CHAPTER THIRTEEN: ORIGIN
Tirian barely saw where he was going, tripping over armor and bodies and what might have been someone's hand, but the only thing racing through his head as he ran was the glint of Mal's black hair in the sunlight and the towering monster that had seen it too.
He ducked and slid under the swing of a gargantuan blade, never stopping, no idea where Jewel was anymore.
All that mattered was speed as he rushed around the side of the hill, sheathing his sword the second he hit the rise and hauling himself up, grasping at bushes and brush, the place where his armor had pinched his arm still throbbing, but he ignored it.
Halfway up the incline the ground shook and he almost reeled back, clutching a sapling at the last second and nearly snapping it in half, one knee slamming into the earth. Shrieks erupted somewhere above him in the trees, and he knew at an instant that the tremor had been the blow of an axe in the hillside.
He dragged himself to his feet and scaled the last of the slope, supporting himself between trees as they grew thicker.
"Retreat!" he shouted as soon as he caught sight of an archer through the wood, climbing up onto the level ground just as another jolting blow nearly sent him down again. "Retreat!"
One by one heads turned at the sound of his voice, and the moment they saw him they leaped to obey, men and women and fauns and dwarfs streaking past as he ran further toward the source of the blows.
"Back! Back! Retreat!"
The first familiar face he spotted was Shadoht, emerging from the thick of the trees and slinging her bow over her shoulder. Alone.
"Where are the girls?" he gasped, and she glanced over her shoulder toward the edge of the wood.
"They were on the other side—"
He breezed past and didn't even think to tell her to go back, the Lady's footsteps crashing after him through the underbrush and out to the edge.
An axe glinted in glaring daylight and crashed into the hillside before Tirian could even take in the full scene, his arm flying out to steady himself against a tree as Shadoht gripped his shoulder and he wrapped an arm around her, too.
A ghastly shriek rent the air as the axe broke free, back into the powerful grip of the giant that was almost as tall as the hill, helmet gleaming white-silver beyond a fresh gash in the already disfigured cliff face, and a wood spirit gave one last shuddering scream before her tree split down the middle and slid away in a sea of loose sediment.
Tirian only stared in horror, until a smaller cry snapped his gaze to the near side of the earthen wound, and at last he spotted Mal, on her knees, hanging over the edge of the cliff, gripping something for dear life.
He bolted without even thinking, and Mal glanced up as he skidded to her side to find Elise dangling over the edge, clinging desperately to Mal's hand with white knuckles.
He dropped to his knees, no time to ask questions as one of Elise's hands broke free to grab his wrist and his fingers locked around her bony arm, pulling, hauling her up until she clawed her way back onto level ground, slipping precariously on loose earth.
One of Tirian's legs went over the edge before he scrambled back up and Mal pulled Elise to her feet, all three of them hurrying for the treeline.
Shadoht clutched Elise by the arm and pulled her into the forest just as another blow landed right behind them and Mal shrieked, the ground beneath her feet splitting with the crack of roots and the groan of earth, and Tirian spun just as it broke apart from the rest of the hill and Mal lurched off balance.
For a moment time froze, ice rushing through his veins as he reached too late to catch her hand, the earth crumbling before his eyes, sliding over the valley below, tilting, falling, and in a split second he acted before the thought had even fully come into his head, launching into open air just as the last of the earth fell away beneath him.
He locked an arm around her waist and they both dropped.
His heart skipped a beat.
Then he grasped out and caught a freshly exposed root, and they crashed hard into the hillside.
An involuntary cry barked from his lungs, both his and Mal's full weight slamming into his arm, shoulder straining, the inside of his elbow stinging from its unseen wound, palm skidding and tearing and slick with blood, fresh heat oozing around the root as earth showered around them.
But he held tight, clutching Mal to his chest, her arms wrapping around his breastplate as the giant pulled its axe free of the hill and Tirian's jagged lifeline shook dangerously.
He glanced down at Mal, up at the shining dark root, over his straining shoulder to the giant, and out toward the battlefield.
A shape wheeled in the air, just skirting the edge of his vision, but it was nowhere near close enough.
The glinting shadow fell over them again.
They weren't going to make it.
But just as the axe rushed shivering through the air, a sharp twang burst above them and the giant bellowed, reeling back just enough to miss, the massive blade gouging a wound in the hillside below them.
Mal let out a tiny yelp as the earth shook, but Tirian redoubled his grip with every ounce of strength left in his body, and craned over his shoulder again as the brute clutched at its eye socket.
Air rushed sharp into his lungs.
And at last he looked up to Elise, bow in hand at the edge of the cliff, loading another arrow with a look of steel in her eyes.
He could have cheered.
She shot again and another arrow flew zip through the air, trained fingers steady, the poise of a hunter from head to toe.
Out of the corner of his eye, the shape in the air grew closer.
"Do you trust me?" he gasped, voice tight with the strain of their weight as he glanced down into Mal's face, black hair fluttering over wide eyes.
"What? Why?"
He let out a short breath. "That's not exactly the answer I was looking for."
And before she could protest, or indeed say anything more than "Tirian—" he let go.
The drop stole Mal's sharp cry from her lungs, and they fell for what felt like a second too long before landing with a thump on the back of a Griffin.
Gravity flipped upside down.
Tirian gripped golden brown plumage as the beast wheeled away from the hillside, earth tilting above or below him, and Mal gripped his armor until she could scramble up behind him, clasping her arms securely around his waist.
Air rushed into their faces, huge brown wings pumping on either side.
"You couldn't give me two seconds' warning?" Mal snapped in his ear, fear turning to anger in her tone. "Not an 'I'm going to let go now, just so you know, so you don't think I'm trying to kill us both'?"
Tirian laughed, a short burst escaping through heaving breaths. "My apologies, Lady, I'll be sure to give you the full itinerary next time we jump off a cliff."
Mal tightened her grip and Tirian glanced back toward the hill just in time to see the red dot that was Elise disappearing into the trees as the cavalry finished off the giant on the ground.
"Thanks," he gasped to the Griffin once he'd fully regained his breath.
"My pleasure, your Majesty!" it cried, piercing the air high above the heads of giants.
They wheeled over the battlefield, a stream of archers trickling down over the back of the hill where Tirian had called the retreat, aiming for the next patch of forest for cover.
"Let her down on the slope."
"Yes, your Majesty!"
The golden beast altered course and swooped over the other side of the hill, alighting among the mass of archers.
Mal slid to the ground and spun to face Tirian, shedding her bow and quiver and handing them up to him.
"What—"
"We have enough of them down here, take it. I don't have any poisoned ones left but it's still something."
He looked at her for a second before slinging the quiver over his own shoulder and taking the bow.
The Griffin spread its wings to take off again.
"And Tirian—"
He glanced back.
Mal's eyes lingered on his face, his blood-drenched armor, his hand, his filthy hair. "Don't die."
He shot her a small smile, and before he could say anything in return the Griffin took off, shooting up into the sky with a powerful rush that took his breath away, wheeling over the battle, back over the chaos on the field.
Swaths of death stretched out below him; hardly any giants remained near the hills, having passed through or died between them, now pressing onward, Narnians heading them off in every direction.
And the thought occurred to him, though he pushed it away, that the Narnians' numbers were dwindling too.
His hair whipped into his face and his heart pounded at the soaring height, something he'd only ever dreamed of until now, as of course one never mounted a Griffin just as one never mounted a Unicorn. For one fleeting moment he felt the thrill of it in his bones before threading an arrow into Mal's bow.
The next moment they were in amongst the giants and Tirian sent an arrow into the face of the nearest silver tower before they wheeled and he strung another, gripping hard with his knees under the wings that pumped like a hurricane in his ears.
A white flash drew his eyes to the ground: Jewel, spattered with mud and blood, streaking over black ground with a giant storming at his heels.
"That one," said Tirian, and the Griffin dove at once.
He lowered the bow and drew his sword.
They hurtled straight for the back of the giant's head at a speed that made Tirian's chest feel hollow, and then they were over its shoulder and he swung, catching it in the throat before it could even turn.
The spurt of blood didn't even strike him as they shot past and wheeled again, well out of reach as the giant stumbled.
Tirian shot Jewel a quick salute before his eyes locked onto a grimmer sight.
One giant towered over even its brethren, slashing down into Narnian ranks and plowing through small beasts as if hacking at underbrush, footsteps black in its wake.
Tirian couldn't tell exactly what sort of creatures they were from this height, but the image that flashed to mind was of earnest mice and moles and rabbits.
He sheathed his sword and drew the bow again, winding back with red fletchings gripped tight between his fingers and the target dancing back and forth down the shaft.
With a twang the arrow burst from the string and struck the giant in the back of the neck.
The towering beast instinctively reached back and turned, the arrow only an inconvenience without poison, but now its attention was fixed on Tirian.
Only at that moment did he notice the shape of its helmet, the gold in its armor and in its spear head, the strength in its bearing.
The chief giant.
His head went blank and an emptiness deeper than rage flooded every ounce of his being, vibrating under his skin, squeezing his lungs.
And then the battlefield snapped back into focus and the sun glinted off of the chief's helmet and its black eyes locked onto Tirian, sword in hand, silver blade dripping with Narnian blood.
He wanted to dive, he wanted to plunge his sword as deep into that eye socket as he could reach, he wanted to drain every drop of black blood from those accursed veins.
But they'd already been spotted, they had no chance, no matter how desperately he wished to sell his life for a single blow. He gave no order and the Griffin turned across the valley, aiming for another group of giants breaking away into the east.
Tirian glanced back just as the chief giant launched his spear into the air.
"Ware!" he cried, but the weapon crashed with a spray of red before he could utter more than a single syllable, tearing through the Griffin's wing and chest with a shriek as they barreled off course and spun wildly into the air.
Tirian grasped at brown feathers, wind rushing around him, gravity spinning, earth arcing overhead. Only one wing pumped now as they plummeted, spiraling into the earth, and Tirian braced himself just before the crunch of bone threw him from the site on impact.
He crashed with a sickening snap and the air rushed bodily from his lungs.
Sparks flew in his vision and his chest constricted, and for a second he had no concept of up or down or even if he could still move, every inch of his body ringing with shock.
Brown feathers fluttered around him, heat trickled down his forehead, the ground turning red, but he didn't think that was him.
Then all at once the pressure in his chest became chokingly, screamingly real and he coughed, bent metal driving itself deeper into his ribs with a shock of pain as he fumbled with the buckles of his breastplate, too long, an eternity, before at last they slipped free and he rolled over and cast it off with a gasp.
An invisible knife stabbed through his chest at the first breath.
He thought distantly that he'd broken at least one rib, but his head was still ringing and he barely held himself on his knees, the world tilting in a blur, noises garbled, earth shaking.
He knew he needed to stand, but he almost couldn't remember why, pure urgency driving him to his feet only to stumble again.
And then the thick of battle snapped back into place around him, screaming, crunching, bellowing, clashing, and the chief giant storming closer with every thunderous footstep, a silhouette against the blinding blue sky, terrible and beautiful and glittering with foreign metals, cruel gleaming sword outstretched as if for show, as if it knew, somehow, that the same blood it had torn from his father flowed in his veins. As if it thirsted for more.
He stumbled backward, one hand on the hilt of his sword, glancing around for the bow, now lost, arrows scattered over the ground, and then back up to the monster, sharp wind biting through his unprotected tunic.
The beast towered over him, like a tree in human form, dark and ancient and evil, and for a moment he felt only small and alone and impossibly helpless in the face of such inconceivable power.
And then with sudden thunder two horses burst past him, and the chief's sword snapped back into use as they charged, glinting in bloodied armor.
Gareth and Hosha.
Tirian sucked in a sharp breath and the giant swung just as their own swords clattered against its silver greaves and they bolted away on either side.
It was a pointless attack.
But a moment later he realized it was never meant to be an attack at all.
The chief turned after them, attention diverted, and in that instant he saw the gap in armor at the backs of its knees.
Thunder rushed up behind him again and he glanced to see Jewel, horn drenched scarlet, white mane lashing out behind him, and he slowed just enough for Tirian to grab the base of his mane and leap onto his back, gasping at the shock in his side, the jolt of hooves beneath him, knees clutching sweat-flecked flanks.
His sword flashed out into the sunlight as they rushed up behind the giant and he swung, slashing up at the gap in its armor.
A deep bellow broke deafening through the air.
They veered to miss a swing of the gargantuan blade just as Gareth and Hosha circled back around into the edges of Tirian's vision, and he risked a glance back at the chief.
Even though it now favored one leg, they seemed to have done nothing more than anger it.
The others charged again, but this time it didn't turn to follow them, instead swinging with calculated aim, sword arcing powerfully through the air, and with horrifying force it came down on Hosha's mare.
A cry burst from Tirian's throat but it was cut short when Jewel veered to avoid the same fate and all of his muscles engaged to compensate, the chief's shadow falling over their path, earth-shaking footsteps at their heels.
He glanced back for Hosha but saw nothing, only the roan lump that had been his horse, and his stomach flipped as they dodged another blow.
A sharp screech cut through the din of battle and a Hawk flew into the chief's face, a flurry of wings and talons, and for a moment he stumbled, but it was only a moment, before he snatched at the bird and crushed it in his hand.
Tirian averted his eyes too late.
When he glanced back up, the sword was arcing straight for him.
"Jewel!" he cried, and the Unicorn bore hard right just as the weapon smashed down on their left.
Tirian slipped dangerously off to the side and clung to his friend's neck with all his might, ribcage screaming, the shock of it shooting up into his cheekbones.
He righted himself with a gasp just as Gareth streaked past, shooting to head it off again, straight into the path his son had taken, red feathers fluttering to the ground around them, the roar of battle flooding Tirian's senses.
He wanted to call after him, to say it was useless, but his head pounded with Jewel's hoofbeats and he could barely form a coherent thought through the pressure squeezing his lungs.
The chief turned after Gareth, and suddenly it reeled back and clutched its face.
Tirian looked up, confused, glancing wildly around for the source of the attack.
And then a small figure beyond the chief's legs bent to the ground and strung another arrow, and he realized with a surge of overwhelming relief that it was Hosha, winding Mal's bow back again, sending his next arrow clattering off the giant's armor.
The monster wheeled on him.
Before it could advance even two steps, Gareth swept past and caught it in the back of the knee, and Tirian saw his chance.
Jewel bolted, charging as if they were about to catch it too, but they sped past and it turned too fast, stumbling to one knee with a tremor jolting Jewel nearly off his feet as he skidded around and another arrow flew from Hosha's direction.
The bolt struck the chief in the side of the face and Jewel charged, Tirian's sword outstretched, pounding closer as the giant's blade missed over their heads and one of its hands slammed into the ground.
They flew straight under the arc of its body, still too high for Tirian to reach, but he launched his sword into the air, a flash of silver in the sunlight before the chief reeled, clutching its throat.
It thrashed out with one arm but missed wide as Jewel pounded out of reach, and Tirian craned back to watch the wild struggle, growling, gurgling, twitching as it collapsed.
Jewel slowed.
Tirian heaved deep breaths, clutching his side, wincing, still clinging to Jewel's neck with his other hand, the Unicorn quivering beneath him.
The monster in shining armor shuddered on the ground for one more moment and then went still.
He held his breath, but it did not move again.
The chief was dead.
All the strength went out of Tirian at once.
Across the battlefield, giants turned toward their fallen leader, the realization spreading like a creeping flame over dry matchwood, and in the distance, one of them bugled a retreat.
In an instant it was all confusion, earth shaking as some ran back toward the hills and others tried to fight on, and in the chaos the birds did the last of their work, diving in at every opening, until those who were not taken down turned to join the retreat.
The retreat.
Narnia had won.
Huge silhouettes made a wild and unnatural skyline against the forest, shrinking into it, and Tirian could now see just how few of the beasts were really left, a mere fraction of those they had marched against, the battlefield littered with giantish bodies.
They had not only won the battle. They had won the war.
At last their thunder grew so distant that the ground stilled, trembling earth turned solid again, trees swallowing up the last glint of armor, and Tirian slipped shakily to the ground, knees buckling on impact.
Out of the corner of his eye a figure grew closer, and he glanced up just as Hosha crashed at his side, cheeks flushed, hair wild, blood streaking down his temple.
"Are you okay?" gasped the boy, gripping Tirian's arms and looking him up and down.
He nodded breathlessly, reaching up to push Hosha's hair back from the deep scratch on his forehead, caked with dirt and fresh blood. "You?"
"Yeah."
They looked at each other for another moment, gasping for air, no more words forthcoming, until at last they fell into a tight and desperate embrace.
Tirian's ribs protested against Hosha's breastplate but he didn't care, clutching the boy tight for as long as he possibly could, the image of a blade and a horse flashing back into his mind.
Before he could open his mouth to ask, Hosha pulled back and spoke first.
"By the Lion, Tir, I thought for sure you died back there!"
"Me? What about you?"
"Oh it's just my shoulder, it'll be fine. Probably. Whenever I can feel it again. I guess this would be why we wear armor."
Tirian snorted. "You think?"
"What happened to yours?"
"It tried to kill me."
"Well, that was rude of it."
Tirian laughed and then winced at the twinge in his side as Gareth's horse pulled up and the lord jumped down, sheathing his sword in a flash as he strode over to the boys.
Hosha stood to meet him and Tirian hauled himself up with the use of Jewel's shoulder.
"Did you see that, Father?"
"Yes," said Gareth, wrapping an elbow around his son's neck, his face one of pure relief. "Yes I certainly did. Where did you get that bow?"
Tirian answered. "Mal sent it with me. I thought it must have broken in the fall, but I guess not."
"Lucky for us," sighed Gareth, squeezing Tirian's shoulder and looking both him and Jewel up and down at a glance.
"But you always say there's no such thing as luck," said Hosha.
Gareth smiled. "That's right." He ruffled Hosha's hair and glanced across the battlefield. "There isn't."
"Father!" cried another voice, and they all turned to see Mal breaking away from a group of archers as they made their way across the field. She ran through the carnage and threw herself unhesitatingly into Gareth's arms.
Shadoht and Elise reached them a minute later, and Gareth let his daughter out of his embrace to pull his wife in.
Tirian wasn't expecting Mal to hug him next.
He winced but easily wrapped his arms around her small shoulders, burying his nose in her hair.
"You okay?" he breathed.
She nodded into his chest, and stepped back a moment later to look up at him. "Thanks to you."
He smiled a little in spite of himself, and Gareth glanced over at them.
"I'll explain later," said Mal before he could question it, "I'm not hurt."
He gave her a look that said he expected nothing less, and then she glanced over her shoulder to Elise and stepped aside.
For a moment the copper-headed girl looked slightly out of place, glancing around as if she thought she might be intruding, but Tirian held an arm out, and she didn't hesitate to walk into it.
"Thank you," he said with his cheek against her hair. "We both owe you."
"No," she said as they broke apart, "Thank you." And her eyes shone in a way that only Tirian understood.
A finality rested between them, a hunger satisfied, yet somehow still hollow with an ache that could not be quelled, the grey emptiness of starting over.
They glanced back at Hosha, leaning with an arm over Jewel's neck, and he reluctantly accepted a short hug from Mal and a longer one from Elise before the girls turned to greet the Unicorn too, exchanging soft words as Tirian looked out over the battlefield.
They'd won. The giants were dead. But so were countless Narnians, the living already picking through the wreckage and pulling out the wounded.
Tirian's heart tightened.
In the periphery of his hearing, Hosha was already retelling the story of their victory, and of course making no small mention of his own involvement.
"Yes," said Tirian, forcibly tuning back in and glancing at Mal, "We couldn't have done it without your bow."
"Or my aim," grumbled Hosha, "She's not the one who shot his great ugly face."
"I have not forgotten, friend, in these last five minutes." Tirian grinned slightly and Hosha shot him a dry look. "Truly inspiring aim, though, I must say, you've redeemed yourself as an archer."
Hosha squinted. "What do you mean redeemed?"
"I mean… Thank you for saving my life?"
The boy nodded in mock reverence but couldn't suppress his smile completely. "An honor, my liege."
Elise gazed at Hosha with wide eyes. "You shot down their general?"
"Yes," he said, "Or, well, I helped."
"You did most of the work," said Tirian, and glanced with some amusement at Elise's expression of awe.
"Easy for you to say," scoffed Hosha, "You've taken down ten of the things on your own by now, at least."
"Surely not that many," said Tirian. "Just a few."
"Just a few," mimicked Hosha. "I ran distraction the whole time, why do you always get to kill them all? I get at least half credit for that last one."
Mal admonished him, but Tirian was already looking at the chief's body again and missed whatever she said, the conversation fading into the background, eyes fixed on that figure: the thing that had killed his father, that had torn his whole world from him. This nightmare he could never wake from, inflicted by the edge of that sword, the King's blood on those delicate monstrous hands.
Yet there it lay, empty, lifeless, meaningless, no malice left in those bones.
Almost without realizing what he was doing, he broke away from the group.
Hosha asked something but he barely heard him. He barely felt the pain in his chest with every footstep over the slick, trampled field, nearer and nearer to the giant corpse until he stood before it, the marble head nearly as tall as he was, pale skin and pale armor and dark blood.
His own blade still protruded from its throat, and he laid a hand on the hilt, gripping tentatively at first, and then with strength, pulling it free with a slight cough of pain at the effort, blade dripping.
He glanced around, but there was no clean patch of grass in sight, so he knotted up part of his tunic where it was still clean under what had been his breastplate's protection, and wiped the blade across it until the fabric bled dark and the steel came away gleaming
He slid it with a click into its sheath.
Something settled in his heart with that click. Not a calm or a contentment, but perhaps a hint of something smaller. A beginning. The pressure in his lungs lightened if only a little.
He turned and walked back to the others, realizing only then that they'd all been watching him.
He caught Jewel's eye.
Even Hosha said nothing.
It was Gareth who reached out to clasp him on the shoulder, something in his eyes that Tirian couldn't quite read.
"Your father would be proud," he said, and the air vanished from Tirian's lungs.
He could only stare into knowing brown eyes, wishing to read the truth there, wishing to ask all the suffocating questions that crowded his mind.
But the man gazed back steadily, evenly, and a tiny sigh escaped Tirian.
For a moment he could believe it. Just for a moment, he clung to the warmth and the certainty in Gareth's face.
For now that was enough.
