People are running through the streets, spurred on by a mixture of fear and confusion. The sounds of metal scraping and the occasional scream is still audible by the port, but these people don't appear willing to discover the context. I don't blame them. While they run by, carrying children and trying to run so fast they fall, they ignore the pleas of those still chained to wall. With each pair of rushed footsteps, the prisoners grow more agitated, pulling so hard at their bonds that thin trails of blood trickle down their wrists and yelling until their throats are hoarse. I run to the end of the line, a skittish faun, and hack at his shackles until they break. He's escaping down the seafront like everyone else within a second of being free.
By the time I've finished breaking them all free, the sounds of battle have ceased, and few locals linger on the streets. Fiedan runs by and begins attaching our longboats to the port, returned to the island by some grinning crew members. The Dawn Treader sits in the distance, a beacon of strength waiting for us to return. "Amber!" I look to the incline that leads to the square, where Caspian is waving for me to join him. I leave the sword behind, it's blunted beyond repair by now - the last set of chains took two full minutes to snap.
When I crest the top, I'm greeted with a truly glorious sight. All the merchants are bound with their own chains and ropes, stripped of their finery's and assembled in three kneeling lines on the floor. The crew patrol the space, removing further accessories and assembling a pile of weapons far from their reach. More islanders have emerged from their hiding to approach the crew, who speak to them calmly. One even points to Caspian, presumably telling the woman that he's the King, to which she clutches her heart in relief.
I can't help it, I start laughing. The entire situation is ridiculously unimaginable, and yet I'm here. Living it. Fighting slave traders on a mythical island alongside minotaurs and fauns and kings, freeing prisoners and watching those who were unfairly taken from their home finally reclaim it back. I'm giddy on glorious relief, soaking in each moment of the aftermath as I would the beautiful sunlight.
"Come with me." Caspian says, nodding to a street that leads further into the island and casually twirling a set of keys around his fingers. On the way out, I grab a sword from the stack.
He says nothing. His face is set in concentration, assumingly trying to navigate us someplace specific rather than a casual stroll around the town, so I stay silent and appreciate the victory.
Eventually we reach a stone door which opens to an immediate staircase. I smile at Caspian and bound up taking the stairs two at a time, loving the solidity of my steps. Not even the tiniest sway! Assuming we're leaving the island today, I need to take in every moment of this, every sure-footed step. Behind me, Caspian sighs. "I thought I told you to stay by the boat." He sounds tired. Strained, as if he's holding back from saying more.
"I thought I told you I don't take orders from you." We reach the top and begin winding through a series of corridors.
Caspian stops abruptly. "You were kidnapped." I stop too, a few paces ahead of him, and grin reassuringly.
"But I wasn't killed! Come on Caspian, I'm fine." I start skipping down the corridor again as an excuse not to look at his downcast face. "I don't regret it!" I call out.
"What if you were?"
"That's not the point. I wasn't, and now it's finished. It's not like it will happen twice so can't we just move on?" He catches up to me, taking a left at a T junction.
"You're really stubborn, you know that?"
"Trust me, I know. But it's not like I asked to be here so I might as well take the chances to do whatever while I can." He catches my eye.
"Like being sold on a slave market?" I can't help but smile, it really has been a bizarre day.
"Exactly."
"How can you be so happy after all that happened?"
"Because we won!" I laugh. "Because I'm not on that stupid boat! I'm walking on stone, real stone! And metal!" I spot the barred wall in the distance, running to it and pressing my forehead against the cool surface.
"You know, those probably haven't been cleaned in a decade." He starts trying different keys in the gate set in the centre of the bars. I turn to press my cheek against it instead, looking at him.
"I don't even care." There are wildly differing types of cold to experience and you don't know how much you miss one until you're cut off from it completely. Though it's not exactly warm on the Dawn Treader, the ocean air still carrying its own bite especially at night, on the days where the sun was particularly generous it was hard to escape. A simple chilled can would have been welcome, pressed against a sweaty arm to leave a trail of goosebumps and a specific relief obtainable by no other means. The sun didn't hold back today and what with the fight in close quarters, the heat rose to an imposing temperature. In here, however, the stone and metal are mercifully cool, and I can almost pretend the bars are a glass of water fresh from the fridge like I had in London.
"I didn't know it would mean so much to you." His voice is soft, contemplative.
"I didn't know either until we saw the island. As soon as I thought about being on land again, it was physically painful not to be." I turn around so my back is pressed against the metal, letting the cold seep through the fabric of my shirt and embrace me.
He finds the right key and throws the gate wide, allowing a frail old man with a beard down to his knees to exit and look between us. "Amber, this is Lord Bern." He says. I recognise the name from the drawings he had shown me from the ship and grin, dipping forward in what I hope is deemed an appropriate bow.
"It's a pleasure to meet you Lord Bern."
He nods distractedly, shuffling down the corridor as if he had never seen it before. For all I know, that could be the case. "Thank you, dear." He mutters, running his hand across the wall.
"Lord Bern, I was wondering if you would become the new Duke of the Lone Islands? We need to prevent the slave traders from gaining power again, and I trust you to succeed." Caspian asks, directing the dazed man down the correct path. I hurry to follow, just catching the end of his humbled acceptance, and walk beside them.
A few turns into the journey out, Lord Bern releases a croaky cheer and shuffles to the edge of a wall with a newfound speed. "Aha! I know this place." He taps the wall where a diagonal white slash has chipped at the stone, then turns to Caspian. "Thank you for your help, Your Majesty, I must go retrieve something for you. Please, do go on. I will find you." We leave, though curious, taking a moment to watch him retreat down the opposite path.
"Which island do we travel to next?"
"We won't be visiting the other Lone Islands, I'm afraid."
"Why not?" Caspian sighs and his next words are hesitant.
"Did you see the mist?" My stomach sinks and my face must show my answer because he nods solemnly.
"The other six Lords tried to discover the source, but they never came back. It's our job to find them now."
"If we find the source and destroy it, does that mean we can save those people too?" He stands to his full height and locks his eyes with mine.
"I won't rest until I do." I nod, trusting his word fully.
"Until we do, Caspian. I want to help."
"Thank you." He smiles, voice rich with emotion.
With that, we descend the stairs and through the door, making our way back to the courtyard. The crowd has thickened in our absence, merchants being escorted out of the area looking sour while the locals watch on with unreserved glee. Already windows are being cleared of their wooden barricades, children weaving through legs and laughing, and a couple walk around with baskets of bread that empty at an alarming rate. I reach them as quickly as I can, snagging a kifli roll dressed in poppy seeds to devour. As I watch the merchants leave, jeered on by those surrounding, I note a significant absence.
Tavros and Marco are standing nearby, enjoying some offered bread, when I join them. "Did either of you see a man in red? His head was painted, and he was wearing gold shoulder pads. He…" I chew the inside of my cheek, the intimidation of his presence still lingering in the back of my mind. "He's bad news." I conclude. They share a glance, then Marco shuffles uneasily.
"We saw him this morning, before the market, but not since then. Drinian sent out a search party but they've had no luck. It's like he disappeared." I nod and watch on. Suddenly, being back on the Dawn Treader sounds very appealing.
Once the square is cleared and word of our triumph spreads, we march to the port to the sound of clapping, cheering and laughing. I look through the crowd and try to remember each and every face I see, securing their joy in a sacred part of my mind to treasure. The father who raises his son on his shoulders for a better view, the couple who embrace each other as if the world was theirs alone, the twin sisters who run alongside us scattering pale pink petals – all of them. In this moment, I feel honoured to walk alongside the Dawn Treader's crew and witness the justice they rightly sought out.
"Your Majesty! Your Majesty!" A man elbows his way through the crowd, his face pure panic as he runs to Caspian, barricaded off by Drinian. "My wife was taken just this morning. I beg you, take me with you." Caspian nods to Drinian who releases the man and steps into line, allowing Caspian to put a hand on his shoulder and listen with care, face transformed with severe but empathetic lines instead of the smile that stretched wide only moments before. "I'm a fine sailor, been on the seas my whole life."
"Of course. You must." Caspian responds, barely a second later. A part of me thinks he needn't have mentioned his experience to be allowed to board, that Caspian had made up his mind mere seconds after he first spoke out. I wonder if all Kings begin as good men like him, or if this is more him being human than a ruler.
Our new crew member says goodbye to his daughter, leaving with a promise to better their lives in the long-term, and my heart breaks ever so slightly.
We descend the path to the port and are met by Lord Bern holding up an indistinguishable object. "My King!" He calls, stopping opposite Caspian. The crowd are quiet, watching on. "This was given to me by your father, I hid it safely in a cave for all these years." So that's where he went. Up close, I can tell that it's a sword – though barely. Its surface has been overrun by pale corals, rendering it rough and unsightly.
"That's not a Narnian sword." Notes Edmund.
"It's from your Golden Age. There are seven such swords, gifted by Aslan to protect Narnia. Your father entrusted them to us. Here, take it. May it protect you." Caspian merely stares at the gift, fingers twitching to take it but an unknown force holding him back. Over time, I've noticed an overtly consistent trait of his; he wears his heart on his sleeve and his expression open and honest. His eyebrows are furrowed and eyes alight with doubt, his cheek a concave where he nervously sucks in air and nods as if to jolt his mind into the right place.
"Thank you, my Lord, and we shall find your lost brothers." There's not a shred of uncertainty in his voice. They share a weighted nod and separate, the crowd once again cheering their thanks as we depart in our long boats. Though I try to, I find it hard to look away from Caspian. He's distant, motions automatic from practice as he rocks along to the rhythm with his head someplace untouchable. My guess is that the reminders of his father and the legacy he built are akin to well performed attacks in a duel, the kind that leave significant aches you remember each time round, and they're beginning to take a toll. While I believe wholeheartedly that he's a good King and, more importantly, a good man, I'd think my declaration of such would fall on deaf ears. Besides, I lack experience when it comes to talk of family. Best not to try.
When we arrive on the Dawn Treader, everyone breaks away to do their set tasks as if it were an ordinary day despite the notable differences. For one, gloriously full baskets of fruit, bread and meat are being transported below deck – much to my stomach's disagreement – for us to have over the next week before they're deemed inedible. The doctor, Chiron, finds himself inundated with mild injuries consisting mainly of shallow cuts as others weave around the makeshift hospital wing to restore the longboats.
Nobody dwells on the events just past, or recreate particular moments (Marco tries, but is swiftly stopped by Drinian before the latter disappears into the office with Caspian), they don't stare longingly at the island as it shrinks into the horizon, movements once again plagued by a steady rocking. Soon enough, all evidence of a disturbance in our two weeks at sea is washed away, all crew members slotting back into their regular routines of mending clothes, drinking, and singing – in that order, for some.
"Well, that was fun." Lucy says lightly as she rests on the railing beside me. I look to her as she flashes me a concerned smile, I guess my grouchiness was showing.
"I can't wait to spend my time trying to find my sea legs again, just to lose them at the next island we come to." My stomach feels uneasy in a way I thought I was free from, but apparently not.
"It won't last long. A day at most."
"Here's hoping." I force out as we crest a rudely jutting wave, squeezing my eyes tight until the jolt in my chest passes. To my left, somebody clears their throat.
"King Caspian requests you in his office." Drinian tells me, emotionless as ever.
"Now?" I'm given a swift nod and a turned back as he retreats to the forecastle. I groan, burying my head in my hands. "He's probably still mad that I snuck off."
"I wouldn't be too sure about that." Lucy says, suspiciously casual. When I straighten, she nudges my shoulder. "Go!"
I take a moment outside the door, a rare occasion where there's no one in sight despite the audible evidence of people moving around me. Anticipation clenches my gut, amassed in the last minute by rapid-fire predictions of what I'll find behind the door – each one more ridiculous than the next (including, but not limited to; cooked chicken or a chocolate cake – fantasies courtesy of my stomach – a door to London, courtesy of my brain, and my parents, courtesy of my heart). I knock then enter a moment later.
"What's this about?" I put my hands in my pockets and look around with a forced casualness, trying to spy a clue. Caspian sits on the edge of a long table which dominates the space, stripped down to a simple white poet shirt and brown breeches, void of his usual adornments. From behind his back he reveals a rectangular package wrapped in brown paper and offers it to me, smiling.
A gift? This isn't what I was expecting, I think, unwrapping the top. My breath hitches in my throat when I see the leather-bound sketchbook, its cover decorated with braids cut into the material to circle a polished blue stone in the centre. I untie the rope and flick through the thick expanse of blank pages, lovingly running my hands across the luxurious khadda paper stained brown along the edges from the leather dye. Two pencils roll across the wrappings from underneath the stunning book.
"I asked before we left. I'm sorry it's not much." Caspian says quietly.
I blink the tears from my eyes quickly and look up at him. "Caspian – no! It's more than enough. Thank you, truly." I trace the outline of the embedded stone, mind whirling with thoughts of how to fill the pages, all the details I've noted over the past few weeks that I'm now itching to sketch, to feel my mind enter that focused state of mind that renders me untouchable to the outside world.
"Promise me one thing." Seeing him like this, earnest and true and naked of any act he carries around some, feeling so, so achingly real, there's nothing I want to draw more. In fact, I could quite easily fill the notebook with this one image. Again and again and again.
"Anything." I answer, knowing I've never been more honest than that one word.
He smiles, quirking his mouth up to the side. "Draw me at some point." Sure. How about a study on the human form? I bite my tongue.
"Of course." I smile reservedly.
We descend into a comfortable silence in which I find myself unable to process the reality of the book I can now call my own. It's too beautiful. It's too generous. It's too… much. Guilt begins to gnaw at my joy.
"You got this even after I ran off and got kidnapped?" He steps closer.
"I want you to be happy here. If something, like art, gives you comfort then I will do my best to bring it aboard." I sniffle and carefully wrap the book and pencils back in the paper as if I were tucking a child to sleep before holding it close to my chest.
"I can't thank you enough."
"Can you promise me not to walk off again?" He asks, a familiar teasing tone creeping back into his voice.
"I already promised to draw you, two promises are more than I can handle." He says nothing but raises his eyebrows and stares until I cave. "Fine, I promise to try and not walk off again."
"I'll accept it." He grins.
It hits me then why he did this, his reasoning previously lost behind my shock. I want you to be happy here. I think to earlier in the day too, when I called the Dawn Treader a stupid boat, and wince.
"I'm not… I'm not completely unhappy here. The people are lovely, and I've had fun, it's just…" I swallow, trying to find the right words. "A difficult adjustment." Ambiguous, but relatively true. It'll do. Though now the adjustment is coming more from accepting that London never made me as happy as the Dawn Treader has, and that I feel more ingrained into the crew than I believed possible – like I was yet another wooden plank in the deck rather than one made of straw or cotton, as I felt before.
"Not to worry, I understand." I nod in thanks and we share a smile. The wise thing to do is to leave, discover the best subject to grace the first page in my sketchbook, but I find myself scrabbling for any reason to stay. I walk to the window, pointing at the slowly disappearing hulk of Narrowhaven.
"A bit different from Brenn, isn't it?" He steps up beside me.
"I'm sorry to disappoint. I'll take you there if I can."
"That's kind of you Caspian, but I should be home before the opportunity arises." I don't want to be, but do I really have a choice? This place is not my future. It's growing more painful to remind myself of that. From the starboard window there's a flutter of movement, but when I twist to see it a spike of pain runs through my side making me wince.
"Were you hurt in the fight earlier?" Caspian asks.
"I think so. I kind of fell and broke a table." I reluctantly set my gift onto the bench by the window.
"May I?" He gestures to the bottom of my shirt, leading my eyes to the circle of blood stained through the fabric. I nod, not trusting my voice.
He gently peels the fabric away from my skin, the blood thankfully dry, to reveal a shallow but long gash across my side from where I rolled over the wooden splinters. He hisses between his teeth. "I'll get Chiron." He says, jogging out of the room. They return a few minutes later with a basin of water, a cloth, gauze, a bowl, and a clean shirt.
I hold my shirt up on one side as Chiron cleans the wound, trying to stay still. After a while, Caspian breaks the silence. "You know… I heard you bit one of them." He doesn't pose it as a question.
"He was trying to choke me!" I splutter, the heat rising in my cheeks. That is not a moment I want to remember or have anyone else know of.
"I'm not judging!" He laughs. "It's a strong strategy, really." He holds his hands up in defence.
Chiron chips in, now applying a yellow balm onto the wound. "Sounds as if you could use some dinner, Blackwill. I heard Fiedan saying it would be ready soon."
"Brilliant. I want to erase that memory from my mouth as soon as possible." I grumble, crossing my arms the best I can. There's still a lingering copper taste in my mouth from the experience that an orange, or two, will hopefully extinguish.
A few minutes later, Caspian and Chiron head to dinner while I swap my dirtied shirt for a new cream one before grabbing my book and leaving, my stomach rumbling eagerly. Outside the room leaning against the wall is Caspian. "Are you ready to go?" I try not to be too surprised that he waited.
"Yes, I'm just going to put this in the cabin first." He nods and continues to wait as I enter the room at the opposite of the corridor, laying the package on the pillow and giving it a final loving look before leaving.
We go to dinner in a comfortable silence and say little during the meal, appreciating the gleeful buzz among the crew as we feast on rolls filled with fresh pork and follow with strawberries and ale. Those who participated in the fight on Narrowhaven recount the events to those who stayed on board, embellishing more with every drink. I lean against the wall and watch them joke, content with being a quiet onlooker.
When I drift to sleep that night it's with a light, fuzzy feeling in my head and a smile on my face, arms curled around the book as I dream of what tomorrow will bring.
