Disclaimer: The Pevensies and all the characters and situations in the Chronicles of Narnia belong to C. S. Lewis and not to me. Similarly, Oreius belongs to Disney or Walden Media or whoever thought him up. Again, that person was not me. I own only a devious mind.
Part Three
Edmund looked pleadingly at Peter. The blood on Lucy's handkerchief was fresh, still soaking into the woven threads.
He turned to the Centaur. "What happened? How did you lose her?"
"Forgive me, My Kings, both of you." Oreius lowered his head. "You know I would defend you or your sisters with my life. I– I am not certain what happened. We were waiting here at the bottom of the stairs. I still had my hand on her shoulder, meaning to reassure her in your absence. I was holding a candle in the other. There was a flash of lightning. My candle went out, and the Queen Lucy was torn away from me. I tried to hold her, but whatever it was was too strong. Stronger than anything mortal I know."
As proof he held up his arm. His leather wristlet was ripped almost through and half of the lacings had pulled through the eyelets.
The brothers exchanged a bewildered glance, and then Edmund looked once more at the stained handkerchief wadded into his hand. He shouldn't have told her that horrible story in the first place. He shouldn't have made her cry. Oh, Lucy.
Peter put one arm around his shoulders, no doubt knowing what was on Edmund's mind. "It'll be all right, Ed. We're going to find them. We are."
That otherworldly laughter came to them again, faint and mocking, and Edmund tensed. "What does she want, Oreius? Why is she doing this?"
"I cannot say for certain, My King. I can tell you only what the legend claims."
Peter tightened his grip on Edmund's shoulder. "And what is that?"
"It is said that the Princess Raine steals the life force of her victims," Oreius said, "seeking to one day return to rule here in Cair Paravel. She leaves the three drops of blood as proof of her presence and of her triumph and of her coming power. She was young when her life was taken from her, so she preys particularly on the young. Like your sisters."
Peter nodded curtly, now all High King and Narnia's Champion. "How do we stop her?"
The Centaur shook his head. "That the legends do not say."
Once more they heard that laugh, louder now and not far ahead of them. Then there was something else, something almost lost in the violence of the storm that battered the Cair. Someone was sobbing. The sound came from the same direction as the laughter, and Edmund lurched towards it.
"That's Susan! Peter, it's Susan!"
Peter glanced back at Oreius, and then held Rhindon up, using it to pierce the darkness before them. "Susan? Is that you? Lucy?"
He still had one arm around Edmund's shoulders, still held tightly to him, and his grip tightened once more. Someone was speaking now, pleading, begging. The words were too low and garbled to make out, but Edmund knew the voice.
"Lucy, where are you? Where are you?"
That scratching, scuttling sound came again, the sound of something creeping behind the walls, something seeking that gaping blackness ahead of them. But if Susan and Lucy were there, they had to go into it. Edmund lifted his sword, every nerve in his body racing with adrenaline, his breathing seeming to resonate against the stone of the Cair.
Oreius came behind them, a sword in one hand, a candle in the other, and his hooves ringing faintly on the marble floor. Edmund knew he was back there, but he had to force himself to not turn around to be sure. To be sure it was Oreius and not . . . something else.
The sounds rose and fell with the moaning, rattle of the wind. Edmund couldn't help wondering if he was really hearing his sisters. Perhaps it was just the storm and his imagination and the story of Princess Raine. But that laugh– Oh, no. That had been real. And that had not been Susan or Lucy either.
He stayed close to Peter's side, his candle and his sword before him until, at last, they came to the end of the corridor and to a closed door.
"Lucy?" Peter ventured, his voice betraying only the slightest bit of trepedation. "Su?"
He put his hand on the latch, and in response, there was utter stillness. The storm continued, but even it seemed to hit a lull.
"Lu?" he whispered, and he pushed the door open.
It creaked with rust and age, reluctant to move. The room within was pitch black and, again, utterly still.
"Susan?" Edmund called, peering into the darkness, his candle and his sword both at the ready.
Oreius came up behind him, bringing his candle close to Edmund's. The circle of light revealed a richly decorated bedchamber, lush tapestries and bed hangings of silk and velvet. Paintings of Fauns and Nymphs and Narnia's royal court decorated the walls, and a thick, heavy carpet lay upon the floor. It was the bedchamber of a noble lady. A royal one. A princess. But it was heavy with dust, draped with spider webs, rotted with damp and neglect. No one could have come into this room for decades. Perhaps not for centuries.
"Oreius–"
"Wait," the Centaur breathed, and then he moved noiselessly back to the door.
"What is it," Peter whispered.
Oreius listened for a long moment and then shook his head. "Perhaps nothing. I will keep watch here. This is the only entrance to the room."
Edmund waited a moment more and then brought his candle closer to the floor. "There hasn't been anyone in here before us. We left footprints in the dust, but there aren't any besides ours."
Peter nodded, and then he tugged Edmund's arm. "Bring that over here."
They moved to the corner of the carpet nearest the sagging bed. An irregular stain, large and almost black marred the intricate pattern.
Edmund bit his lip, trying to keep it from trembling. "Peter, that's–"
"My Queens!" Oreius shouted, disappearing into the corridor, his hooves clattering into the darkness, and the boys bolted after him.
"Oreius!" Peter cried. "Come back!"
"Oreius! Wait!"
Edmund clutched his sword, racing towards the quickly fading flicker of the Centaur's candle. Then the light vanished, and he heard Oreius gasp.
"No! Noooooooooooooo!"
"Oreius!"
Peter and Edmund ran towards the sound of the Centaur's struggles. Edmund tripped in the dimness, almost putting out his own candle, and Peter hauled him back to his feet.
"Come on, Ed!"
They turned the corner and came up against a locked door.
"Oreius!" Edmund pounded on the wood. "Oreius!"
"Oreius!" Peter called, looking around for any other way the Centaur could have gone, and then he caught his breath. "Ed."
Edmund brought his guttering candle over to where Peter was pointing. There on the floor was Oreius's torn wristlet, stained with three drops of blood.
Author's Note: I hope you're enjoying this story. I would love to know what you think of it. If you'd like me to go on, please let me know.
Lady Alambiel continues to be vital in making this story fit for consumption. Thank you!
