Their solstice festival lasted until dawn in the Market Square. It was filled with artists painting murals and portraits; musicians playing and singing songs of old; jesters, mimes, chefs and their food, animals, bakers, traders, hagglers, butchers, storytellers lively spinning their tales and many others. Men, women, children, and any other creature that was there—speaking ones—were dressed in bright garments; reds, blues, yellows, greens and oranges just to hit the tip of the ice burg. It was loud and easily caught Edmund up in the excitement.
He walked among them amidst all the hustle and bustle. Of course, Narnia had markets like this, just none of them so energetic and outspoken. And there was that scent again, the one he had smelled as they had approached the island before, only this time stronger. As he continued, he found the source of it: there was an ancient tree growing strong from the very center of the market. Its bark was white and the leaves were velvety green. Its blooms were mostly black, infused with a deep, sensual blue. The aroma was so powerful now that—even though a good ten feet from it—it was enough to make him feel groggy.
"That is the Tree of Ahreddan," said a high pitched voice behind him. It was a faun child looking up at him with big brown eyes. "It's been growing since the world was made." Edmund squatted down to the boy's level and chuckled. His tiny horns almost blended in with his curly black hair.
"Oh really? And how do you know that?" he asked.
"Because, it is the oldest legend of Dimitius. You see the markings in the stone around the tree? It is said that Aslan himself wrote that there."
"Aslan?"
The boy nodded solemnly.
"And what did he write?" Edmund asked, now enticed by the mention of the Great Lion.
"No one knows for sure. Even the oldest cannot tell. They say it is a secret that will be revealed in time. I think it has old magic in it that's why it's still around. Not the more recent magic but the kind that Aslan used to come back from the dead after the White Witch killed him." Edmund had a momentary flashback of that battle and how everything changed when Aslan came into it, how they had won, and most of all how he had nearly died.
"You think it has magic? Well, that makes sense to me." He smiled at the child and stood. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a distinct purple, the color of royalty. He saw Elaina dressed in some kind of thin cotton (he presumed) that revealed as much as it hid. The—surprisingly—only florist on the island had constructed a crown of lilacs that was elegantly placed upon her brow. He looked back to the boy. He had run up to her with a broad smile. Forgetting all formalities, she hugged him tightly, like she would family. Instead of talking, she spoke to him in hand signals and responded in kind. She bid him farewell and greeted Edmund with, again, a kiss on each cheek.
"Poor boy, that Jonas," she muttered as they watched him chase a chicken.
"Why? He seems fine to me."
"He was born deaf. He has never heard the sounds of the market. Not the people nor the music nor even a bird." Edmund looked at her a bit more than puzzled.
"He listened and spoke just fine a moment ago."
"Really? Well, I don't know about that. Oh!" she pointed to the stage set up by a seamstress' booth. "I think the skits are about to start. Well don't just stand there, come on."
They spent the remainder of the day watching performances, eating exotic new foods (they even tried something neither had ever heard of called Whakami stew...whatever Whakami was), browsing shops and mostly artwork, listening to poets and musicians and Edmund being introduced to people he would never remember later. Finally, night came and the children were sent away. Even more wine was brought out and the merriment continued. Eventually, at about eleven, an old, graying yet vigorous dwarf hopped onto the stage and raised his hands for quiet. Everyone settled down a bit and took their seats. Elaina led Edmund to a rather random stool near center stage and ran off to a small appendage to the right; several followed.
"Now," began the slightly tipsy dwarf. "Lords and ladies, Dwarves and Damsels, boys and bonnies, welcome to tonight's grand performance. As many of you know, like myself, the lovely Princess Elaina has danced in this festival for the past ten years and her mother—Aslan rest her sweet soul—before her. For those of you who have not seen this nor know of our traditional game, I will explain. Ten girls, usually about the same age, dance on this stage veiled so that their faces are hidden. Now, the one who can pick out the princess, wins and Elaina will dance alone. But, you should know, our Lady Princess has never lost. Alright, the minstrels are finally here, I am done rambling, and the girls are ready. Now, DANCE!" one would expect a great roar of anticipation at this, but everything became deathly silent, waiting.
He hopped off the stage just as the ten dancers, each in the same gossamer blue dresses and purple veils, came onto the stage with elegant strides. Each assumed the same position—hands balled into fists and wrists crossed making an X above their heads—as a low, steady rhythm beat out from a drum. They remained standing, not moving a muscle, hardly breathing. Edmund watched with expectancy and impatience. A flute began to play, slowly at first in a sad minor tone, and then gradually picked up speed as the girls moved with the melody. A harp stuck, as did a lyre, another flute and the monotonous drum still thumping out the same rhythm, only faster. As for the girls, their bodies moved like water and became more and more liquid-like as the music went faster. Several—including Edmund—watched in awe and curiosity. They spun and twirled and kicked; everything was a whirl of that color. Still, the veils never fell. When the tune seemed as if it could go no faster, everything stopped, the dancers in the same posture as they were in the beginning, this time their heads up and looking out at the stunned audience. The elderly dwarf was up on the stage again, loudly clapping, a boisterous grin on his wrinkled face. Everyone began whooping and hollering and applauding. Edmund stood with the rest and realized that there was a section gone from each veil revealing their eyes.
"Fine, fine job indeed," gloated the ancient dwarf. "But has anyone figured out which is the princess? If you did, stay standing." Almost all sat down except for Edmund and five others. The runt asked each man, which he thought, was "our Lady Princess". Finally, he came to Edmund. "And which do you think, son?" Edmund scanned over each of them once more, to be sure, then answered, "Third from the left." The dancer took off her veil; it was Elaina. The crowd gasped then cheered. The only one to win for three decades, as he later found out. "Aslan's mane, boy!" the dwarf looked at him in shock. "I didn't even know! How did you?"
"She is the only one with gray eyes," he replied as he looked over at her. He winked at her as she looked at him from the platform. She did one of those quiet gasp laughs and went backstage to prepare for her dance.
"Alright, now. You all talk amongst yourselves whilst we wait." They did just that.
The other girls filed off in the opposite direction. He watched as a tall figure approached Elaina's small "dressing room". About a minute later, that figure staggered out. Edmund saw Elaina run out from there on light feet. He jumped up from where he sat and hurried after her, but not too quickly to make a scene.
"Elaina," he called quietly as he caught up with her. "Elaina!"
She stopped, not turning.
"Where are you going? Are you not—"
She turned and silenced him with a furious glare. "No, I changed my mind. I'm not dancing." She spun on her heel and began walking again.
"Who was in your dressing room? What is wrong?"
"It's nothing. Do not bother yourself with it." She spat, still walking.
"Elaina, please—"
"No!" she turned back to him and hissed. He was taken aback. "This is none of your business, Edmund. Stay out of it." So he did, and he watched her go with a bewildered look on his face.
"He has no idea," Elaina whispered to herself as she stormed away from Edmund. "It was no big deal. Ugh, Kemen, you're lucky I haven't had you executed." She could never have him killed. That would alter everything she was trying to be: the opposite of her brother. But what happened just now...
In the dressing room
"Hello, Elaina." She jumped at the voice and turned to see a tall, burly man.
"Kemen! What are you doing here?" she inquired curtly. The last time they met it was not on good terms.
"I came here to try and patch up what we had before."
"Kemen, we hardly had anything before. You were a liar and a cheat. Leave, I don't want anything to do with you." Kemen laughed dryly.
"But, honestly, Elle, people can change." He ran his hand down her bare arm, causing a chill to run down her spine. She backed away.
"I told you to never call me that." Her tone was so icy that it froze the air around them.
"I'm sorry. I guess I just…forgot."
"Well, maybe you've also 'forgotten' that I am your princess and I can exile you."
"Ah, but you would never do that. You are too good." He grabbed the back of her head and kissed her roughly. He was too strong for her too break free from. He pulled back, still holding her head and now her arm. "You found comfort in me before. Are you going to leave me again?" All she could do was lock her jaw and glare up at him. A noise from behind distracted his attention enough for him to loosen his grip. Elaina seized the moment and whipped away, took the palm of her hand and hit him hard in the chest, sending him out of the room temporarily winded.
Now
She sat on a bench near the Tree of Ahreddan. Looking over at it, she wondered what her father would say the next day about her sudden disappearance.