Heaving a sigh, Queen Susan placed a hand to her forehead in hopes it would soothe the growing pain that pounded at the front of her head. The footsteps of Lucy practically dragging Peter down the hall to her parlor to clean and dress the scratch marks and the sound of Edmund mumbling to himself in the other room, blared like a trumpet's blast into sensitive ears. She wanted nothing more than to curl up in her large state bed, to wake up to the daylight and leave the nightmare behind.
Across from her the door to Dores' chambers appeared uncommonly imitating to the young queen. She had comforted the dieing before when she ventured with Lucy to the battlefields and consoled uncountable mothers, wives, daughters and sisters as they waited, fearing the news from the battle front would bring word of their loved one's demise. As Queen, she had been used to joining in a vigil as a loved one swayed between life and death. Yet she did not want to go into that room and see the mentor (who was her rock in the storm) crumbling. Susan leaned against the doorpost, gripping it as if it was her only tether to the ground or if the frame of the door would give her the strength to enter the sickroom.
As Edmund raised his voice to himself, an act he usually did when he was internally conflicted, the Southern Sun could not help but feel in the back of her mind that the castle was built for bloodshed. She closed her eyes to banish the morbid thought from her mind, not noting that the physician exited the sickroom until he spoke to her.
"My Lady." Cyriacus began and received a shocked yelp from the Gentle. Quietly, she apologized, saying she did not think he would be back from his port so soon. The faun cocked an eyebrow in suspicion. It did not take a well learned creature to tell his Queen was suffering from stress and sleep deprivation. Even in her finery, she appeared ashen and drawn instead of possessing a healthy glow. "Perhaps you should like to lie down, your Highness?" Cyriacus questioned, knowing that unlike her brothers, Queen Susan would admit to not feeling well off the bat instead of hiding any ailment.
She gave the physician a strained smile before politely declining the offer and promptly changing the subject. "How is Lady Dores, Cyriacus?"
The faun's straight expression turned grim and his mouth formed a doubtful line as he shook his head, at a loss of what to say. "She is asking to speak with you, Queen Susan. But, my Lady, I fear that I must go and fetch your sister and her cordial within the hour. She is fading fast and barely coherent."
At the diagnosis, Susan stood up right and began to walk to the chamber. Duty was far too much ingrained in her to refuse a request from a dieing subject. With an off hand reply of, "Queen Lucy is in her parlor with the High King.", she dismissed Cyriacus and began to enter the room, worrying what she would see within.
As soon has her bare foot stepped beyond the threshold, the thick and weighty shroud of impending death filled the room. In any other circumstance, the room was designed quite comfortably. Bookshelves lined a corner of the room and delicate odds and ends were meant to give the room a homey touch. But death's shroud had been tossed into the surrounding air and all that they could do was to helplessly watch it float down to cover them, sucking out all of the hominess. Queen Susan paused before continuing in, mentally telling herself that she was being over dramatic.
Waylon sat next to his wife's bedside, oblivious to the fact that one of the royal family entered. Had it been any other situation, not standing to acknowledge a monarchs' presence would have been cause for reprimand or looked down upon severely. But it was not another situation, no matter how much Susan and Waylon willed it to be. The young courtier looked as if one touch would cause him to crumble into insanity or despair. He sat hunched over, elbows resting on his knees and his head cradled in his hands. Softly he mumbled either to himself or to a higher power in prayer. Susan was too far away to tell which it was and decided that it was better to not pry into the matter.
For a brief minute, the sixteen year old queen, the very picture of poise and grace felt like a gawking child back in London. The image of her uncle on his death bed came to her mind. He had been in some sort of automobile accident and was rushed to hospital when she was ten. Her mother received Grandmum's frantic wire, informing them of the news. With no sitter available, Mum had no choice but to bring Susan and the other children with her to the hospital.. She had never seen her mother break down in tears and when she was discovered by the door was scolded by Grandmum then shooed away. Half of her expected to be shooed away from Dores's deathbed as well and in sooth, part of her hoped for it. But the feeling was fleeting and in a moment she was the gentle queen of Narnia once more. Taking a deep breath, she entered the chambers, making a beeline to her old friend.
"Waylon," she began softly, like a mother coaxing her child.
"We were supposed to be bent from age when this happened." Came his voice, muffled from his hands. He looked as if his mind was teetering on the fringes of reality and the Gentle was unsure if he had even realized her presence yet.
"I know." Was all she could reply, knowing that the two words were not sufficient to ease the man's suffering. Unsure what to do she bade her friend to look up at her with every ounce of gentility her nature offered. It did not take much coaxing for him to respond and like a half-dead man, Waylon rose to meet his queen. "Waylon, do take time to tend to yourself." Narnia's eldest queen suggested as she gently rubbed her mentor's back in a soothing circular motions. "There is nothing more we can do at this time."
He hollowly nodded in response. He and Dores were less than five years senior to the High King. And Waylon could not help but see his path of life with his dear wife forced to split, making him detour before they met again. The enigmatic young man could not help but remember when the accident had initially happened, he expected his wife to pop up to her feet and laugh like it was all a grand joke. Indeed Waylon half believed his ears when the Cyriacus told him his unborn babe was dead. But the dreamlike events had all disintegrated when he was hit with the reality of his beloved wife lying stricken in the large bed; the reality of it all had smacked him in the face like a glove announcing the challenge of a duel. He nodded as Queen Susan spoke rationally to him about something or another. He had not the heart to listen, even to the monarch he regarded as kin. All was hollow and was threatening to remain so. How he wanted to make sure his wife knew she was his morn and evening. How he would have loved her better if the had known this was to come to pass. As time and the Queen's words wore on, Waylon found his body responding to a request to "tend to his own needs" while the queen stood watch.
"Aye, Gentle Susan." He responded as if cued to say that as he moved to the door and left the queen in the room with a dieing woman.
With a softness that was unnecessary, Susan sat in the chair Waylon had previously occupied and for the first time since she entered the room, got a good look at Dores. Cyriacus mentioned that the woman was asking for her, but Dores had seemed to have fallen out of consciousness since then. Dores's hair had come out of its sleek bun from the evening's events and most of it hung limply around her like a doused halo. One rouge lock of hair had plastered itself to the lady's sweat covered face and softly, Susan stood to correct it. Dores' face was unnaturally ashen and Susan knew that it was the color of one soon to expire. Susan had seen many a dead and dying person in her short 16 years and yet her friend's face held none of the peacefulness of an oncoming endless sleep. It was almost contorted in a frightful and almost vicious countenance. The young queen was able to see the blue threads of veins all up Dores' exposed forearm that lay limply beside her form.
Knowing that it would give her more comfort than the inflicted woman, the young queen took the hand of the woman who had been her source for all things feminine and queenly. Silence hung in the room as Susan's vigil began to grow in length. She had no clue how much time had transpired since she had entered the room. Everything that had come to pass that evening was a blur ever since Vitus had jokingly requested a dance of his monarchs.
With a silent snap, the stricken woman's eyes flew open like a spring released from its confines. Bulging blood-shot eyes locked the queen in an unwrenchable gaze. In all her years, Susan had never wanted to run from a person's deathbed yet this was sure to be a first. It took every ounce of duty she could muster to stay in her seat. Dores's unsettling gaze did not waver, making it absolutely impossible for the Southern Sun to look anywhere but at her friend's countenance. Then, the almost gossamer transparent hand reached out and latched on the queen's wrist like a vice. Her grip was unnatural and Susan could not help but bend under the pressure as she heard a snap from where Dores had gripped. Jagged dots and lines filled the queen's vision as white hot pain traveled up Susan's arm and her wrist bone buckled in half under the pressure of Dores' grip. The Southern Sun barely recognized her voice as she screamed for the aid of anyone in ear shot.
The High King took a sharp breath as Lucy cleaned the wounds across his chest. They did not look terribly deep but the Valiant decided that cleansing the gouges would prove better down the road than leaving them be for infection to set in. She had drug Peter to her personal sitting chambers in case she had to make a dash into her bedchambers for the flask of cordial Father Christmas had given her.
Peter had been quiet for quite some time; in what Lucy could only guess was deep thought as to what were the four to do next. His sharp breaths were stemming from frustration for Lucy knew how powerless he felt to protect his family and Aslan's. "Aslan knows how you got these, Peter." the youngest Pevensie spoke up in an attempt to get him to open up to her.
"Aslan had nothing to do with these wounds. We all know that they are the product of this 'Madame'." The High King responded with his gaze fixed ahead as if transfixed with the tangled mess of his baby sister's knitting that was discarded on a chair across the room.
"Best not tell anyone about this though." Lucy mumbled in a slightly bitter tone while setting the cloth aside to pick up fresh dressing. "'Tis not as if a soul would believe our words. I suppose the situation is suited better that way."
"Nay, Lu. I can quite imagine a worse fate than unbelief of this ghost." Peter disagreed, shifting his weight in his seat. The idea of a worse scenario had weighed on him since the incident earlier that evening at the ball and in sooth; it unsettled him more so than the situation that they were in. "Suppose everyone knew that this castle is haunted by a violent ghost."
"That would be a relief, in truth. We would not be bound to stay in this wretched place until spring." Lucy responded with a small laugh as her hands skillfully circled the king's torso.
The High King shook his head, knowing Lucy would answer so before she even spoke. Despite her being wise before her time, his baby sister was not immune to thinking like the teenager she was becoming at times. "Answer me this, Lu: How fast would you be out if duty did not confine us here?"
His sister gave a snort and responded while subconsciously tightening the wound's dressing. "You must forgive me, but I wouldn't even pause to saddle my mare and though I care about you, Susan and Edmund, I don't think I'd look back to see if you were still saddling up your horses. And I'd wager your three would do the same." She was exaggerating and both brother and sister knew it, yet her answer sufficed to prove the Magnificent's point.
"And think of our subject's actions if they recognized what we know."
The Valiant paused for a moment, realizing what Peter had been driving and what he was pondering for so long. "'Twould be chaos." She summed up, rolling up the excess bandages.
"Aye. And I was just pondering how we would handle mass panic if it spread through out these halls." Peter finished as he twisted his upper body to test Lucy's mending job.
Narnia's youngest queen opened her mouth to respond but was cut off by a hedgehog page scurrying into the room and reported. "Sire! You're presence is needed in the courtyard." The little hedgehog panted, making it obvious that the situation was dire, indeed.
"What ever is the problem, Bonsai?" Lucy wondered, placing the fresh bandages into the basket she kept them in. The High King stood at the very mention of trouble and tossed the tunic over his head, hiding the bandages across his chest.
"It's Fungus Bristlesplat, m'lady." Bonsai responded with an anxious bow and a rough accent. "He's gone plumb crazy, he has! Shouting in the courtyard about a curse on the castle and how he refuses to stay another night on this evil ground. At first everyone simply dismissed Fungus as a ranting old coot, but that's not why I came to retrieve you, Sire. With the disappearances and all-"
"Hold." Peter demanded, holding out one hand and placing the other on his temple to ease his oncoming headache. Hedgehogs were jittery little creatures, favoring giving a mouthful of information at once and while they had their uses in society, they never ceased to give the High King a splitting headache with their information overload. The elderly meerkat making a scene was a quick fix but how could there have been disappearances with out his knowing about it. "Speak again of the disappearances, Bonsai. Calmly, this time if you please."
" 'Tis the Peahen-Galewe chick, Ove, and two of them Bristlesplat pups, sire. Stayed behind from the ball for one reason or another." Lucy cast the Magnificent a look. Both monarchs knew the "reason or another" why Ove did not attend.
"What of them, Bonsai?" King Peter questioned, attempting to make sense of the events. The hedgehog had an accent that was hard to comprehend and disappearances were the least welcome news on this of all nights.
The hedgehog seemed hesitant to speak and Lucy quickly set her basket into her bedchambers and closed the door to be near when the story unfolded fully. "They've…vanished, sire." Bonsai related, wringing his small paws. "The Peahens returned from the ball to find their Ove gone. Sir Gallus has searched all over the coops and the Bristlesplat den. I heard told that 'lil Ove came by to the den and went off to play with wee 'lil Sarah and Salvatrice Bristlesplat and that is the last anyone has seen of the three as of yet. And now Miss Avril is in hysterics and Fungus is raving like a lunatic. 'This place is evil.' Fungus says and then 'These disappearances attest to that.' He says that if we had a lick of sense, folk would leave with him. Folk are rushing to make sure that their young sleep soundly in their beds while others condemn them as fools for listening to a senile meerkat. And poor Miss Avril is beside herself because some of the meerkats are heeding Fungus' word and aren't concerned with the disappearances of her wee ones. Oh, tis chaos in the courtyard, Sire."
Peter nodded and walked to the door. He paused at the threshold briefly with the bumbling hedgehog almost running into his legs. Looking back at Lucy, Peter instructed more than asked, "Keep me updated with Dores' condition, sister. Let us hope that the children can be found." The High King turned on a dime and strode down the hallway.
With the sitting room to herself, and nothing to do on her hands but wait for her cordial to be needed, Lucy sunk down on a large cushioned chair to reflect on the evening. She could not help but take a tally on the night's losses. An unborn child was dead with the prospect of its mother to follow and then the disappearances of Sarah, Salvatrice and Ove. It was a grim total and a dark reality within the queen knew to count the chick and two pups on the list. In her heart, she knew it was useless to search for the youngsters for they were taken as a bloody payment for trespassing on Madame's grounds.
The Valiant allowed her head to dip in sleep and its grip held her for an unknown amount of time. Her dreams were twisted, dark visions of what she was sure was the future. The dream that had haunted her for months had returned with a grim realization that the hall in her dreams was the hall that she had danced in that night. Visions of a dark shadow encompassing Susan and a look of agony on Edmunds face filled the ghastly nightmare. It was only when a blood-curdling scream Lucy identified as Susan's pierced the night that the visions subsided. In a shot Lucy was out of her chair, tossing off sleep's veil, and made her way quickly to Dores' chambers where the scream came from. Rushing to her sister's aid did not shake the visions from her dream out of her mind though, nor did the fact that she awoke before she saw her own fate.
Fungus Bristlesplat's crotchety voice rose above the howling wind that blew through the courtyard, scattering dry, dead leaves into forlorn dances. A crowd of about thirty had gathered around the meerkat family's den. Fear was painted on some faces whereas doubt appeared on others. Betsy Peahen sobbed near the front, with her remaining chicks all but plastered to her feathery sides. She regretted being so harsh on her son that day and blamed herself for what had happened to him and the pups.
"This castle will be the death of more than these young ones!" Fungus attested, lacking all but a soapbox to stand on. Betsy let out a strangled wail that rose over the crowd and some murmured in agreement with Fungus or in sympathy for poor Lady Peahen.
Slowly, a mixed agreement bubbled amongst the crowd as Avril scurried across the den. She was renowned to have constant composure, save when there was familial dysfunction but the disappearance of her pups had hit the dominant female hard. When the lame relative, Valerious gave her the news, she had disowned him. And had devoted the minutes to calling for her pups who might never come home. Oblivious to the crowd that surrounded her home and her family looking on helplessly, she stood on her hind legs and emitted a forlorn chirp that rose with the wind.
"I swear on my sweet Blueberry's grave, this place is full of evil spirits!" Fungus attested wildly, waving his paws in the air. "They attacked me as soon as we stepped foot in this wretched place." A murmur spread through the crowd wondering what if the old meerkat's claims were valid.
The High King descended the stairwell with the hedgehog nervously leading the way. The crowd, unknowing of their leader's presence was transfixed on the old meerkat. Peter made his way to the crowd but was stayed by the strong arm of Oreius blocking his path. "A moment, King Peter." The centaur whispered into the High King's ear as Vitus appeared from a side door. Confusion was painted on the youth's face. Peter had not seen his friend for a good portion of the night and had no time to inquire nor care. The look in the general's countenance told Peter that he wanted to speak in confidence and so with a nod of his head, the Magnificent dismissed the jittery hedgehog.
"You wish to speak to me, old friend?" Peter wondered with a quizzical tone, motioning for Vitus to stay near for a quick word afterwards. "With all do respect, it must wait for a few moments. Fungus is raising a near panic. Order must be restored." His words held a hint of fatigue. One tragedy seemed to follow another in quick succession and several hours of sleep was not the best template to paint disaster on.
"About that, sire. Do not take this lightly sire."
The High King's hand found his forehead. Panic needed only a spec of doubt to take root and the last thing the four needed was mass panic. He had no time to contend with children who were probably hiding in the armory or some such and he told Oreius so before censuring himself. As soon as the statement flew out of Peter's mouth he wished he had not said it.
"Certain scars in Narnian history are still sore. Ages before, an evil spirit would steal the children out of their very homes if it was given a chance. Most everyone knew some family who lost a little one to this evil. And when the witch came, the disappearances mercifully stopped. Evil doesn't enjoy company, King Peter. But just the same, unless a thorough search is underway, any attempt to retain order will be futile." Oreius explained quietly so as to not be over heard. He looked as though for a moment he wanted to say something more but decided to censor himself. Behind them Avril's increasingly desperate and shrill calls hung in the air over Fungus' claims. Murmurs were running through the crowd, expressing sympathy for Avril and slowly coming to an agreement with what the old preaching meerkat was saying. A cold, wet autumn wind swept through the courtyard and chilled the High King's very blood.
Peter nodded in understanding and opened his mouth to respond but a shrill scream sharper than any blade filled the air. The crowd gasped with a fear that was growing by the moment. Whispers of it possibly coming from the lost children snaked around the frightened assembly but a disagreement soon circled around. The scream sounded far too feminine to belong to any of the children.
"The girls!" Peter whispered to Oreius so not to incite more panic. He turned to the stairs, Rhindon's pommel in his grasp and instructed grimly, "Vitus, calm the crowd and Oreius take every guard, every able bodied Narnian in this area to search for the children. Do not let the rest know any of what transpires outside the outcome of the search.
Darkness was beginning to creep into Susan's vision as she sank to the floor, letting out another cry of pain. She could feel warm blood flow down her arm as Dores' grip tightened. A fresh wave of pain radiated through out Susan, sending a white sparks through her vision. She knew that the hand that gripped her was her friend's. The queen opened her mouth to scream, bending her head and causing her crown to fall to the floor with a soft clatter, yet no sound came from her mouth. "My roots have already dug in." The woman in the bed reminded Susan in a voice that was not human. "And you're powerless to stop it."
A/N: I know, I know. I take so long to update and end in a cliff hanger. But cliffhanger or no, here she is! Please tell me what you think! Several scenes from chap 12 are written and hopefully they will be up before june 13th. Please read my update notice on my profile for more information on that. I think i could have done more with the panic but this chap was taking forever to write. oh well. As always, thanks to those who read and review! You lot rock!!