Tash's Nightmare Chapter 12
"So, he wanted to marry you?" Charlie asked for what had to be the hundredth time. Rabadash had immediately taken to leading them across the valley, taking a winding and particular route through the open grassy field that seemed to have neither rhyme nor reason to it, as if he were following some narrow unseen path.
Susan rolled her eyes and sighed. She had told Charlie the story of Rabadash, and his transformation from a cruel prince into a donkey in her Narnia days. And yes, she had told him how Rabadash wanted to marry her. "For the last time, yes," she said through clenched teeth.
Charlie bent down and whispered to the former Calormen, "stay away from her." Rabadash growled in return, and Charlie, taken by surprise, jumped at the very un-donkeyish sound. "What the hell was that?" he barked.
Susan laughed.
"It ain't funny, Su," Charlie snarled, but Susan kept laughing.
"I beg to differ, Love," she insisted as she wiped a tear from her eye.
From then on, they were more focused on following their donkey guide. Rabadash stopped every few feet to munch on grass, sniff at the ground, and occasionally growl ahead into the air. "He acts more like a dog than a donkey," Charlie noted. Susan nodded in agreement, remaining silent as she focused on their guide. "I don't think he knows where he's going," Charlie continued.
"What other choice do we have?" said Susan.
"None, I guess…"
So they followed. After about fifteen more minutes of aimless wandering (or so it seemed), Rabadash stopped, buried his snout into the grass, snorting like a hog, and came back up with a bluish crystal around his nose, much like Azaroth's. He walked toward Susan who snatched it and put it on.
There, a voice came through to both of their heads. It was deep, regal, but undeniably broken, its hollow echo lamenting in the heads of the two listeners. Our scent should be masked.
"Wait a minute," Charlie snapped angrily (having figured out who the voice belonged to) "that's why we were walking around for hours?"
That, and I had misplaced my translation crystal.
Susan held Charlie back, as he was about to attack the donkey in frustration. "Patience, Charlie," she chided, then turned to Rabadash. "Now that you have the crystal, and our scent is masked, can you take us to where we need to be?"
The mouth of the Cave, said Rabadash, is our destination. For now, we rest. The donkey lay down on the grass and began munching absent-mindedly.
"Why do we have to wait?" Charlie asked angrily.
Sleep as much as you can, Rabadash answered. The Cave of Sleeplessness is the lair of the Faithless Queen.
And that was that.
In about a mile, we will reach the Cave, said Rabadash. They had been walking for hours, stopping to rest at various points and sleep.
Susan had been chatting with the donkey, and Charlie had gleaned most of the story: Rabadash's Narnian country of Calormen, of his lust for "Queen Susan," of his plan to conquer Narnia, and his transformation into a donkey by Aslan.
"I don't like you talking to him," Charlie mentioned to her at one of their numerous resting points. "He could be dangerous."
"A weak argument, really," snapped Susan. "If you're jealous, well, that's too bad, isn't it?" She turned to look at Rabadash. "And besides, Love, he's a donkey."
This did little to assuage Charlie's fears. Perhaps Rabadash sensed that, for soon after Susan had fallen asleep, the donkey plodded over and lay down beside him.
Fear not, he said.
"I'm not afraid," Charlie answered curtly.
Rabadash made a sound akin to a chuckle. Afraid? Perhaps not, he agreed. Jealousy seems a better fit for what you feel now.
Charlie stared ahead. "Why are you helping us?" he asked after a moment.
Because I wish to leave the Nightamare, and Azaroth promised to appeal to Aslan on my behalf, answered the donkey.
"I don't believe you."
That is the extent of my motives, Rabadash answered simply. If you believe I will begin to court Susan again, you have my word that I will not. I wanted the High Queen of Narnia, to add Narnia to the realm of Calormen. It had nothing to do with love and everything to do with power and territory.
"Politics," scoffed Charlie.
Indeed.
They were standing at the edge of a wide mouth of a cave. It was dark, and like the House of Illusion, it sloped downward gradually into the earth. Susan and Charlie stood on either side of Rabadash as hot, stale air blew out like a furnace and stamping their clothing to their suddenly sweaty skin.
This is the Cave of Sleeplessness, the Lair of the Faithless Queen, said Rabadash. Her minions await us inside.
"Let's get going then," said Susan. She took a confident step forward. Charlie and Rabadash followed slowly, and immediately all three felt a sense of dread as their heart rate sped up to a pounding, but not urgent pace. It was like feeling wide awake after a sleepless night, knowing that an inevitable crash looms but an hour or two away.
"We won't fall asleep," Charlie stated, his tone full of apprehension and dreadful excitement. "What about this Queen you mentioned? Do we at least get an even playing field here?"
In terms of handicap, yes, you are even, answered Rabadash. But though sleepless, the Faithless Queen is attended to by the Faithless, her army of sleepless servants. There are many more of them than there are you.
They walked on in silence after that. Charlie, not knowing when they were going to meet these "servants" took to his training and observed his surroundings. There'll be times in the field where you won't know where you are, he heard Col. Andrews' voice. Sure, you can point out where you were on a map, but what does it look like on the ground? What's the terrain like? What are the enemy's patrol routes? How many are there?
Charlie smiled at the memory of the unusually soft-spoken officer.
…You have one mission as a P.J.: find the target, grab the target, and get the fuck out. Ten seconds of solid observation can save both your lives.
So, Charlie did just that. And at first glance, he was reminded of the House of Illusion: they were in a small narrow hallway, dimly lit, and it seemed to slope gradually into the earth. The walls, however, were different. They seemed to be roughly hacked away until a scraggly tunnel remained, and the walls and ground had been lined with letters, glyphs, what looked like mathematical equations, and strange symbols he couldn't identify. "What are these symbols?" he asked aloud.
Rabadash answered. Those are the ravings of the Faithless.
"They don't look entirely coherent," noted Susan. "They look like…" she struggled to find the right words.
"Scribbles?" suggested Charlie.
"Yes, scribbling is a good way to describe it, I suppose."
These 'scribbings' are the thoughts of those whose genius bred pride that gave into vanity and selfishness, and at the end, led to madness, explained Rabadash. And thus, the Faithless are born into the Nightmare.
They came to a wall and stopped. Rabadash walked up to it, sniffing the rough-hewn rock. They are on the other side, he announced.
"Who?" asked Susan.
The Faithless, and their Queen. She dwells among her army, carried on a gilded silver litter. Stay calm, do not make noise, and you will reach her unharmed. Attack and they will descend upon us.
"You seem to know quite a bit about these folks," Charlie noted suspiciously.
I have walked among them in the past, he admitted, but they were only a curiosity. Now, they are an obstacle. Stand back.
The wall crumbled, shook, and sank into the ground, dust and gravel falling from opening. The ground creaked as the wall descended into it, like a rusty un-oiled machine that hadn't been used in years.
When the wall completely descended, an army of people stared back at the trio with dead, beady eyes. They were malnourished, carrying cudgels and swords and long-knives with a grip so tight their fingers bled and cracked. Their tattered clothing varied: some wore scholarly robes, others luxurious and noble flowing capes, and others in the styles of countless different worlds.
In the middle of the crowd, there sat a woman held aloft by four or five servants on a silver gilded litter, curtains long ago torn away, leaving tattered rags hung to the top, a faded sickly purple. The woman who sat there was blindfolded, sitting cross-legged, with hair as white as snow and flowing down her back, a torn noblewoman's dress with the sleeve slumping down her right shoulder, and holding a knife in front of her in both hands.
Susan pointed to the woman. "Look; her hands and feet are bound."
"And bloody," said Charlie.
The Faithless, and the Faithless Queen, announced Rabadash, a sense of dread echoing in his voice.
A/N: Had bad case of writer's block. I'm worried about the overall quality and flow of this chapter, and I would love to hear some feedback.