Chapter Fifteen: Fiddleheads

There was a noticeable shift in the smithy's attitude towards me after we returned from Lithin and got back to the business of smithing. Perhaps it had been the sight of armor and crown as visible reminders of exactly who and what this boy in their midst really was. Perhaps it had Brickit's report of my conduct towards the wives of the Lithin Satyrs. Perhaps it had been the swift and painful conflict with the old Faun and the defensive attitudes the soldiers showed for me. I didn't know and I didn't care. One of the apprentices shoveled coal right alongside me and helped refill the bins at night. It was enough for me that my work load was lightened enough that I wasn't exhausted at the end of each day and I had a chance to interact with the Dwarfs more.

They were a cranky lot, but they honed their ornery natures into being perfectionists in their craft and they were remarkable to observe. The Master let me try out a few more skills, kindly giving me half a dozen different types of spear points and arrow heads to destroy on the grinding wheels one afternoon so I could get a sense of how different types of metal sparked and smelled and reacted to stone. To his amusement I ground the points down to nubs, but at the end of the afternoon I could tell the different grades of steel apart from the softer grades of iron.

The local Animals began stopping by the smithy to meet or see me and occasionally bring me gifts, much to the annoyance of Brickit and Brint. I did amass a considerable collection of jams and teas and walnuts (my taste for them having been established by the Squirrels just east of the Stone Table), which I gave to Gran and the daughters to use. Brickit might have complained about the interruptions to work but he did not turn up his nose at jam tarts. I tried to warn the neighborhood animals about the Werewulf, but like the Dwarfs they equated distance with safety and didn't take the threat very seriously. They were so complacent that I began to wonder if my concern came more in defense of my brother than actual worry about the Fell Beast.

They had no mercy, Brickit and Brint, now that they had discovered that my weakness was all things Peter, and they rarely wasted an opportunity to call him 'Nancy.' Since I was here and Peter wasn't (never mind that he was helping to run the kingdom) the Dwarf brothers had concluded that the High King was more concerned with picking flowers and fretting over nonsense than actually being a warrior king. They had no idea whatsoever of how forceful Peter could be, nor of what I had put him through at Beruna, nor the intensity of his protectiveness and devotion. They refused to listen to reason and I refused to listen to their insults.

Since the Chief Smith and his chief crony seemed incapable of learning names, I took to correcting them with my elbow. I'd hear that hated name and find and excuse to get close enough to land my elbow in their ribs. Once I cracked Brint in the side and he cried,

"I didn't say a thing!"

"No," I agreed with a smile, "but you were thinking it."

He couldn't deny as much and stalked away, muttering.

Seventhday came again. At breakfast I received another despatch from Peter, delivered by a magnificent Bald Eagle, and its arrival heralded more ribbing and abuse. I was quite tired of their antics by now, but when Brickit and Brint took up their usual stations on either side of me they deliberately sat just out of range of an elbow strike.

"So what has King Nancy's knickers in a twist this fine day?"

"His name is Peter and they've lost the Werewulf," I replied. "Captain Celer thinks it may have doubled back."

"It's in Archenland by now, Spawn," Brint assured.

I gave him a dark look. "Are you in league with it that you'd know? According to my teachers few Magical Creatures venture far past Narnia's borders."

"Which teacher would that be? Dance?"

"You know, you're not nearly as clever as you think yourself to be, Brickit!"

"Clever enough for you, Spa-ow!"

Suddenly Brickit winced and let out a yelp as his mother cracked him in the head with the metal tray she carried. Brint was next and he yelped louder. Then a sharp blow landed squarely on the top of my head and I instinctively ducked and gave a cry, rubbing the offending spot as we looked at Gran. She fixed us all with a wicked glare the likes of which I had not felt since I last trained under Oreius.

"Behave, ye men! There's children present as are more mature," she growled. "There's no a one of ye so young as to not get along nor so old I can't put ye over me knee. Call yerselves chief, master, and knight, do ye? Cease this name calling!"

She stalked off. We didn't dare move or speak until she was well away.

"Be you a knight?" wondered Brint, awed at the notion.

I nodded silently and finally grunted in assent.

"She hit him," murmured Brickit, disbelief filling his voice. A moment later both Dwarfs were staring at me as if they hadn't seen me before.

"La, she did, now," realized his brother, looking and sounding amazed.

I rubbed my head. "La, she certainly did."

"Mother's never hit anyone but us before," gaped Brickit. He sounded positively crushed.

Brint was in shock. "She likes you."

"Not too much, I hope," I muttered.

Thrown to her tender mercies once again, I still found Gran to be a far more pleasant taskmaster than her sons. After I helped clean the dishes from breakfast she called Baia and Brack and handed each of us a basket and sent us upriver to pick fiddleheads to go with dinner. Baia was put in charge of the expedition as she was the only one of us with experience, having accompainied Gran on such a mission a few days before. She was very excited at her first command and tore outside as fast as her short legs would allow. Brack and I had to jog to catch up to her.

The children led the way northward to a swampy bend in the Blue River. The river splintered into a number of smaller streams, spreading out into a maze of islets and tussocks before regrouping further downstream. Centuries of rotting leaves and pine needles made the ground spongy and moist and moss and lichens grew thick and lush along the banks of the slow-moving waters. The leaves were still in the bud and the Dryads were not fully awake yet (something I could appreciate), so thin sunlight filtered all the way down through the canopy. At this time of spring the days were growing long and warm while the nights were still cold, and the absence of insects made the task of picking our way through the brush far more pleasant than it would be a month from now.

Baia and Brack were quick to point out the crowns of shuttlecock ferns growing on the mossy banks and we set to harvesting the tightly-coiled shoots. They smelled green, like grass, and stained our fingers and nails. The real challenge was staying dry; the ground was so moist my boots became soaked. I ignored the wet and the chill and simply enjoyed the break in routine and the company of the Dwarf children.

I heard a distinct, hoarse call and I looked up to see a Mallard Duck sitting on her nest in a sheltered little bower on the opposite bank. She was marvelously camouflaged in her suit of brown feathers. I smiled at the quack that was equal parts greeting and warning and said,

"Good morn, cousin. Aslan's blessings upon you."

Her tail wagged quickly and she tilted her head, trying to make me out. "Good morn. You're very tall for a Black Dwarf."

I heard Brack giggle somewhere behind me. "Not a Dwarf of any kind. I'm a boy."

"A boy!" she exclaimed. "Then that would make you a Son of Adam and our king!"

"One of your kings, lady. I'm Edmund."

"Your Majesty." She bowed her head. "The Squirrels over in the tulip trees said there was a king at the smithy. I would stand, sire, to show proper respect, but my nest is full and soon you'll have a dozen new subjects."

"Well met. Congratulations on so many children."

"It is good to nest outdoors again. So this is spring!"

I found myself grinning at her pleasure at the return of the seasons. "The first of many."

"And you're gathering fiddleheads! Last year the season was so swift the Dwarfs had no time to gather any before it was summer." She gestured with her wing. "Up there a little ways is choked with them. You can fill your baskets without walking a hundred feet."

I thanked her warmly. "Baia! Brack! This way!"

The children caught up to me and after meeting the Duck, we pressed on and found the spot she had told me about. The ferns grew thick and deep and with happy shouts brother and sister set to harvesting the shoots. I worked beside them for a while, and then moved a little further up stream so as not to deplete the plants too much. Setting my basket down, I bent to break off a handful of greens when I spotted something in the mud. I pushed the ferns aside to see better.

I felt a chill move down my body from my head to my toes as I realized what it was.

A paw print. It was huge. Not entirely Wolf, neither was it entirely Human. Like the creature that had made it, it was had features that belonged both to animal and man. Humans didn't have such long claws. Wolves didn't have heels. It was so fresh that water hadn't started pooling in the deep indentations.

Werewulf.

I felt my breath hitch, and then a twinge of panic seized me, squeezing my chest like a band as I realized I was not armed. I had left the smithy without Shafelm. Gran had just sent us off. I hadn't given the sword a thought as I tried not to lose Baia.

Sweet Lion, now who was complacent?

A sick feeling settled in my stomach. I stood up slowly, listening intently and scanning the surrounding brush as I struggled to keep my breathing in check. Quiet. It was too quiet. I could hear Brack's and Baia's soft voices. No birds sang. No trees rustled. I could smell nothing but the swamp and the mild scent of the fiddleheads. My mind flew back to the very end of winter, when Peter and I had been assaulted by the rebel Trees at the Stone Table. The crushing silence before their Fell Beasts attack had felt exactly like this.

We were being watched. I could feel it. A cold, ruthless stare. Icy as the Winter that Aslan had banished.

I edged back to the children. How far had we come from the smithy? A mile? More perhaps, it was hard to tell. Could such small children run so far?

"Brack. Baia." I had to force myself not to shout. "We have to go."

"You forgot your basket," said Baia. She tried to push past me to fetch it and I seized her.

"Forget it. Listen to me now. We must get back to the smithy."

Baia put her hands on her hips. "Not without the fiddleheads! Gran said so!"

I shook my head. "No. Back to the smithy. Now!" I hissed the last word, pushing her along. "Brack! Come on!"

"But -"

I whirled on them. "I am your king!" I said tightly. "I command you obey. Leave the baskets. Come! Hurry! Hurry!"

I frightened them, but thankfully they listened. I took each by the hand and moved back the way we had come.

I saw the Mallard before the children did. Feathers and down floated on the air and on the surface of the slow-moving water. The nest was torn apart, eggshells littering the bank amidst a smear of blood on the moss. She never had a chance.

I pulled Baia close and turned her head away. "Don't look! Brack, don't look!"

He gasped and hastily cast his eyes down. They caught my alarm and Baia started to cry.

"Shh. Hold on to my hands," I ordered, pulling them along. "Don't let go. No matter what, don't let go."

They were trembling. I moved them along at a trot and they made no complaint. The swamp seemed endless and in their terror the children could not find the path. Pausing to get my bearings, I listened. Beyond our gasping breaths I could hear nothing.

"Which way, Brack?" I panted. "Look for something familiar. Remember the course of the river."

Wide-eyed, he licked his lips and then hesitantly pointed a little to the left.

"Come on," I ordered, stepping out. "Hurry."

Thank Aslan, he was right. The scrub brush gave way to taller woods and a path. The river gradually picked up momentum and with it Baia's panic grew. She whimpered and tugged at my sweaty hand and started to slip free as she tried to run ahead. I seized her by the sleeve.

"Stay together!"

"Edmund!" breathed Brack.

I looked behind. Something slouched and hairy moved on the path, shadowy and unclean. It stopped, sniffing the air. Sweet Lion, but we were upwind.

"Run," I rasped. "Lion's sake, both of you, run! Run!"