Hey! I'm finally back, and as of this date (April 22nd 2014) everything before this chapter has been revised. If you've already read them, no worries. There were no big editing changes, just some minor word stuff. Anyways, I hope you enjoy the story!

Chapter 9

I tug on a pair of slippers and run after the Lion, whisper-shouting his name. "Aslan. Aslan!"But He's already out of sight.

Sick with worry, I trudge back to our tent. What in the world am I gonna do? How can I stop Him? He's running right into a–

"Zaylie?" Susan whispers sleepily. "What are you doing up?"

My eyes flick over to her. "I had a weird dream."

"Oh. Well, go back to sleep."

I shake my head. "It wasn't just a nightmare, Susan. It was like... a vision." I stare at her - what little I can see of her in the darkness - and think. If I tell Susan about my dream, won't she just say I'm crazy? Maybe. But maybe not. And maybe she can tell me how to stop this catastrophe from happening.

That's a lot of maybes.

"Please, Susan, will you just trust me? I saw Aslan head out, and if we move fast enough, we can catch Him."

"What? Zaylie–"

"Please Susan! I promise I'll tell you everything as we go."

I get the feeling she's about to say something like "It was just a dream; go back to sleep," but then another voice pipes up in the darkness. "Come on, Susan," her sister says, wrapping a cloak around her shoulders and slipping her feet into a pair of moccasins. "We've got to at least see what this is all about."

Susan looks from me to her sister, then shrugs and sighs, getting out of bed herself. "Fine, we'll go. But if there's no danger, we're coming straight back. You two understand?"

We both nod. But I know there will be danger. Probably a lot of it. I just don't think the danger's to us.

At least not yet.

As we walk, tailing Aslan as best we can in the darkness, I tell them about my dream. When I'm done, Susan shakes her head. "Aslan's in danger? But how, Zaylie? He's Aslan."

"It's hard to believe," I admit, "but I know this is more than a dream. Like earlier, when I fainted, I, well I saw something." Quick as I can, I tell her about my vision of the White Witch, and how she arrived only seconds later.

"But that was just a coincidence?" Silence. "Right?"

"I wish it was, Susan." I'm not telling her about the whole Oracle bit – even I'm not quite ready for all that. "But you see, we've gotta at least check this out."

She nods, sighing. "I guess you're right."

"Good. Now can we be quiet? I don't want Him to know we're following"

"Would it really be so bad if He did?" Susan wonders, sounding like she's doubting not only my sanity, but hers too.

"I don't know. That's why we're staying on the safe side."

Neither Susan or Lucy replies and we all keep walking. Aslan's pretty far ahead and, even with all our talking, He hasn't looked back once. I kinda wonder if He already knows we're tailing Him. Though, if he does, you'd think He'd tell us. Wouldn't He?

A few minutes later, we exit the woods, coming out at the edge of a large clearing. There's a huge stone pavilion smack in the middle, and in the middle of that, a big slab of stone rises high into the night. It's almost pretty, a sort of nature-made beauty, accented by the firelight twinkling against the night sky.

But the pretty part isn't what makes the the three of us stop in our tracks and stare straight ahead with our jaws on our toes.

Surrounding the rock slab, crowded inside the pavilion, are a slew of supernatural creatures. And I'm not talking the nice ones like Aslan or the fauns. But honest-to-goodness, pee-your-pants, stuff-of-nightmares-and-horror-movie monsters.

There's a black, shaggy-furred minotaur with horns curling wickedly into the sky. Beside him, a skinny little one-eyed man with scars and jagged markings criss-crossing all over his face, like some little kid scribbled all over him. Near the rock slab is a guy that looks perfectly human – except he has no face. Just a blue brain-like substance oozing some kind of juice, and beady little eyes peeking out from between wrinkles in the soft-looking jelly. There are other monsters, ones like crosses between real animals, ones like demons and devils, and some that are so grotesque I can't begin to describe them.

But still, the scariest of all, is the White Witch. She stands by the stone slab, her cold eyes glowing in the harsh firelight. She's done her makeup so it highlights the sharpness of her cheekbones, the fiery fierceness in her lips. Her white dress looks corset-tight, and the pure whiteness is almost blinding, yet something about even that is sinister.

Lucy and Susan tremble beside me; they probably want to turn back. Half of me wants to, too, but for now, I don't think I could move a muscle if I tried.

In the middle of the clearing, Aslan turns abruptly, looking back. For a second, I swear he looks right at me. He blinks, and there's that feeling again, that one of deep horror and sadness rising up and suffocating my soul.

But then He turns around, walks up the broken stone steps, through the parting throng of monsters, till He's just below the slab where the Witch herself stands.

As He walks forward, some cross between a half-starved vampire and a diseased bat steps into His path and squawks at Him. The thing doesn't actually use words, but I think we all know it's mocking Him. Still, Aslan just strides on, as if half-dead Edward isn't even there. His golden paws keep on stepping, and the vampire-bat squeaks, falls on its naked bottom, and flaps its bony wings, flying off to a safer position to watch the proceedings.

A twisting in my stomach warns me that the "proceedings" are not something I want to see.

But we watch anyway.

Aslan finally arrives at the larger stone slab, and the Witch says, "Behold, the Great Lion."

The crowd erupts into jeers and laughter.

One of the black-furred minotaurs stomps over, a wooden staff in his hands, and he pauses at Aslan's side. For a second, the three of them – the Witch, the minotaur, and Aslan – manage an impressive three-way stare. Then I blink, and the minotaur whips out the staff and whacks Aslan across the face. The sound of the blow reaches us all the way into the forest, and I gasp as He flips over, collapsing onto His side.

Susan, Lucy, and I exchange glances. Aslan seems so... so vulnerable. How can that be, though? I mean, He's Aslan. He's like God.

So why is He letting them do this to Him?

I turn back to the scene, expecting Aslan to be on His feet, ready to give a mighty roar and rip them all to pieces. But the Lion's still on the ground, sides heaving as He gasps – with pain, I'm guessing. The Witch's crowd laughs and jeers, like they've just heard the most hilarious joke in all the worlds.

"Want some milk?" Ginarrbrik sneers, waddling over to the Lion. I take half a step forward before I stop myself. Aslan is Aslan. Surely He can take care of Himself. He's just biding His time, waiting for the perfect moment to attack.

Isn't He?

From the look on her face, I know Lucy is wondering the same thing. "Why doesn't He fight back?" she whispers, but neither Susan or I can give her an answer, so we all keep staring straight ahead.

Even though by now, I know we should look away.

"Bind him!" The Witch commands, her face cold and impassive.

A couple of hog-faced dwarves with bloody, broken teeth come forward to do her bidding. They take a line of thick, black rope and tie His ankles together, muzzle Him like a common animal. It twists my stomach to watch.

"Now," she calls, "let him be shaved."

Ginarrbrik leaps forward, his face a mask of twisted glee, and he slices off Aslan's beautiful mane with a single swipe of a dagger. The smelly dwarf holds up his prize, grinning and waving it in the air, while his monster friends look on and cheer.

But the Witch's face hardly moves. From her passive expression, you could almost believe that none of this really matters to her. Still, I get the feeling it's all more important to that Witch than to anyone else here.

"Bring him to me," she says when Ginarrbrik is finally finished. A few of the minions grab Aslan by the ends of the ropes, dragging Him across the rock and up the stairs to the higher, stone slab where the Witch stands.

The cheers and jeers escalate, rising higher and higher into the night sky. Monsters all around the clearing wave their torches in the air, creating a banner of flickering firelight. But when the Witch snaps her hand out in a sudden, fluid motion, the whole of the crowd goes dead silent.

The Pevensie girls and I look at each other. What will they do to Him next?

Four hags with hooded cloaks and bird beaks pound their staffs in rhythmic time against the stone. Everyone else follows suit, stomping their feet if they lack a weapon, and, very slowly, the Witch brings down her own torch-holding arm. Closer and closer to Aslan, the flame blazes. Are they going to burn Him alive?

The noise returns then, even louder than before. The wolves howl. The hags cheer. The minotaurs scream and the dwarves jeer. I guess they all know what's going to happen. And, as the White Witch kneels, producing a dagger from the folds of her dress, I begin to understand what's coming as well.

The Witch whispers something to Aslan, too low for me to hear what she's saying. But it's the White Witch after all, that evil, evil woman, so I can't imagine it was anything nice.

She rises, turns, and addresses the crowd, "Tonight, the Deep Magic will be appeased. But tomorrow," her mouth breaks into a grin of depraved euphoria. "We will take Narnia forever!"

"Take over Narnia?" Lucy squeals, as the Witch's followers dance around and celebrate. "What?"

"Shh!" Susan and I say at the same time. They probably can't hear us over all the noise their making, but I don't wanna take any chances.

"And with that knowledge, Aslan, grieve," The Witch raises the dagger. She pauses, and it seems as if the very night is waiting just for her to finish her tirade.

But Aslan is not. He turns His head and looks right at us, His eyes mourning, but not scared. It's like He's trying to tell us something, but I can't figure out what. Not with all that's going on.

"And, DIE!"

Blink, and you could've missed it. The Witch's arm strikes down faster than lightning, and the knife stabs right into the brilliant golden coat.

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