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Chapter 10

A sound like thunder roars in my head, and my throat constricts like I'm choking on a scream again. Not a sound emerges from my mouth, but the shrieking resonates between my ears, an echoing soundtrack to the murder playing over and over again in my head.

I want to look away, to glance at Susan or Lucy or maybe to just turn tail and run, run, run till I reach the edge of this world and make it back to sanity.

But I don't. I don't move a muscle. I just keep watching the horrible scene unfolding before me.

Aslan's eyes widen to twice their normal size. He looks almost surprised, as if it's shocking that such a tiny blade could hurt so much. Sides heaving, He takes a few wheezing breaths, and then they relax... slow... still... and are no more. In my peripheral vision, Lucy begins to cry, Susan pulls the little girl into her arms, and they both tear their gazes away. But I remain frozen, open eyes locked on Aslan's closed ones.

All I can do is watch.

The Witch's head jerks up, and I see her eyes in the orange firelight. Pitch black, they are, pupils, irises, and all. Like something straight from the pit of Hell.

"The Great Cat is... DEAD!"

And then they cheer, every one of them cheers, and stamps their feet or hooves or what have you. They wave their arms and scream to the sky like some hellish, devil-worshiping ritual has just completed. A sudden rush of fury infuses me, coursing through my veins, a river of flames. I wish I had the strength, the power to advance on them and kill them all. Avenge Aslan's death until no one is left.

But still, I don't move.

"General," the Witch says and the big black minotaur turns his head. "Prepare your troops for battle."

He lifts up his voice, roars again, and all the evil little creatures screech even louder. Seconds ago, I didn't think that was possible.

Finally, whatever spell was on me breaks, and I whip my head around to see Lucy and Susan still holding each other, still sobbing in shock. My knees feel weak like they're about to buckle, and my stomach twists like I'm about to throw up, but I don't give into either urge. War is fast approaching the Land of Narnia, and the true Royals' army must be ready.

Aslan would want it that way.

So I take off running for the camp, only one thought in my mind: I must warn Edmund.

The kings just stare at me, open-mouthed. The silence swells, doubling in magnitude for every second after I finish my story. "Are you sure?" Peter finally chokes out.

"Of course I'm sure!" I snap. "Do you really think I'd make that big of a mistake?!" I can't stop replaying Aslan's eyes in my mind, the expression on His face as the Witch plunged the knife into His heart. They weren't scared, His eyes, they were sad, like the sadness I felt yesterday after my vision and when He returned to His tent after the Witch left.

Why didn't I see this coming?

Peter opens his mouth, but then he closes it, eyes still bugging out like a dead fish's. He looks as shocked and helpless as I feel, and, in that second, the whole horrible night comes crashing down on me. Unable to keep myself standing, I collapse onto a cot and begin to weep.

Stillness surrounds the tent, pressing down on us. The boys don't make a single move; even my sobs seem quiet. After a few seconds, I hear footsteps on the tent floor and feel gentle arms wrap around me. I lean into the comfort and hug him back, not knowing – nor caring – who it is.

Finally, I regain enough composure to pull away, wipe my eyes, and look up to see Edmund standing over me. I give him a wobbly smile, so fake it can't stand to stay on my face. He smiles back anyway.

Just as I get to my feet, the General enters.

"The girls?" Peter asks. The moment I returned and awoke them, Peter sent the General out to find Susan and Lucy.

"They are safe," he says. "The Witch's troops have moved on, and the queens wished to stay with... with His body. I left a few of our troops behind to stand guard. Tarrodour is leading them."

"So it is true," Peter says slowly, as if my word alone hadn't been enough. "He's... dead?"

The centaur's face contorts with grief, but he quickly composes himself, smoothing it out into the mild expression he always wears. "The Lion, He knew something like this might happen to Him." The General looks at each of us in turn. "You realize what this means, do you not?"

We look at each other, then back at him, slowly shaking our heads.

"It is now up to all of you, but Peter specifically, to lead the battle."

Peter gawks, taking a few steps back as if he can actually feel the burden of the army suddenly weighing on his shoulders. "But... I can't lead a battle!"

"King Peter," the General says, "there's an army out there. An army of beings ready to fight and wanting to follow you – even to the death."

Peter shakes his head again. "I... I can't."

"Aslan believed you could."

"As do I," Edmund agrees.

"And me," I say. Like I thought the other day, there's something about Peter and it just screams "King!" Besides, Aslan had faith in him. Who am I to disagree with the God of Narnia?

Peter looks over at me, then gives his brother a long, steady look. Edmund nods, drawing himself up to his full height, looking as prepared for battle as any twelve-year-old can. After a second, Peter's gaze leaps back to the General, eyes hardening, shoulders straightening; the air of a king ready for war takes over him. "Well then, Oreius," – And I finally learn the General's name – "gather the men. When dawn comes, we have a battle to fight."

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