Chapter Seventeen: Opposites

I dreamed the most marvelous dream that night.

I was walking on a white sand beach, the lingering heat of the day warming my skin as the gentle waves tumbled in and wrapped around my ankles before quickly retreating. The sky was a deep indigo while the horizon showed a dark rainbow and orange-dyed clouds as the sun made his way to the west and a well earned rest. Stars already twinkled overhead, and I fancied I could faintly hear their song blending in with the voice of the ocean and stirring the faint, scented breeze. I had rarely been so content. It was a perfect evening, a perfect setting, and I had the perfect companion.

Aslan walked slowly beside me, silent and steady. His great paws took small steps to match mine and he lifted his head to test the breeze, his golden eyes half-closed as he drank in the beauty of the evening. I rested my hand in his mane, wishing the dream would go on forever.

Another wave swept around our feet, the water turning my companion's paws a dark gold. As I looked down I spotted a scallop shell, white and shining in the starlight, and I stooped to lift it out of the water. It was a pretty thing, as perfect as the moment, and I held it out for Aslan to see. He looked at it and smiled.

"From the darkest depths of the sea that comes," said the Lion, his voice as soft as the breeze. "It has had a far journey."

I set the shell back down into the salty turf. "I know how it feels."

"Yes, you do. And if you allow yourself, you'll have even greater distances to traverse."

I looked up at him. "If I allow myself?"

"Yes."

I pondered this as we walked, taking the words and the moment into my heart. "What is this place?"

"The shore of the sea."

"Why are we here?"

"Because you need me. What happened to frighten you so today? It was not the foe you fought that caused you to panic, my son, but the foe you feel you cannot fight."

I reflected, remembering the traumatic events of the day. He was right. The Werewulf had frightened me of course, but he had not exercised any real power over me. It was not the Werewulf that had broken my nerve. I had done that to myself.

"I . . . I remembered when I first set foot in Narnia and I first met Ginnarrbrick, the Black Dwarf that served the White Witch. Being thrown down by Brickit like that . . . I . . . remembered and . . . I panicked."

Aslan nudged me with his nose, and his breath was sweeter than the breeze as it filled and fortified me. I welcomed the sensation like the desert welcomes rain. "It is not an unreasonable fear, Edmund, and you faced it bravely. But you know for yourself that the Dwarfs of the Blue River did not serve Jadis as well as she thought."

"I know." I dropped my gaze, staring at the foamy waves brushing my feet and listening to the swish and hiss of the water. "I wish I hadn't screamed like that. I think I scared them." And me, I thought.

He knew my thoughts. "Being frightened is not always a bad thing. Your reaction today drove home a point the Blue River Dwarfs had not considered very well."

"What point?"

"That you and your family have suffered and sacrificed for this land as well as any of its inhabitants, and that as kings and queens you will go on sacrificing for Narnia's sake."

I considered. "It doesn't seem like much of a sacrifice to me."

"That is why you are a king."

I sucked in my breath, startled at this affirmation. Aslan spoke on.

"Ginnarrbrick is dead, Edmund, slain by your sister's arrow. He cannot hurt you ever again unless you allow him to do so. Memories fade faster if you don't dwell in their shadows."

I nodded my agreement. "It's not easy."

"Worthwhile things rarely are." He gazed at me intently and his ears flattened in sympathy. "You miss your family."

"Yes. Terribly. Especially after today," I confessed easily. "I just want to be home. I miss Peter most of all."

"Of course. He knows you best. But you cannot leave the smithy until you are done."

"Done? I'm not done?" I thought of bitter beer and the stench of coal ash and sweat. I had hoped to leave the smithy within a day or two. "What's left to do?"

"You must talk again, to start."

"Talk?" I frowned in confusion.

The Lion looked at me with amusement. "Yes. Talk, Edmund. You haven't spoken a word since you ordered the daughters of the clan to run away. You're frightening your friends."

"Oh." I hadn't realized. "Oh. Sorry. What else do I need to do?"

He sat down in the sand and placed his huge, warm paw upon my shoulder. It was a comforting weight. His eyes glittered as bright as the stars above. Was Aslan almost laughing?

"You must learn all you can from Brickit."

I felt a frown settle upon my features. "But I . . ."

I considered. Time spent at the smithy at Aslan's command promised to be far more interesting than running coal and fetching water. The Lion watched me progress from confusion and disappointment to determination to follow his order to the best of my ability. I could stay another week. It was just a sennight and I had told Brickit that I was here to learn. Covering his paw with my hand, I nodded and said, "Of course."

He leaned closer. "And Edmund?"

"Yes, Aslan?"

"Keep listening to your brother. He is wiser than he knows."

I broke into a smile. He knew full well about my reliance on Peter's conduct and the example my brother set for me.

"Always," I promised.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

I awoke to warmth and darkness in my cramped little room. My jaw ached but my heart felt lighter as I recalled the dream. I wondered if it had really happened, if I had been on that beach with Aslan, but then decided that was a moot point because real or not, the effect upon me would be no different. It had been a long time since I had felt so content and for a while I just laid awake and enjoyed the sensation. It almost seemed a reward for all the trials of the day.

Finally I roused and fumbled about and managed to light the small oil lamp beside my bed. By the white light I took stock of myself. I had been changed for sleeping, dressed in clean tunic and trousers that I had appropriated from Peter's closet long before I left Cair Paravel. I saw the tunic I had worn earlier today draped neatly on a chair, all traces of blood and Werewulf hair scrubbed away. I found my boots and pulled them on, pleasantly surprised that they were dry once again, and as I buckled on my heavy leather belt my stomach growled, sharply reminding me I had not eaten anything since breakfast. Well. Perhaps I could find food as well as talk in the long house.

Standing, I felt wide awake, as if I had slept myself out even though I had no idea of the time. I was sore and stiff, but this was a feeling I was used to from endless practice on the training grounds under Oreius' watchful eye. My jaw and neck hurt - the Werewulf had landed a blow as well as a few scrapes - but the cuts had been cleaned and salve applied and I felt no fever or hotness of infection.

Carrying the lamp so as not to bark my shins on the furniture or hit my head on the low rafters, I made my way through Brint's cozy house. All was dark and quiet and when I stepped outdoors into the cool spring air I was greeted by the sweet, cheerful calls of the tiny bell frogs inhabiting the banks of the Blue River. I paused to listen and let my eyes adjust to the light of the moon. I could see a ruddy glow from the long house, so I extinguished my lamp and left it by the door before making my way to the thatched-roof building that was the center of the smithy.

At first, by the illumination of the glowing embers in the large fire place, I thought the house was empty. A motion at the far end caught my attention and I recognized Brickit's silhouette by the hearth. He watched as I closed the door and then walked the distance to join him. From his seat by the fire he studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable in the darkness, and he gestured for me to take one of the low stools. I sat, drawing a bit closer to the warmth and light. For a span we both gazed into the remains of the fire, neither of us willing to break the silence, and finally Brickit stirred.

"I assume you're hungry," he said.

"I am," I replied in a whisper. I had meant to match his tone but somehow I could not raise my voice.

He rose, returning in a few moments with a plate of bread and cheese and dried fruits that he handed to me. Because of my aching jaw I had to eat very slowly, but the food tasted all the better for it. He returned again with a pitcher and a cup for me. He refilled his cup and poured for me and for the first time I welcomed the bitter beer upon my tongue. He let me make some headway with the food before he asked,

"Better?"

"Yes. Thank you." I took a sip of beer. The silence had gone from comfortable to smothering. There was so much we both needed to say and ask and share. Where to start?

"Brack and Baia – are they well? And Beal's daughters - were they badly hurt?"

"They're fine, boy. All of them. More scared than hurt, thank Aslan," he added. "I say it again; you took the brunt of it." The Dwarf sighed. "My brother took a party up the river. They buried the Duck and her nestlings with all due ceremony. The local Animals and Dryads were grateful."

My throat constricted and I had to stop eating. I set the plate aside, realizing I had not known the Mallard's name. "It seems like so long ago."

"Really?" he countered, pouring more beer. "Odd. To me it feels as if it's still happening."

Silence. We stared into the fire, watching the embers slowly crumble and cool.

"Must be past midnight," he said. "You slept the day through."

"And I take it you haven't slept at all."

"Can't. My mind's too full of what might have been."

"Peter's like that. He frightens himself with possibilities. Oreius is always lecturing him about it."

"It will take a long time to fade."

"Aslan told me not to dwell in the shadow of memories."

"With memories like these it's hard not to."

I sighed. "La."

He looked at me shrewdly, knowing I understood him fully. "So what happened that made you scream like that? You scared us all, each and every one. What hurt you so, Edmund?"

I stared at the fire, wishing it was hotter so as to burn away the lingering chill of an unclean touch. My mind registered the use of my name for the first time. I did not want to speak on the matter, but he deserved something, some type of answer. Brickit had saved my life and in return I had terrified him. If I had not spoken to Aslan in my dream I doubt that I would have had the strength to reply.

I looked up, looked at him, willing him to understand and ask no further.

"Jadis," I whispered, and said no more for a very long time.