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Chapter 15

When Lucy sees me coming down the cliffside, she grins, runs up, and practically tackles me in a hug. I smile, hugging her back, grinning wider when Peter wraps his good arm around the both of us.

Then I make the mistake of glancing up. Over Lucy's head, I see Susan a few feet away, gaze darting around, an unnameable terror lurking in her eyes. "Where's Edmund?" she asks.

And just like that, my moment of joy ends.

Peter and I look at each other, but neither of us can stand to tell them the truth. Instead, we hurry off without a word, knowing Susan and Lucy will follow.

As we come near to where it happened, my feet drag. I don't want to know, I don't want to see; I just wanna go back to that safe, happy place where Lucy and Peter were hugging me, and Susan and Edmund could run up in just a second.

But I square my shoulders and force my legs to move. I know I have to face this.

We jog over the crest of the small hill – and my heart stops. I don't see Edmund.

But there's Ginarrbrik, a few paces away, holding up his ax. What's he– no. I finally notice Edmund's body, prone at Ginarrbrik's feet, and that stinky little gnome is about to behead him! Fire rushes through me as Lucy screams, and I reach for my quiver – forgetting I'm out of arrows – but Susan's already got one on her bowstring. She releases it, and the weapon flies straight and fast, hitting the Witch's mini crony right in the heart. He cries out, falls back, and doesn't move again.

We ignore him.

I'd assumed Edmund was already dead, but once we get closer, I can hear him, panting, gasping for air. Each pitiful whimper like a punch to the chest; he's been alive this whole time? But the pain he must be in.

And all this time, you could've helped him instead of pitying your own poor heart.

But I shake off feelings for myself immediately – even ones of guilt. None of them will help Edmund now.

We all kneel beside him, and, as Susan lays his head in her lap, I tug off the helmet, hoping that will help him breathe easier. But Edmund keeps gasping between the whimpers, and the four of us stare at each other, tears pooling in our eyes.

The Witch is dead, and we have our victory. But will it cost the life of a 12-year-old boy?

Then Susan's eyes find her sister's, and the older girl nods. Lucy's face lights up – with understanding, maybe? – and she reaches inside her cloak, pulling out a small, almost heart-shaped bottle, filled to the brim with a blood-red liquid. She pulls out the stopper and tips the bottle over her brother's face, letting a single drop slide between his lips and into his mouth.

I don't know what was in the bottle and I don't ask. I just watch.

Immediately, Edmund's breathing calms, growing less labored. And less labored. And then it's just plain less, till he's not breathing at all. We stare at him, the four of us, tears racing down our faces, not daring to look at each other, just watching him, willing him to live.

No one close to me has ever died. But, as the seconds tick by, I already feel that wrenching pain returning to my heart, and I know this is what it feels like to be ripped in half.

And then, right when I'm ready to stand up and scream, Edmund's lips part – just a little – and he lets out two, tiny coughs. Then, his dark eyes flutter open, fixing on the four of us.

I let out the deepest sigh in the history of forever, and, as if that set a whole new mood, the four of us start smiling, then grinning, then all of a sudden we're falling over each other, laughing with relief. Edmund smiles a little, too, and I wonder if he knows just how close he came to dying.

Seems to me, it'd be a difficult thing to forget.

Peter grabs his brother and wraps him in a fierce hug, pulling Edmund as close as can with them both covered in armor; when Peter pulls back, I see leftover tears still glittering in his eyes. "When are you going to learn to do as your told?" he asks, and there's a choked-back laugh – maybe a sob, too – in his voice.

Edmund just grins, not bothering to reply, and a second later, they're hugging again. Then their sisters dive in, too, and Lucy grabs my arm, pulling me with as they go. They embrace me and I embrace them, stretching my arms as far around the tangled circle as I can.

For a while, the five of us just sit there, smiling and hugging and giggling with relief. Like we're all brothers and sisters.

Like we're all a family.

I'm not sure how long we sit there, but after a little, I sense more than hear someone padding over to us. Slowly, I break away from the others, then glance up.

And there He is.

I open my mouth, but before I can say anything, Aslan turns away, striding over to one of the many stone statues littering the field. I frown slightly, watching as He turns His head and breathes over the Narnian creature. Um... no disrespect or anything, but what's breathing on the guy supposed to do?

As if in answer to my question, the stone cracks, color floods back into the rocky face, and the Narnian warrior lives again.

Even after all I've seen since coming to this crazy-but-awesome land, my jaw drops to the ground.

I'm still watching Aslan, so it's not till Lucy jumps to her feet that I notice her. "Where you going, Lu?" Susan and I ask at the same time.

But the little girl just lifts the bottle of healing juice and runs off, I guess to dole it out to the other injured people in the army. Susan follows half a second later, weapons at the ready in case of anymore stragglers. Edmund, Peter, and I are left, and we take our time standing.

Peter wraps an arm around Edmund's shoulders, but winces when he reaches the other for me. I look at his hand, remember the Witch stabbing his arm, and that's when I see the blood leaking out from a hole in the chain-mail. "Why didn't you tell Lucy you were injured?" I ask, cutting a makeshift bandage from the hem of my dress. Hey, they do it in the movies, and hopefully, it'll keep him from bleeding to death until his sister comes back around.

Peter shrugs, wincing again, as I tie the cloth on his arm. "The others needed it more."

And, as I watch his eyes, watching his sisters – with the occasional glance at his brother – I realize: He really is meant to be King.

Yes, yes he is. But he cannot do it alone.

My head swivels around and my eyes find Aslan watching us. Something about His expression triggers a memory, and the first vision I had pops into my mind. You are here to help the Pevensies. That's what He said then.

But what does that mean? I wonder, figuring He can hear my thoughts. What am I actually supposed to do?

Aslan doesn't answer, but I hear something like a soft chuckle in my head. And I've got the sneaking suspicion that I'm about to find out.

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