Greetings, dear readers! I'm updating on time! Super excited about that! Anyway, here's the next chapter, obviously, and this one also has a lot of important stuff in it, so happy reading!
Kaladin: I'm happy you're still here! I am a notoriously bad reviewer myself, so I ccertainly cannot blame you for reviewing sporadically. :-) As long as you are enjoying the story then I am doing my job well! Thank you for reviewing!
Aslan's Daughter: Good! I am always pleased to hear it when my readers can feel the same thing my characters do! Thank you!
22nd. of Greenroof, 1012—Second-day
"Edmund!" The slowly dawning realisation that it might not be Edmund who had just crumpled to the ground did very little to slow Peter's steps as he dashed across the few paces between him and his brother and dropped to his knees beside him.
"Careful, your majesty," croaked Sallowpad, flying after him and swooping down to land on the ground at what he must have considered a safe distance from both Edmund and the sword. "Poisonous creatures may often play at being dead, but their fangs will still pierce."
Peter spared a moment to glare at the Raven. "He's my brother," he snapped, tearing a piece of cloth from the increasingly ragged cloak still bundled around his boots and Rhindon's sheath and using it to wipe, rather ineffectively, at the blood on Edmund's face. I hope, he added silently, his free hand clenching into a fist against the sandy earth.
Sallowpad croaked something that might have been a nervous laugh and Peter resisted the urge to punch him—mainly because the Raven was slightly too far away for him to reach. "He is someone's brother," the Bird continued sonorously, "But certainly he is not yours."
Peter ignored him as best as he could and focused instead on studying Edmund's face. Sallowpad claimed that this was not Edmund, that, somehow, he was in imposter, and Peter himself had heard Edmund speak in a voice that did not seem to be his own—and there was Aslan's warning as well. Not dead. Not alive.
But it was Edmund. Every detail of his face was identical to what Peter remembered—the faint sprinkling of freckles across his nose, the thin scar—half hidden by his hair—that ran along one side of his forehead, and his mannerisms too had been the same. The same sarcastic wit that could fade to grave seriousness at a moment's notice, the crooked half-grin that both mocked and supported Peter when he had done something particularly clumsy, but there had been moments—more than Peter wanted to admit having noticed—when he had seen his brother's expression fade to blankness, when his responses had been slow, and there had been the first night at the inn when—for a few terrible heartbeats, he had seen no hint of recognition in Edmund's eyes.
"Who would you have me believe he is?" he asked, not turning to look at the Raven—not wanting Sallowpad to see his own uncertainty. From the corner of his eye he saw the Bird hop closer, head tilted to one side as he fixed a single, beady eye on Edmund.
"He is the son of Tarkaan Obresh, a child of Calormene in spirit, if not in body, and he is an enemy of Narnia." The Raven's voice was sharp, and his words fell like razors dropped from a cliff.
"But he was Edmund." Peter turned his head in time to see Sallowpad ruffle his feathers in the avian version of a shrug. "Only a moment ago." Wasn't he?
"You didn't ask who he was," the Raven said primly, "You asked who he is."
Peter ground his teeth together, fighting back the string of curses at uncooperative, cryptic Ravens that clamoured to be spoken, and drew in a breath.
"Losing your temper won't help Pete." He glanced sharply down at Edmund—he could not think of him as anyone but Edmund—but his brother had not moved, and his eyes were still closed. Still, it was something Edmund had told him more times than he cared to remember—not that he had often listened.
I'll listen now, he vowed silently. If you'll stop being an idiot and wake up. Edmund didn't show any signs of being aware of his silent bribe, and Peter sighed. At least his nose seemed to have stopped bleeding—which, until this point at least—Peter had taken as a good sign.
"Do you have news of Brickle and Menwy?" he asked Sallowpad shortly, gathering up Rhindon and slipping it back into its sheath before returning the sword belt to its place around his waist. Sallowpad peered up at him, head still cocked to one side, and appeared to be considering.
"I do, oh king. They rode west, pursued by horsemen of the Guard, but Menwy's hooves are swift and she bid me tell you she will return once their pursuers have given up the chase." He ruffled his feathers in alarm and hopped sideways, further away, when Peter stooped and started hauling Edmund to his feet—he slung one of Edmund's arms around his shoulders and managed to maneuver him into a position that was somewhat reminiscent of standing. He knew he risked turning his ankle—hoped it would not be his recently mended one—by walking through the dangerously shifting sand between them and the Tombs, but it wasn't as if there was much choice. Staying in the open any longer almost guaranteed that they would be seen from the city.
"You would do well to leave him here, High King," Sallowpad said, watching Peter struggle a few steps forward and apparently choosing to ignore the fact that his king was muttering curses under his breath and likely to be in a very foul temper if annoyed further. "His brother will be searching for him."
Peter felt his tenuous hold on his temper snap. If he had not been supporting Edmund, who still had shown no sign of awareness, he would have lunged at the Raven with the intent of throttling the infuriating Bird into silence—at least for a moment. As it was, hampered his brother's unconscious body, he had to content himself with glaring and shouting.
"He is MY brother!" Somewhere, in the part of his mind that seemed to be ruled by Orieus' careful training, he knew that shouting was a monumentally terrible idea this close to the city when so much relied on their location not being known, but his impulsive nature had never entirely been ruled by reason—however hard Orieus had tried.
Sallowpad croaked, sounding rather angry and insulted—though not nearly as angry as Peter felt—and launched himself skyward, circling just above him so that Peter had to tilt his head back to look at him.
"I have warned you," Sallowpad informed him indignantly as he glided overhead, wings still as he found an air current to support him. "On your own head be it."
Peter muttered another curse under his breath as he shuffled towards the looming Tombs. His head ached, his throat burned from lack of water, and his ankle—much to his annoyance—had chosen to begin aching again. I'm not leaving him, he determined silently, as if it had ever been a consideration to begin with. He looked up at the Raven, still circling and nodded, feeling his anger drain away to exhaustion. "It always is, my good Raven. It always is."
Sallowpad, seeming to sense that any danger to his health had passed, glided back to the ground and regarded Peter with slightly less cunning than he had before—he almost seemed sympathetic. "Peridan may know more of what became of your brother. A mouse in a den of vipers may learn much by being silent and keeping his ears open."
Peter sighed—he had always found the Raven's proverbs tiresome, but they were even more so now. The shelter of the Tombs was only few paces away now, and—rather than snapping at the Raven again—he decided to focus his remaining energy on half dragging his still unconscious brother into the shadow cast by one of the largest tombs.
It was the one Menwy had camped behind, and he was relieved to see that the Centauress' pack, along with his and Brickle's, still rested against its base, covered by an oilskin to protect them from the elements. He settled Edmund next to the packs, and sank down next to him, rolling his shoulders to try to ease the tension in his muscles. Sallowpad fluttered over and perched atop Menwy's pack, cocking his head at Peter.
"Are Sons of Adam meant to be so very red?" he asked, stretching his wings before tucking them back against his sides.
Peter sighed and rummaged through his own pack until he found a waterskin. The water was warm and tasted stale, but it eased the dry burning of his throat.
"No," he said at last, setting the water aside and leaning his head back against the cool, baked clay of the tomb. "Only if we've been stumbling about in the sun all day."
His head ached, and he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes—Just for a moment, he told himself—and sleep. In reality he knew it was likely to be far longer than a moment, and so he shook himself and forced his leaden eyelids back open. Sallowpad was cleaning his feathers, appearing utterly uninterested in the two kings resting in the shade of the tomb, but Peter saw his head tilt occasionally, one beady eye directing itself at Edmund, and he sighed.
"Very well, my good Raven," he said, sitting up straighter and propping his aching—and slightly swollen ankle up on his pack—tell me what you know of my brother and this Tarkaan, Obridesh."
Sallowpad did not immediately answer. His head was half hidden under his wing as he tugged at a few of his feathers with his beak, straightening and smoothing them into place, and Peter waited, trying not let his annoyance show. After a long moment the Raven withdrew his head from under his wing, stretched, and settled back on his perch atop Menwy's abandoned pack to regard Peter intently.
"Your brother, oh king, thinks himself a clever fox, leading his hunters into a trap, but he has not the sense of a nestling."
Peter snorted and looked over at his brother—if it is my brother—half-expecting Edmund to make an indignant comment. Edmund, however, seemed stubbornly determined not to wake for anything, even to defend himself regarded whether or not he had a modicum of sense, and Peter sighed. Wake up, please, just wake up. Edmund didn't stir.
Peter turned back to Sallowpad, and nodded, feeling both very tired and very old. "Not when it comes to his own safety, I know."
Sallowpad muttered something that sounded vaguely like "or at all" and shuffled into a more comfortable position on the pack. "Queen Susan sent me after him nearly as soon as she had learned where he had gone, but by the time I had crossed the desert your royal brother had already found trouble. I found him and Peridan in the rooms of the Tarkaan Obridesh," here he paused and ruffled his feathers in a kind of shudder. "I warned him that a vulture circled in the massing storm, but he would not heed me and sent me to find a ship to the Lone Islands."
"And there weren't any," Peter added, clenching his hands into fists. Because that bastard Tarkaan ordered a blockade, and even if Lucy did escape the pirates and the ocean I still sent her right into the middle of it.
Sallowpad dipped his head in acknowledgement of Peter's audible words and continued. "I told your brother as much, High King, and then he fell foul of a Calormene patrol. He was not…" he turned his beady eye towards Edmund and seemed to consider for a moment. "He was not well. He stumbled like a drunkard and fought with less wisdom than when he first began to train, but that fool Peridan," the sonorous croaking that emanated from the Bird rather startled Peter until he realised that Sallowpad was laughing. "That fool ran and lost himself among the streets."
Peter stifled a groan and rubbed a hand across his eyes. The sunlit morning in his study when he had sent Edmund and Peridan to Calormen seemed so long ago. What the blazes was I thinking? He knew what he had been thinking, or rather, what Edmund had been maneuvering him into thinking, but it hardly made a difference now.
"What is done is done," he remembered Aslan telling them, years before, and sighed again. It may be done, he thought, turning to glare at his still unresponsive brother. But we will have words, my brother.
"No sooner was your brother disarmed than the Tarkaan appeared," Sallowpad went on, the disgust making in his voice making it quite clear what he thought of someone who waited until his enemy was defenceless before appearing. "I followed him and his men when they took King Edmund back to the Tarkaan's palace and waited two days before I saw the Tarkaan emerge and go about his business. I would have followed him, but not five minutes after I saw someone I took to be King Edmund leave the palace after him."
"Took to be?" Peter asked sharply. Nothing Sallowpad had told him to this point seemed particularly out of the ordinary or something he could not have guessed for himself—certainly nothing to justify the Raven's insistence that the person still laying unconscious between them was not Edmund.
"He had your brother's face, but not his manner, and he had a strange look in his eyes—as if of someone who is not quite alive." The Bird ruffled his wings in the gesture Peter had begun to interpret as a shrug. "I have seen his majesty assume the manners of others more times than I could count with my wing feathers, and so I kept my distance and did not suspect him of any…treason."
There was a strange pause in his speech before the word treason and Peter wondered if Sallowpad was one of the few Narnians who knew the truth of Edmund's first few days in Narnia. As far as he knew the knowledge had not spread beyond Orieus, Tumnus, the Beavers, and the loyal Fox who had helped them escape from the Witch's Wolves, but he supposed that didn't mean that Edmund hadn't told anyone. Peter shook his head, deciding pondering Edmund's motivations would be unlikely to do him much good currently, and motioned for Sallowpad to continue.
"He met the Tarkaan in a market and they spoke for some minutes, behaving—as far as I could make out—as if they were old and dear friends. Peridan saw their meeting as well, though how he happened to be there I could not say, and came to the conclusion that your brother had betrayed us all and must be brought to justice."
Peridan, Peter was quite certain, had not been entrusted with the knowledge of Edmund's past actions and he supposed he really couldn't blame the fellow for not realising how utterly ridiculous it was to suspect Edmund, of all people, of being a traitor. Once, and mistakenly at that, was quite enough for him.
"Naturally I attempted to disavow him of any such notions," he paused to peer at Peter, looking very pleased with himself for having defended his King. Peter attempted a smile, which seemed to somewhat appease the Raven's need for praise, and Sallowpad continued. "But he was quite insistent, and I led him to the Tarkaan's palace and stayed to watch from the balcony. Peridan confronted your brother, and it was then that I saw he was an old fox no longer, but a serpent."
Old fox? For a moment Peter felt an absurd desire to laugh, and wondered if Edmund was aware of the Raven's name for him. It was, he decided, rather fitting.
"I saw the Tarkaan strike Peridan a terrible blow, and I heard him call the one I took to be your brother both brother and Emreth."
That seemed to be all Sallowpad had to say and he settled down on the pack and tucked his head under one wing. Peter stared at him. Sallowpad did not seem to notice and remained still as a statue, offering no further explanation.
Since staring at the Raven seemed to have no practical uses Peter turned his attention to Edmund instead. He still looked like Edmund, his face peaceful and relaxed as it only was in sleep, and he had begun snoring softly. How many nights had Peter sat awake in the dark, slumped in a chair next to Edmund's bed, listening to him breathe, merely to reassure himself that his brother was alive? He had stopped counting years ago.
Emreth. He knew that name, Sallowpad must have known he would recognise it and therefore thought no further explanation was necessary. Perhaps he was right.
"I had a brother once," Tarkaan Obridesh had told him when Peter had confronted him after Edmund's return to Cair Paravel from his last ill-fated visit to Tashbaan. "I would not have let him come to harm, as you have let yours, barbarian. I would give my life for Emreth—how far would you go, o fierce king, to save the life of your brother?"
Peter had wanted nothing more than to punch him and had been restrained only by the memory of Susan's calm, wise counsel regarding how he should avoid beginning a war with Calormen. It had not struck him at the time (he had been far too angry to spare much thought for anything), but looking back he remembered there had been something strange in the way the Tarkaan had spoken of his brother—both as someone in the past, "I had a brother" and as someone he would still give his own life for.
Blood to blood, soul to soul. And Edmund had seemed to remember the priests, however vaguely.
Son of Obresh. That too made a certain, terrible sense. Calormene nobles often named their sons with variants of their own names, Obresh becoming Obridesh as the name was passed from father to son.
Neither alive nor dead. Brother, but not mine. He shuddered and closed his eyes, pressing his clenched fists against them. His head hurt with the weight of realisation and the beginning of understanding. But how? That I don't understand. I can't. No. No. No. Let me be wrong, let it all be a mistake. Aslan help me!
"Pete?"
His eyes flew open as he shifted back in alarm, half drawing Rhindon. Edmund was awake, half propped up on one elbow, and was regarding his brother with a rather bemused expression. Sallowpad shifted, stuck his head out from under his wing for a moment, then settled back into place.
Peter stared at his brother and Edmund stared back, one eyebrow raised in inquiry. "What?" He sat up, brushed sand from his hair with a vaguely disgusted expression, and looked around curiously. "Lovely campsite you've found yourself Pete. You do know these tombs are meant to be haunted, don't you?"
"I—" Peter shook his head, completely at a loss for words. This was, unquestionably, Edmund. But maybe…he picked up the waterskin he had set aside earlier, feigning a casual air. "Ed, catch."
He tossed the waterskin and Edmund, without any sign of hesitation leaned slightly to one side and caught it deftly—with his right hand. Of course he did, it isn't as if he's left-handed. Except, he had been, and then he had collapsed.
Edmund (and Peter was absolutely certain it was Edmund) uncorked the waterskin and drank, grimacing presumably at the stale taste, and tossed the now empty skin back to Peter. "Thanks." He looked around again, seemed to notice Sallowpad for the first time, and frowned slightly. "How did we get here? I remember being outside the gates…" he broke off, frowning, and absentmindedly rubbed a hand across his forehead as if his head was hurting again. "Sallowpad?"
The Raven's head emerged again, and he blinked one beady eye. "Your majesty." Then, without another word, he went back to his nap. Peter stared at him for a moment, then returned to staring at Edmund. Obviously Sallowpad thought he was Edmund. Still? Again?
Edmund glared, seeming rather unimpressed by both the napping Raven and his staring brother, and crossed his arms. "Does someone want to tell me what the—"
He likely would have added a few colourful epithets to the question he was doubtless forming—making it perfectly clear what he thought of idiotic brothers who couldn't manage to explain themselves—but he was interrupted by the sound of galloping hooves as Menwy, panting, glossy coat foamy with sweat, and dark hair hanging damply around her face, burst into the circle of tombs with Brickle, red faced and nauseous looking, clinging to her back with his stubby arms wrapped as far around her torso as he could reach. She skidded to a stop and dropped to her knees, head hanging in exhaustion, and Brickle tumbled, retching from her back.
"Is all well, good cousins?" Peter asked, already on his feet, in case all was not well.
Menwy, obviously too winded to speak nodded slightly, though Brickle (who was still looking rather ill) mumbled something which sound more like no than yes.
"The…Calormenes," Menwy panted after a long moment. "Are…lost on the…Western Bank…of the river."
Peter stared at her, slowly realising that her hair, and Brickle's tunic if it came to that, were far too damp for all of the moisture to be sweat. "You—you swam the river?"
Menwy nodded, exhausted, and folded her legs under her—eyes sliding closed as she fell asleep almost instantly. Brickle staggered to his feet, shaking badly, for once not even seeming to have the energy to tug on his beard.
"Your majesty," he bowed to Edmund, nodded towards Peter and stumped away to throw himself face-down on the sand. Considering that he was a Dwarf Peter thought it just as likely that he was trying to embrace the ground as it was that he was planning to sleep. Edmund watched him for a moment, shrugged, and returned to glaring at Peter.
"Well?" he demanded. "As long as everyone is asleep, or very ill, you might as well tell me why you're behaving so strangely." He seemed to consider for a moment, then shrugged. "More strangely than usual, anyway."
I can't tell him. It would have been both easier and a thousand times more terrible, he realised dully, if Edmund had woken and had not been himself. But this was Edmund—witty, stubborn, sarcastic, infinitely frustrating fool, and beloved brother. I can't tell him that he is somehow not himself, and is somehow, occasionally, a Tarkaan's dead brother. He'll think me mad. Edmund was still glaring expectantly at him and Peter felt a half hysterical laugh rising in his chest. He forced it back with an effort and shook his head.
"More strangely than usual?" he tried to keep his voice light, forced a smile, and shrugged. "I think you've spent too long in the son, brother mine."
Edmund glared at him a moment longer, dark eyes narrowing appraisingly, and Peter held his gaze with an effort. I'll fix this, I promise, but don't push me to tell you—please, Eddie, please understand.
Something of his silent plea must have shown in his face, and after another long moment Edmund shrugged and looked away. "Have it your way then," he muttered, sounding distinctly cross. Edmund, for all that he kept his own secrets—and kept them very well—despised it when Peter tried to keep anything from him.
And last time I tried it he ended up finding out, acting like a manipulative, scheming, stubborn—he forced himself to stop before the list could continue and sighed. He'll find out eventually, Peter thought resignedly—no one who knew Edmund could believe anything else. But by the time he does I'll have gotten the truth out of Obridesh and I'll know how to fix this. There wasn't another option—not one that bore thinking of at any rate—and Peter squared his shoulders and forced another smile, for his own benefit as much as in an attempt to appease his cross brother.
Edmund rolled his eyes and shrugged again, then peered up at the sun, which hovered a few fingerbreadths above the Western horizon, sending ripples of fiery colour across the few streamers of high, fast moving clouds.
Peter followed the direction of his gaze, shuddering slightly as a shadow briefly flashed between them and the sun. Just a cloud, or bird, he thought, annoyed at his reaction, but the foreboding remained and somehow he was certain that it was a vulture.
It would be sundown soon, and if they were to slip unnoticed into the city, find their way into the sewers, and from there into the cellar of Obridesh's palace to find Peridan, then night would be the best time for it. But…he looked back at Edmund, wondering guilty—for the first time in twelve years—if he could trust him.
"You should get some sleep," Edmund told him shortly, still studying the sky. "I'll wake you in time to go."
Peter nodded, knowing it would do him little good to actively argue with Edmund and settled back against the tomb, feigning an attempt to sleep, though he was determined to stay awake. Not, he told himself firmly, because he did not trust Edmund, but because he was worried Edmund might collapse again at any moment. It was, after all, mostly true.
Well...up next we have the Pevensie brothers ventured into the tunnels (sewers, eew) beneath Tashbaan in search of a missing comrade and a scheming Tarkaan. Hopefully it will be up in exactly a week :-). Do let me know what you thought of this chapter in a review if you can; I always love hearing from all of you!
Cheers,
A
