corner, while resuming her seat at the desk nearby. She had evidently been awake for some time. She wore a plum colored linen dress that fell in crisp folds, with her hair braided neatly and bound with a black ribbon.
"How do you fare this morning, my friend?" Galen asked with concern in his eyes.
"Well, it is a little tender," she raised a hand to her forehead, "but well enough." She paused. "I finally finished writing to my mother," she indicated the sealed envelope on the desk in front of her.
"I'm sorry," he replied with sympathy.
"Thank you." For a moment, her gaze wandered thoughtfully to the diamond-paned window, which threw the early light upon her pale face in pastel cascades.
"What is it, my lady?"
"He knew," she spoke softly, her gaze still distracted.
"I'm sorry?" Her Narnian friend puzzled.
"It is something Lieutenant Grant said before we left the embassy," she looked down at the desk pensively before meeting Galen's gaze. "Somehow, Uncle Edward knew that something was going to happen."
"Indeed, my lady?"
"Aye. He put the embassy marines on alert during dinner. If not for this precaution, they would not have been able to respond so quickly," she explained. "By Aslan's grace, his premonition saved my life. Alas that it did not prove enough to save his own."
Galen did not respond, but briefly placed a comforting hand upon her arm. The Archen princess placed a hand over his and inclined her head in thanks.
"Is there anything you need, my lady?" The young knight asked at last, standing.
"Nay, I am well," she responded with a grateful smile. "Thank you."
"Please do not hesitate to let me know if there is anything I can do," Galen added solicitously. She nodded in return, and he turned to leave.
"Galen?" She spoke as he reached the door. He stopped and turned back. "Would you inform Captain Torin that I will dine with him and his officers this evening?"
"Certainly, my lady," the Narnian smiled before turning and leaving the cabin.
Evening came and found Captain Torin and his senior staff gathered in the officers' mess, along with Galen and Captain Anderson. The sun set in deep golden glory, filling the room with warm, comforting light. Their customary joviality somewhat muted, the men's quiet conversation produced a low murmur. As the ship's bell rang the hour, the hatch opened and Lyra entered. She still wore the plum linen dress, but now her hair twisted up behind her head, the black ribbon winding through the golden tresses. Instantly, the men stood.
"Welcome, your highness. You favor us with your company," Captain Torin greeted, stepping forward and bowing slightly.
"Thank you, Captain," Lyra inclined her head, "The pleasure is mine."
"It is well to see you on the mend, my lady," Lieutenant Commander Cameron, the ship's doctor, spoke as Lyra took her seat between Captain Torin and Galen. She accepted the subtle hand the latter offered to steady her as she sat.
"Thanks to your excellent care, doctor," the Archen princess responded with a smile, brushing an errant lock of hair away from her face and tucking it behind her ear. As she did so, several of the officers seated to her left could see the terrible bruise and broken skin running between her temple and the upper edge of her cheek. An indignant murmur passed between them. The sight particularly affected Lieutenant Commander MacLeod, whose countenance darkened angrily as he clenched the hand resting on the table into a fist.
"My friends," Lyra smiled gently, seeing their anger and concern, "I appreciate your indignation on my behalf, but pray do not waste your anger on the dead."
"Forgive me, your highness," MacLeod spoke contritely. "It would be angering enough to see such harm intentionally done to any woman—" he paused, meeting the princess's kind gaze resolutely as his voice hardened with earnestness, "but you are Archenland, my lady. For my part, I regret not having the opportunity to sell my life dearly to defend you."
"Here, here!" Several voices around the table answered him enthusiastically.
"To Princess Lyra," Lieutenant Commander Barstowe stood and raised his glass. In a twinkling, each man stood with his glass raised likewise, echoing Barstowe's toast with a chorus of voices.
As they drank the toast, Lyra stood.
"Thank you, dear friends," the Archen princess spoke as she inclined her head as she bowed in a half curtesy. "I am grateful beyond words."
They retook their seats, and presently the cook's mates began to serve the evening meal.
"How fares the ship, Captain?"
"Very well, my lady," Torin answered, "we are making good time toward the Seven Isles. I believe we will make Redhaven in six or seven days more."
"Excellent, indeed," Lyra commended, and the conversation moved on to lighter subjects as the meal progressed.
As they were finishing their desert and coffee, Galen and Captain Anderson shared a knowing glance. At once, Galen excused himself and ducked below deck. A few minutes later, a marine lieutenant entered and beckoned for his superior's attention. Captain Anderson stood and promptly joined him near the hatch. After a moment, he returned to the table.
"Your highness," the young marine bent slightly as he addressed his sovereign, "may I impose upon you to accompany me to the deck when you are finished?"
Curiosity showed in Lyra's eyes, but something in his manner deterred her from questioning him. "You may," she answered at last, rising from the table. The officers at the table stood as well. "My thanks, Captain Torin," she inclined her head before turning to exit through the hatch, which Captain Anderson held open for her.
As she stepped onto the main deck, a surprising sight greeted her. Lanterns suspended from the yards cast soft yellow light over the deck, where the Jewel's entire compliment of Royal Archen Marines mustered in crisp dress uniforms, their polished sword hilts twinkling in the lantern light. Galen stood to the side, dressed now in his green Archen knight's tabard, his sword at his side and a cloak draped over one arm. Each man wore a black armband. Captain Anderson led the Archen princess to the center of the deck and stood just in front of his men. She gazed at him steadily, waiting patiently for his explanation.
"Your highness," the Archen marine began, "we mourn with you the loss of Colonel Edward Grey, and we would be most honored if you would join us this evening for his vigil lament."
"I would be honored to join you," Lyra replied firmly and without hesitation, and to the young captain's surprise, a tear glistened in the princess's eye.
"Before we begin, my lady, we wish to convey our uniform sentiment that although we grieve the colonel's death, we do not grieve the manner of it. There is no more honorable end for an Archen marine than the one he met—giving his life in defense of our sovereign. We all hope to meet an end as honorable as his."
"Thank you," she responded fervently, meeting his gaze steadily and, for once, making no effort to conceal the tear that coursed down her cheek.
The Archen marine bowed, his hand over his heart.
As Anderson ordered the men at ease in preparation for the vigil, Galen approached the princess to offer her her cloak against the quickly chilling night air. She accepted it gratefully.
"I understand it is customary to stand, my lady, but given your injury, we have a seat at your disposal should you wish it," Galen spoke quietly. "I also have your lyre ready for you, should you desire."
Lyra inclined her head in thanks, smiling with a light in her eyes that spoke of a person at last made whole.
"Would you care to begin, your highness?" Captain Anderson spoke, his preparations complete. She nodded in response. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath.
"A great warrior has fallen," she began to speak, her voice ringing clearly over the sound of the waves and the creak of rigging.
"May Aslan receive him in the land beyond the sunrise," many voices answered her.
"His sword-arm is stilled."
"But his memory shall never fade."
"In honor he perished."
"And in honor we keep him."
"Until we, too, pass beyond the sunrise."
"Or the stars fall from the sky at the end of days."
"So shall it be."
"So shall it be."
At this final response in the lament's liturgy, the contingent's drummer struck a solemn beat. The fife joined in, then finally the voices of the men themselves singing the march of the Archen marines.
A traditional Archen lament followed, then a song of farewell, ballads of adventure, and songs of battles long ago. For two hours they kept the strains of music and of song floating among the rigging and over the waves. In accordance with the Archen tradition, anyone could begin a song as their heart and the memory of the fallen inspired them. Lyra indeed set her fingers to the lyre strings, and she did not even have need of the seat prepared for her. Galen, too, lent his flute. The sailors on duty kept a reverent silence, joining in here and there to a song they knew.
At last, as the vigil lament drew to its close and Captain Anderson released the men from their ranks, a cask of wine was brought up and glasses passed. For some time afterwards, those who attended the vigil tarried to share their stories and memories of Lyra's kinsman. At long last, the crowd dwindled, but each and every marine paid the Archen princess their respects. After again conveying to Galen, Captain Anderson, and his lieutenants her heartfelt thanks, Lyra retired to her cabin. Though she still felt the ache of her uncle's loss, her heart was no longer heavy. And that night, for the first time since leaving Terebinthia, Lyra slept soundly.
Over the next days, the Jewel made steady progress to the north. The fourth morning out from Terebinthia, Lyra joined her Narnian friend in the bow of the ship.
"The clouds are awash with silver this morning," she observed as she took a place against the rail.
"I am glad to share the sight with you, my lady," Galen smiled. "Indeed, I am surprised that our journey from Terebinthia has been so uneventful. Not so much as a sight of another vessel, much less any more pirates."
"Ah," Lyra chuckled, "but it is not at all surprising. Captain Torin took special care in plotting our course to avoid regular shipping lanes. Had we taken the usual course, we would have made Redhaven morning after next. I think the peace and quiet have been worth two days' delay, don't you agree?"
"Aye," her friend nodded readily. "What are the Seven Isles like, my lady? Are they similar to Terebinthia?"
"Nay," the Archen princess shook her head, "they are as dissimilar as night and day. The Seven Isles is an independent kingdom and Archenland's longstanding ally, much as Narnia was before the Telmarine invasion. Because it lies so far to the north—just off the Ettinmoors—it does not have significant interest in Calormen, nor does Calormen have much interest in it. I expect that we can enjoy a little more peace there than we have previously. King Richard's queen died some years ago, but he and his son Prince Robin are dear friends."
"That is good to hear indeed," Galen remarked thoughtfully, looking out to the east.
"The islands themselves are truly unique—volcanic in origin, but cloaked all in a mantle of snow—breathtakingly majestic and fierce." Lyra's far-off gaze carried a childlike wonder.
"I look forward to seeing them," the Narnian knight smiled. After a moment passed in happy silence, he turned suddenly to the port rail and looked off to the west. "Narnia is beyond that horizon," said he, both a question and a statement at once.
"Indeed so," the Archen princess replied, stepping beside him. "If I make our current position aright, Cair Paravel lies beyond the horizon just to the northwest."
"What is left of it," he murmured.
Lyra did not respond, but laid a sympathetic hand lightly on his arm. The friends stood in silence, the dawn's pale light reflecting off the waves as the ship's prow cut through them. The ship rocked gently. Suddenly, Galen felt his friend's hand tighten its grip on his arm. He looked up to see her sway unsteadily, her other hand clutching at the rail.
"Lyra, what's wrong?" Galen asked in alarm, reaching out to steady her with his other arm.
"I'm alright," she stammered shakily, which did not reassure her friend at all. "Just a momentary dizziness. It will pass." But as she spoke she leaned more heavily on the Narnian's arm and closed her eyes, her brow furrowed.
"Come, my lady," the young knight slipped a strong hand around her waist and, supporting her arm with his other hand, led her carefully back to her cabin. On the way, he instructed a sailor to fetch Doctor Cameron. The ship's physician arrived just as Galen helped his friend to sit on her bunk and rest against the pillows.
"You've been reviewing treaties again, haven't you, your highness," Doctor Cameron accused with good-natured irritation upon hearing what happened. "I seem to recall instructing my lady otherwise," he raised a suspicious eyebrow as he dampened a cloth with cool water and gently pressed it to her bruised brow. She winced a little as he did so but found the cool cloth effective in clearing her head.
"A little dizziness is hardly the end of the world, doctor," she replied wryly as she leaned back and held the cloth in place, not denying his accusation.
"No more treaties," he instructed firmly. "And if I find out you've been doing such other nefarious things to tax your brain as composing letters or writing treatises or reading books or whatever else it is that you do to elide my instructions, I'll write to your brother."
Lyra chuckled in return, her eyes still closed. "Don't trouble yourself, doctor."
"We'll see who's troubled, my lady," the thirty-five year-old officer muttered, running a hand through his reddish-blond hair. "Some dizziness is to be expected after a blow to the head, but you must give yourself the time and rest necessary to heal," his tone softened. "I know you little like sitting idle. But would you rather spend the rest of the journey to Redhaven resting properly or faint in front of King Richard's court?"
"I see your point, doctor," the Archen princess answered. "I will endeavor to ensure a letter to Ayden is unnecessary," she acquiesced. Thus mollified, Cameron smiled slightly and picked up his bag to leave.
"Doctor," Galen interjected, "would it be alright if I read to her?"
"Very well," he agreed. "But no treaties," he insisted gruffly before stepping into the hall and closing the hatch behind him.
"'Tis a kind offer, Galen, but I'll not ask a knight to play nursemaid," she spoke once the doctor had gone.
"I don't recall you asking," he responded, nonplussed, as he selected a volume of Archen folk tales from the shelf built into the wall. Settling into the comfortable chair, he opened the book and began to read.
The following days passed uneventfully. Lyra did her best to follow Doctor Cameron's instructions, and Galen did his best to keep her company. Each evening Lyra joined the captain and his officers for dinner, but the rest of the day she spent quietly. Each morning and afternoon, Galen accompanied her to walk on the deck. Although the dizzy spells eventually faded, she did not scorn the arm he lent her as they walked. Each day, the wind sharpened and the air grew colder.
Just after noon on the eighth day from Terebinthia, they sighted the island of Brenn, its snowy peaked mountains rising from the northern sea. Mist-shrouded silhouettes of three of its six sisters stood beside it. Over the next several hours, the Jewel navigated the channel between Brenn and the island to its southeast. Great, hexagonal columns of rock lined the imposing shores of the island to starboard, brightened here and there with splashes of bright green moss. To port, Brenn's proud mountains rose in windswept, jagged peaks beyond black sand beaches. Overhead, strange birds with black wings, snowy cheeks, and colorful beaks flitted among high rookeries in the cliffs, while grey speckled porpoises frolicked in the waves beside the ship. Entranced, Galen absorbed these sights with wide eyes, leaning over the railing with his cloak tucked closely about him.
The sun dipped toward the western horizon, throwing shafts of golden sunlight behind the mountain peaks, as the Jewel approached Redhaven, the kingdom's capitol. Built on a peninsula beside a deep water bay, the city's buildings ascended a wide hill. The clean lines of a sleek castle crowned all, its many windows reflecting the eastern sky's pastel twilight with a soft glow. As the Jewel began to dock in Redhaven's harbor, Lyra joined her Narnian friend. The silver-embroidered hem of her periwinkle woolen dress peeked from beneath a long cloak with a fur-trimmed mantle.
"Having difficulty tearing yourself away?" The princess's blue eyes twinkled with mirth.
"Aye," Galen acknowledged with a laugh. "I can hardly restrain the desire to ride up that mountainside at the first opportunity!"
"You may get the chance!" Lyra answered his laugh with her own. "Let's be off," she smiled and beckoned towards the gangplank.
Captain Anderson stood ready to accompany the princess, along with a lieutenant and half of the ship's marines. The remaining marines would stay behind to guard the Jewel.
"Ready to disembark, my lady?" He bowed slightly.
"Indeed, captain. Thank you," Lyra nodded, and the party proceeded to the wharf, where, at the king's instruction, a suitable number of horses waited for them.
The princess set a comfortable pace for the ride through Redhaven. Galen remarked the well-made stone shops and houses, lovingly adorned with intricately designed accents. A few snowdrops peeked through the mossy ground cover, and freshly-lit lanterns twinkled beside each doorpost. To the Narnian, this land's spirit conveyed a strange yet harmonious mingling of wildness and home.
Slowly they wound through Redhaven's streets and up the broad hill, presently passing through a wide square where colorfully-attired children played beside a large fountain. Upon seeing the Archen entourage, the children's faces broke into wide smiles.
"Princess Lyra!"
"You've come back!"
"Will you come visit us, like always?" Their high-pitched voices cheered happily as they skipped beside the horses. Lyra laughed merrily and heartily gave her affirmative answer as they continued on their way.
At last, the rows of shops and houses gave way to the castle's outer defense, a wall ringing the perimeter of the hill's summit. A heavy, intricately carved gate stood open, leading to the castle gardens. Bright yellow flags with two diagonal blue bars snapped in the wind. Lyra brought her mount to a stop just before the gate, and her companions followed suit.
"Brave soldiers of the Seven Isles," her strong voice carried to the battlements as she spoke a customary greeting. "May travelers enter in friendship?"
"With a good will, Princess of Archenland!" Came the cheerful reply. "Be welcome to the court of his majesty the king!"
Gracefully nodding her thanks, Lyra spurred her mount on, and the party entered the castle's wide gardens. Poorer in flowers than warm Terebinthia, the Seven Isles' gardeners made up in skillful design what they lacked in foliage. Entering the castle gates proper, the Archen entourage came to a stop and dismounted in a wide stone courtyard lit with the last light of sunset and many a twinkling lantern.
"Princess Lyra! Princess Lyra! You're finally here!" A young boy of about five years flew out of a side door and ran pell-mell towards the Archenlander. She had just enough time to turn and drop to one knee as he impacted her with an energetic embrace.
"Oof! Prince Robin!" She exclaimed, laughing, as she hugged him tightly. "It's good to see you too!"
We have so much to do! And father is holding a tournament! A tournament!" Just as quickly, the young prince squirmed out of her embrace, his fine velvet tunic characteristically askew.
"I've got to tell father you've arrived!" He declared emphatically and, with equal energy, set off at a run up the wide front stairs and through the castle's main doors, his clattering footsteps echoing off the stone. Even the most stolid of the marines could not help laughing at the brief encounter with the future king of the Seven Isles.
"Come on, my friends," Lyra hastened to ascend the stairs. "We'd best not be too far behind him!"
Galen chuckled and caught up with his Archen friend. Once inside the castle, she navigated the tastefully decorated and well lighted halls with familiar ease. Soon the corridor widened as it approached the Great Hall.
"Now, Robin," Galen could hear a man's voice kindly scold, "what have I told you about shouting when the royal court is in session?"
"But, father—!" The prince's voice protested.
"Forgive me, your majesty," Lyra's voice resonated warmly as the Archen party stepped into the marble-paved Great Hall. "I believe the fault is mine," her eyes twinkled as she curtseyed deeply.
"Princess Lyra!" The tall, bearded king smiled broadly and stepped toward her. "It is so good to see you, my dear," he clasped her hands and kissed her lightly on both cheeks.
"Likewise, King Richard," she smiled in return.
"I suppose I can overlook the prince's exuberance," he feigned seriousness, but broke into a smile as he gathered his son up into his arms. "You and your aides must join us for dinner after you get settled."
Lyra readily assented.
"Prince Robin, can you show the princess to her quarters, please?" King Richard set his son down and inquired with seriousness.
"Certainly, father!" The little prince happily agreed and scampered towards the adjoining corridor. "Follow me, my lady!"
Authoress's Note: this chapter took a different direction than I initially thought it would, but the Archen marines informed me that they had a particular funeral tradition that I had to honor, and I could hardly refuse them. Thank you ever so much for reading! I will endeavor to continue to update in a timely fashion.