Warning: graphic depictions of a dead body. You guys have been pretty good about everything so far, so I wasn't sure if this needed a warning or not, but, if blood makes you squeamish, might want to beware. Also, the author is not responsible for any feels begotten from the beginning of this chapter.
Peter stood over the body of the White Witch, panting hard, and Lucy knew by the glaze in his eyes that he was going into shock. She had seen this happen to her brother only once before, after his first kill of that wolf, Maugrim.
Victory tinted with horrible loss.
She rushed forward, throwing her arms around him as she had on that fateful day, the day they had managed to save Edmund from the Witch, and clung to him, scared to find that she was shaking as badly as he.
It was horrible this moment, sickening for a reason Lucy wasn't quite certain she understood, only that it hurt, and that Edmund still wasn't with them, after all this.
In the next moment, Susan had joined them, though her words were more practical than Lucy's mere comfort. "Peter," she whispered softly, so that the Archenland soldiers and surrendering Fell Creatures around them could not hear. "Peter, we have to find Edmund."
Peter stiffened at these words, and Lucy remembered the Witch's taunting, that Edmund had died by her hands, that it was what she had come there for, whatever that meant. All she knew was that Edmund was not amongst the Witch's soldiers, and she wondered at that, for surely the White Witch would want to show off what she had done to him, after all this time.
She shivered, turning to Susan with wide eyes. Did Susan believe, as she did, that he was not truly dead?
And yet her hope was squashed in the next moment by Susan's words.
"If what she said was true, and Edmund is..." Susan bit down hard enough on her lower lip to draw blood, "we have to go to the Stone Table and retrieve his body."
Lucy sniffed, hating those words. "She could have been lying," she pointed out then, a little too hopeful for her words to sound believable. "He could still be alive, hidden somewhere."
Peter glanced down at her, one arm still slung around her shoulder, and gave her a sad smile. "Yeah, Lucy's right. She could have been," he said, in a very unconvincing tone, like the one he had used when she insisted during their first year in Narnia that, if Father Christmas was real, and so were dwarves, then surely there must be leprechauns as well.
He took a deep, shuddering breath. "Lu, you still riding with me?"
She nodded, wanting nothing more but to bury her head in his chest and wake to find that this was all a nightmare. Edmund had to be all right. No, she didn't care if he was all right. He simply had to still be alive.
Susan's gaze softened as she met Lucy's. "We'll find him, Lu." And then she turned, bow slung over her shoulder, looking every inch the warrior queen that she hated being, and trekked over to her horse, climbing atop it shouting their plans to King Lune.
King Lune dipped his head. Clearly, his own curiosity over what had happened to Edmund was bitten down, for he offered to, "clean up here," while they continued on. Susan gave him a grateful nod, and then Peter was pulling Lucy toward Philip once more.
Her legs felt like lead as he swung her up onto Philip's back, and, though she knew Edmund's Horse enjoyed letting his mane free, she clung to it with a ferocity that scared even her.
Philip, however, did not seem to mind, as antsy as she to reach the Stone Table and find out what had happened to the Just King. He waited impatiently for Peter to shout orders to the Narnians to follow King Lune before climbing atop Philip, and then the horse sped off after Susan, not once looking back.
"When we get there, she might have left someone guarding the table," Peter whispered into her ear. "Leave him to me."
Lucy leaned back into her brother's arms, nodding. "I have my cordial," she said softly, hoping that she sounded reassuring.
Peter sighed, but didn't answer. They both knew that a drop from Lucy's cordial, nor a fountain of it, could cure death.
This time, Philip's fast pace wasn't too horrible, though she was sure that she would still have aches from it tomorrow, and she blinked, wondering how she could be thinking of such things when her brother's life was in so terrible a danger. She closed her eyes, whispering a prayer to Aslan and wondering when she had last done so. When any of her siblings had last done so.
That thought frightened her, another quickly joining it. Perhaps Aslan had not come to save them because she had not wanted badly enough for him to do so, because Susan and Peter had simply given up on him so quickly.
"Aslan," she mouthed, for some reason not wanting Peter to hear the words, "Aslan, please. Let him be all right."
And in that moment, a calmness swept over her, a peace that wasn't her own, and Lucy opened her eyes, content that Edmund would be, when they found him.
She wouldn't believe the Witch's taunts until she had seen Edmund's body with her own eyes, Lucy promised herself.
The journey, despite their fast pace, was slow, and more than once Lucy found herself wishing they had simply ridden the eagles to the Stone Table, rather than going by horse. Then she remembered that the eagles had still been very much engaged in battle when she'd left them, and were likely unsure where they own monarchs had now gone.
They did not halt in their race to the Stone Table, even after the horses started stumbling, for Philip refused to stop, and Susan's Horse was equally as worried for the fate of the Just King. Behind them, several of their soldiers; a badger, a hound, and a centaur, though not Oreius, followed, the badger eventually climbing onto the centaur's back when his little paws could take him no farther.
And then they reached a clearing that Lucy was so very familiar with, perhaps even more so than Dancing Lawn, though, if her brother was missing, she would have rather found him there, amongst the dryads, than here.
Lucy was sliding down from Philip before they even made the clearing, aware that Peter was shouting her name, yelling for her to wait for them, but she ignored him, one hand clutching the dagger Peter had returned to her after rescuing her from the Witch's dungeons while the other held even more tightly to her cordial.
And she ran, unaware of anything happening around her, until she stood at the foot of a cracked Stone Table, staring up in horror at what lay on it.
Despite Peter's earlier fears, there were no guards surrounding the Stone Table. Evidently the White Witch had been confident in her victory, and had not found the need for them. Confidence had always been a weakness of hers, Lucy realized then.
A body, mangled and bloodied beyond recognition, dried blood splattering the Table around it, as it lay inside the cracks, was the only evidence to the Witch's claim. Dirt and grime covered it where blood did not, clothes ripped away...as Edmund's had been. The hair was so full of dirt that Lucy could not decide if it was blackened because it was indeed Edmund's or if it had been dragged through the mud so long that it had turned black because of it.
The face...she did not recognize it as her brother's face, for it was covered with dried blood, bloated and sallow with death, the nose twisted horribly, as though it had been broken several times before the White Witch saw fit to kill this poor soul, despite the obvious torture he had gone through.
She remembered Jadis' words to Peter, that she had given Edmund death in the end as a mercy when Peter had looked as though he would not kill her, and her insides twisted with a rare anger. How dare she even compare what Peter had done to her with this?
The eyes were already shut, and, though she wanted to know the truth, had to know, she could not bring herself to pry apart the swollen eyelids to ensure that the color beneath was indeed brown.
There was no true sign that this even was her brother, save that the body looked to be about the right size, from what she could make of it.
But even as denial swept through her, she knew there would have been no reason for Jadis to execute someone else on the Stone Table when she had Edmund within her grasp. When she had been wanting to kill Edmund for so long.
A rebellious part of her insisted that, if this was indeed her brother's body, she should be able to recognize it, destroyed though it had been. Something about him should be familiar, and not simply a cold corpse that might have once held her brother's face.
Lucy felt her hands shaking even as she unstopped the cordial, climbing onto the Stone Table and hearing her siblings come to a halt behind her. Susan's scream of horror at the sight of the body did not even bring her out of her terrible shock as she pressed the cordial to the boy's lips, hoping against hope, begging with every fiber of her being for Aslan to save Edmund.
A drop from the cordial fell into the dead boy's mouth.
The world stilled, waited.
Nothing.
Lucy let out a cry, tipping the bottle forward a little so that another drop fell, waiting with baited breath even as she felt Peter's strong arms pulling her away, felt Susan reaching for the cordial.
She let out a cry, attempting to twist away, but Peter's grasp was firm as he pulled her toward him, whispered in her ear that it was over, that nothing could be done, and that she had to stop. The words made no sense to her, and she fought against him, needing to be by that body, needing to make sure that it wasn't Edmund's, that it couldn't possibly be.
Peter would not let go of her, and, before she knew what was she doing, Lucy found herself taking her anger at the Witch out on him, her fists slamming into his chest as she finally let the tears fall.
Where was Aslan? How could he have allowed this to happen, after Peter had used his name to kill the White Witch?
Perhaps her faith in him had been misplaced, as Susan seemed to think. Lucy could think of no time in their short rule of Narnia when they had needed him more, and yet the Lion had not come. And as much as she wanted to tell herself that he would come in his own time, that everything would work out as it always did and that someday, the reason he was not here now would make sense, as she always did believe, even when her siblings did not, Edmund was dead.
Lucy slumped against Peter's shoulder, not crying, though her mouth remained open in shock. No sounds came from her from a long time after that, and she was only vaguely aware of Susan whispering sweet, utterly meaningless words of comfort in her ear, of the soldiers behind them wrapping the dead body in Peter's cloak, of Peter's strong arms clinging to her at least as tightly as she now clung to him.
She could feel Peter's chest rumbling against her, knew that he was speaking though she could not seem to hear the words, only knew them to be somber and words that she would rather not hear, and then he set her down, and her feet wobbled against a broken step in front of the Table as Peter moved forward. She watched sightlessly as he bent down next to the body, touched the forehead and flinched, as though the bloody wound there had rather been inflicted on him.
Susan stepped forward, for they all seemed to need to touch the body to know that it was real, that Edmund was well and truly dead, and then she moved back, as if the very thought of remaining here a moment longer was repulsive to her. Susan's eyes shown with tears, though she would not meet either Lucy or Peter's gazes.
The world stilled again, and Lucy could only stare at the dead body on the Stone Table. The first to grace it since Aslan himself had died here at the hands of the White Witch.
The first to die since Aslan's death had destroyed the blood magic here.
Aslan would return. He had not let such sorrowful events happen before, and he would not do so now.
"That is not my brother," Lucy said softly, words a shock even to herself, and Peter turned to her in surprise. Susan still didn't move, only staring as tears leaked down her face.
"What?" he asked, and she wondered if he really hadn't heard her or thought his youngest sister had lost her mind, his own eyes filled with tears.
"That is not Edmund, Peter. It isn't him." She hated that she sounded like a petulant child, for every part of her being was screaming that this was not Edmund. It couldn't be. The peace she had felt since that desperate prayer to Aslan was still there, even as she glared down at this body. This was not her brother.
And Peter and Susan shared a look over Lucy's head, but said nothing.
"You have to believe me," Lucy went on, a little louder this time. "I know-" her voice choked, "I know that isn't my brother!"
The boy ate in silence, head tilted over the bread, shoulders hunched as if in preparation for a blow, as if he could feel the bounty hunter's eyes on him. It could have been the stance of a bastard slave, but the bounty hunter was no fool.
Even half-barbarian, a bastard child of a Tarkaan would never be so pale, even after so close a mark with death. And he was too old to fit the description of the boy. The bounty hunter need not get his hopes up for that, but then, that was not why he was here.
It had been, at first, and when he realized he had been tricked and this was not the boy he was looking for, he had almost decided to leave. Would have done, had this boy not come back to life before his very eyes.
As it was, he had dropped the dead body of the boy whom he had dragged all this way as a sacrifice beside this living boy, and neglected to notice as it cracked against the Stone Table. Neglected to notice as the Talking Wolf disappeared back into the forest when the boy regained consciousness, his earlier vendetta against the Wolf now gone.
The boy had sat up, albeit slowly and still looking to be in considerable pain, looked around once, saw the bounty hunter, and asked if he had any food he might spare.
Alive and speaking.
If this could be done, then surely the slave boy could be brought back from the stone sorcery of the White Witch. Surely his sister could be saved.
He had heard tell, during his time amongst the Archenlanders, of the strange magic that the Narnians possessed, of the powers that their demon had. Surely this...resurrected wizard could divine some way of finding the child the bounty hunter sought.
The bounty hunter turned his attentions back to the boy, this odd child who had been dead but now wasn't. This child who now ate as any mere mortal needed to, his skin still hanging on bone, body still taut with exhaustion, and yet very much alive.
There had been no demon lion standing over him when he came back to life. It seemed that he had done so of his own volition. If he needed any more proof of the workings of barbaric sorcery, he need only look in front of him.
"You are human," the bounty hunter said finally, when the silence between them grew too thick. He wasn't certain, after all.
The corners of the boy's lips twitched, as though he were struggling not to laugh. "Astute observation," he said, apparently unable to hold the words back.
Curious.
The bounty hunter frowned at him. "And yet you are in Narnia. There are very few humans in Narnia, and even less of them young men of your age."
The boy lifted his chin defiantly, setting aside the bread, though he stared after it rather longingly before turning his gaze once more to the bounty hunter. "I should hope not."
"Then who are you? A wizard, in the employ of your demon god?" the bounty hunter bit out, trying with difficulty to hold back his disdain, though he had seen this boy, or his demon's power a moment before, and some part of him acknowledged that it was greater than any stories he had heard of the power of Tash.
The young man shrugged, still smiling that damnable smile. "I suppose you could say that."
The bounty hunter lifted a hopeful eyebrow. "Then, perhaps rescuing you was not a total waste; I could use your help."
"Rescuing me?" the boy echoed. "I do not recall that being the way of things. I simply woke and you were here."
"Nonetheless, if I had not come across you, you would have died out here, of exposure and your wounds."
The boy muttered something under his breath at that, something that sounded suspiciously like, "But I was already dead," but the bounty hunter didn't understand the words, didn't understand this whole situation, and so pretended not to hear them.
"What is it you want from my Lord?" the boy asked finally, and the bounty hunter smiled, rubbing his hands together eagerly.
Had he been a religious man, he would have been disgusted at his absolute betrayal of Tash in these next moments, but then, he was not religious. He was only doing what he would for the freedom of his sister, and he had learned long ago that, no matter how much he attempted to purge himself of any weaknesses, he could not.
"I came here looking for a boy. A young runaway. The half-blood son of a barbarian and a noble Tarkaan of Tashbaan. I was informed by reasonable sources that a boy had been brought to Narnia not so long ago fitting the description of the one I was after. That he had been turned to stone, but that your demon lion could fix him. That there is Old Magic in Narnia that can take a life for a life." A pause, as he assesed the boy, watched him pale underneath these words. Clearly, he knew something of what the bounty hunter spoke. "You are not the boy I wished to find."
"You're so sure?" The boy asked, and if he didn't know better, the bounty Hunter would have thought he was being teased.
"Quite. You sit like a lord. I came looking for a slave; instead I find you." He tilted his head, staring at the boy. "And yet, for some reason, you seem most familiar to me."
The boy smirked. "Must be the pale skin. And no, before you ask, I am not descended from a Calormene. That I know of," he said thoughtfully, chewing on the rest of that bread the bounty hunter had offered him a bit harder than necessary.
The bounty hunter decided to stop avoiding the issue then. "You were dead," he stated bluntly.
Edmund shrugged, glancing back towards the stone table with emotionless eyes. The bounty hunter couldn't help but wonder how he could stand to be so close to the thing, after being stabbed to death on it, as he and the wolf had claimed. And then waking up on it.
"How are you alive now?" the bounty hunter demanded. "Is it some magic of that demon of yours?"
The smirk turned to a grin, and the young man turned to face him once more. "Or, perhaps, perhaps something deeper. I thank him for it, though. But yes, I imagine it is a magic of some sort."
The bounty hunter snarled, remembering the old man with the pool who had led him here, clearly to a dead end. "I should kill you now for it, before you use whatever sorcery you have on me."
"But you're not sure that I would stay dead," the boy grinned. "I'm struggling to figure out what your demand was."
"What?"
"You wanted something from me. What was it?" and he sounded genuinely curious, as if he could grant whatever the bounty hunter's request was in an instant.
The bounty Hunter eyed him. Then, "Is it true that the demon lion can bring the dead back to life?"
The boy blinked at him, held up his hands as if to gesture to himself. "Well, I'm alive, aren't I?" he asked calmly, suddenly looking almost sad where he had seemed giddy up until now. The euphoria of returning from death seemed to finally be wearing thin.
The bounty Hunter blinked at him. "The boy I spoke of," he said finally. "I was sent by a Tarkaan to find him. But he's been turned to stone. Can you.."
"There is no way for me alone to bring him back," the boy answered forlornly, sounding genuinely sorrowful. "Not without Aslan."
"Then summon him. Your demon," the bounty hunter's lips curled as he spoke. "Surely you can do that."
The boy glanced up at him, a look of shock in those brown eyes. "I...can't."
The bounty Hunter glared, rushing forward and sliding his knife against the boy's skin, pressing it tightly against his throat. To his credit, the boy only flinched in response, one run in wth death in a day enough for him.
And that told the bounty hunter something. That there was a chance that this boy could still die again, that he was not immortal, as he'd feared.
"The wolf that led me here said you were favored by your demon. Perhaps if I slit your thoat, he'll come to save you."
The boy hissed in pain. "I...It doesn't work like that, probably because Aslan is not some demon..."
The bounty hunter sank down onto his haunches with a sigh. "Then the boy is truly lost to me, as is my reward."
And the boy looked just as surprised by his next words as the bounty hunter was, but he said them nonetheless. "You could stay in Narnia," he suggested finally. "My brother would be glad to offer asylum to my rescuer, if you return me to him now."
A pause. "Your brother does not know you are here, dying and resurrecting yourself?"
The boy looked almost affronted. "If he did, I would not be here, I think. And I did not resurrect myself, nor kill myself. That was-"
"Yes, yes, save it for another time," the bounty hunter waved it away. "Why would he do that?"
"You are clearly in trouble," the boy answered with a shrug. "And you rescued me. My brother would be...most grateful."
The bounty hunter snorted at the very idea. Asylum, in the barbarian land of monsters led by a demonic lion. "I just held a knife to your throat."
"If I'm able to sleep in my own bed tonight, I may be inclined to forget that."
The bounty hunter considered the offer for a moment. He knew that, should he return to Calormen empty-handed, not only would his sister die, but himself as well. But then he thought of his sister, of the Tarkaan's threat to slit her throat if he failed, and knew he could not be the one responsible for her death. "No. No, that is of no use to me."
For more reasons than one. Not only would his sister still die, if she were not already dead from his lack of punctuality, but he would rather die than spend the rest of his life amongst these barbaric creatures... He glanced up sharply as the full weight of the boy's words finally sunk in.
"Your brother could grant me asylum here," he repeated slowly, suddenly realizing what the boy had said. There were few who could grant asylum to a criminal like himself...
He stared at the mark on the boy's chest, just below his left shoulder, and his eyes widened as the truth of what some part of him had already known came crashing down. The mark, a brand, it was said, that the Tisroc, may he live forever, had given to the youngest King of Narnia two years prior when he'd kidnapped him and attempted to enslave him before the High King of Narnia, the Fire King, as many of the Calormenes called him, had ridden in to rescue him.
The brand. His brother.
The boy suddenly looked sorry for having spoken, paling considerably and glancing down at the small scrap of bread left in his hands as if he thought it suddenly poisoned. "I meant only in a manner of speaking. You would, of course, still have to-"
"You are King Edmund the Just," the bounty hunter interrupted, and if there was hint of admiration in his voice, it was buried deep. He eyed the boy, glancing down at his shredded trousers and bare feet. And yet, despite what his eyes told him, he could not help but believe it.
The boy sighed. "Aye. And, as I said, my brother would reward you handsomely for saving me, as you believe you have. As he is the King, he would be able to protect you, here."
The bounty hunter shook his head, slowly, still muddling this over in his mind. "I came to Narnia looking for a boy turned to stone, for a paltry reward from a minor Tarkaan and the chance to save someone I care for." A pause. "I believe I have just found a far greater reward."
Edmund blinked up at him. "If you take me captive, you are still abandoning your loved one to her fate for failing to find the boy. And my brother will see you dead for it."
"Oh, I think the Tisroc himself might be understanding of my...plight," the bounty hunter smirked, and reached for his sword. "Get up."
Edmund eyed him dubiously. "You'll regret this," he said, but stood to his feet anyway, wincing as he did so at the ache this caused in his still tired muscles.
The bounty hunter smirked, glancing down at the mangled body of the Archenland soldier. He had brought him here as a sacrifice, but now he thought he had a much better use for him. "Oh, I don't think I will. Your Narnians will not even know you are gone."
And then, for not the first time in the last few days, Edmund's world faded to black.