The Just's hand encircled Susan's uninjured forearm as she made an attempt to keep the teetering Waylon from toppling over the battlements. She writhed like a jittery child to get out of his grip as the blood of their countryman sprayed their fine clothes, hair and tired faces. Waylon made a slight gurgling sound that was not unfamiliar to the young king. In battle, he had slit enough throats to know that death would come on the poor man in a few moments. Though Edmund was no stranger to witnessing a man's agonizing last breaths, the wide eyed look in Waylon's eyes burned into the king. They were wide, surprised as if just waking, fearful and most strikingly confused. Almost as if he had awoken to find his knife sliding across his throat.
To keep his sister from going over the parapet with the wobbling body, Edmund embraced his squirming sister. With in a moment, Susan folded into her brother, her body wracked with sobs as her mentor and friend tipped over the edge and plummeted into the courtyard. Lightning flashed in the sky, lighting for a brief moment the look of fear among the fearful Narnians assembled.
Uncle Fungus' voice was carried by the wind and above the panicked shrieks of the mothers. They would snuff out like candles, he claimed, if they stayed a moment longer. He urged the crowd to forget the young ones and save their own skins before they met the same fate Waylon had.
"My Lieges!" A faun sentry cried from the other side of the parapet as he made haste to the monarchs. The hubbub of the night had left the castle defenses understaffed and the seasoned faun who had been in the Pevensie's services since Beruna had found himself responsible for thrice his stretch. He had no clue what had transpired to make the courtier, Waylon jump from the parapets, though something-be it the wind, the oncoming storm or the castle-something made the hairs on his back stand on end.
The sentry's eyebrows disappeared beneath his helmet at the appearances of King Edmund and Queen Susan. When his glance met the king's, Edmund nodded over Queen Susan's head to the edge of the parapet and upon looking down, the sentry saw the crumpled and bloody corpse of the man who was brilliant with foreign relations. "May the Lion preserve us," The sentry mumbled, kissing his pointing finger's knuckle then placing it to his forehead. Then he turned to the two. "My Lady, you're injured." He pointed out in concern and stepped forward to the pair.
"From earlier." Edmund explained, knowing that it did little to reassure him or the faun. "The rest of the mess is not ours. We're unharmed."
The sentry cocked an eyebrow and decided to speak his mind, "Things have gone to the abyss and back, sire, and I'm not afraid to say it. First with the unseemly accident at the ball and then the disappearances. We heard screams and the half of the guard that wasn't on alert by the disappearances rushed to find you're royal brother."
Edmund nodded, feeling as if he had been in the castle for months rather than on his second night. Indeed, all hell broke loose after Dores was attacked. "Everything is under as much control as could be allotted, worry not." He hoped, though doubted that the sentry would buy his false reassurances for fauns were always perceptive beings.
"And the lady?" The sentry wondered quietly, "Will she recover?"
The Gentle lifted her head and gave a hard stare at the faun. Her voice was like steel when she spoke. "No. She died."
With out another word, Susan let go of her brother and stepped towards the threshold to the stairs. "Su," The Just called out, getting her to stop in her tracks in reply. "Where are you going?"
The Gentle seemed to be trying her hardest to regain and keep some sort of composure but her entire body was shaking with the effort. She drew a shaky breath and explained in hurried yet absent tones, "Waylon…his body needs to be covered and blessed and….somebody needs to shut that old fool up before we have mass panic." She stood in silence, challenging Edmund and the sentry to contradict her, which they did not.
The sentry's muscles twinged with fear, under his queen's gaze. There was something wrong, though he could not place it yet somehow it seemed that the source of his uneasy feelings stemmed from the Gentle.
"Waylon needs to be taken care of," Edmund began cautiously. Susan's temper had flared quite a bit lately for the smallest infractions. The last thing he needed was being berated before a guard. "As does your arm." He turned to the sentry guard, "Take Queen Susan to Queen Lucy to look after the arm, I'll take care of Fungus Bristlesplat and the body."
The faun moved and placed a hand on Susan's back to usher her off the ramparts but not before he noted the chill from her skin-almost like of one dead, he thought. The Queen stood in her place and gave her brother a hard stare.
"Are you sure you can accomplish this?" Susan asked flatly, hinting of his unsuccessful track record as of late. The simple inquiry almost mocked Edmund's decision to hold his tongue about the séance earlier. He knew that it was the séance that was the catalyst that started it all, and that his silence only helped it along. Moments ago his pitiful puffs of 'be reasonable, man' did nothing to hinder Waylon either. And somehow, though he was certain there was no living being in the room, it almost seemed as if Susan knew of his challenge to the ghost. How it was possible he had no clue, but her flat statement told all.
Drawing a breath the fifteen year old answered with what he hoped sounded like confidence. "The last thing the Narnians here need before they fall into mass panic is the sight of one of their queens looking like she fought her way through a stampeding herd of …well, take your pick. No, you go and get that arm fixed." Edmund did not wait for a rebuttal but turned on his heels and descended the stairs that would lead him to the courtyard.
The sentry quietly urged his queen to come with him out of the cold and wind. As he led her to the threshold, Susan turned to watch Edmund disappear. The wind whipped her loose hair across her face and the sentry was not sure if it was the queen or the wind when he heard a low guttural grown before they left the parapet.
XXXXX
By the time Edmund made his way to the courtyard with a few guards he found along the way, only a few members of the crowd were opposing Fungus Bristlesplat. Sir Gallus' feathers were puffed indignantly as he spoke over his wife's sobs and Avril's desperate chirpings. Edmund bent down to Waylon's corpse and closed the sightless gray eyes that still held the confusion of life's last breath. As the Just continued to take care of the corpse, he could not help but hear the debate that was taking place.
"How can you say such things, Fungus Bristlesplat?! You speak treachery to your clan, proposing to leave the young ones to fate just to save your hide." Gallus challenged. His usual unimpressed tone was laced with contempt and rage. Gallus' son was one of those missing and he would not leave his boy to an uncertain fate.
Vitus stepped forward in an attempt to echo the rooster's sentiments before Sir Gallus called out the meerkat. "I've never met a Narnian so willing to put his own safety above those who have more of life to live. Even a Calmorene would lay his life in danger for his heirs. The little ones are of your blood whether you admit it or not!" Vitus' voice was harsh and at his words a murmur of agreement began to bubble up. For who better to give truthful impressions of themselves than a foreigner?
The old meerkat looked past Vitus for he was a foreigner and knew nothing of the hearts of Narnians. Fungus met Sir Gallus Gallewe's gaze and challenge when he spoke, it was partially to the crowd and partially to Gallus. "You are a cock of the Kings' ranks, Sir Gallus, are you not? So tell me, if our Noble Kings led you into a battle and by chance your unit was cut off from the rest of the army. And High King Peter and King Edmund could emerge victorious with lesser losses if you perished standing your ground and fought rather than care for you and your own. Would you flee, Sir Gallewe?" He did not wait for a response from the rooster and continued. "Nay. Some times the needs of many outnumber the needs of the few. And tis better to leave young ones to fate than to for the entire castle to meet a hellish end!"
The murmuring crowd agreed in quiet voices while precious few rebutted their neighbor. At the old meerkat's words, Avril ceased her desperate calls and stiffly approached her uncle. Those in the front of the crowd silenced to hear what the scout would say. Avril's voice came strained and iced. She spat at the Fungus' feet. "You bastard." Her hoarse statement echoed like a slap, "The light of the Lion has left you and I no longer will call you 'uncle'."
Fungus looked at his niece for a moment and silent agreement of estrangement was met. Turning back to the crowd Fungus continued while Sabine led Avril back to the huddled, frightened family that needed her guidance. "The time for debate has passed." Fungus announced. "I'm getting myself back to the Cair and out of the Marshlands as fast as my feet can ca-"
"Fungus!" Edmund bellowed across the courtyard, making his way to the throng. The crowd parted for their Sire in silent reverence and acute fear for they had never enjoyed seeing the precious few times their Liege was so vexed. "Hold thy tongue, you fool or I'll make sure it is!" Edmund knew that the majority of the potency of his rage was from holding back his anger for far too many hours. He made his way to the front of the crowd, silently keeping his rage checked at a small roar.
"Sire," Fungus lobbied against his better judgment. "This place is evil! We must take refuge back at the Cair."
"And cause mass panic in the process? Fool." Edmund growled so that only Vitus, Gallus and Fungus could hear. The Just regarded the old Narnian for a moment and the blackened sky let loose its warning. Fat raindrops hit the shoulders of those assembled as King Edmund turned to address the crowd.
"I will not begin to deny that there is something unearthly in this place." He began carefully. "The unfortunate deaths tonight of one of Narnia's finest young families and the disappearances of the Bristleslpat pups and Gallewe chick only accentuate that fact. I would not keep anyone here that dreams of safer grounds. But I urge you to see reason. Tis the middle of the night in the Marshlands. A fierce storm is brewing over head. We all know well how quickly mud accumulates in this area and how deep it is. Should a leg be broken by a sink hole, help most likely will come too late. You'll have no idea which way is to safety and which way will lead to the middle of the marsh. It would be folly to go out tonight and neither I nor my royal siblings will sanction it.
As for the children, I ask those who are eager to leave, what if the tables were turned and your own were missing. Would you leave others to search for your own kin?" Edmund paused, allowing the thought to sink in before he continued. "So, hear me out my fellow Narnians. Stay here until the storm passes and your travels look less perilous. Help us search for the missing and come the morn, I will not withhold any who wish to go. Though I can not speak for my royal siblings and if we will follow suit."
The crowd buzzed, discussing what was transpiring. Yes, that was the body of Waylon being covered up yonder. His lady and child must have been dead for Waylon would have never killed himself otherwise and King Edmund did mention the loss of a fine Narnian family. Leave tonight? With this weather? Fungus was an old coot anyway, but he did have a point. This place boded no good will. Yet did they have a choice in the matter? King Edmund refused to allow anyone beyond the gates for fear they would meet just as an untimely end if they stayed near this evil. And it was the Gallewe chick and Bristlesplat pups missing. How could they not help, evil or no?
Slowly husbands kissed their wives and children goodnight and gathered at the end of the courtyard, passing the covered body on their way and attempting to step around the blood stained hand that protruded from the makeshift shroud. Able bodied Narnians, followed suit leaving a deflated and frightened crowd of mothers, their children and Fungus Bristlesplat in the center of the courtyard. In the driving rain, the mothers held their babies close with fear carefully hidden on their countenances. And Fungus stood alone on the raised entrance to the family den, his bottom lip was tucked over his upper in cold defiance. He cared not if he was no longer welcome in the family nor did he care that King Edmund decreed that no one would leave the walls until it was safe to travel. The old meerkat was able to live years alone before he met his Blueberry. He could fend for himself in a mere swamp.
XXXXX
As every able bodied Narnian, including the Magnificent and Just scoured the castle in groups of three, the Gentle gingerly stood up from her seat and tenderly placed the Valiant's head on the chaise lounge, intent on stoking the fire.
She was escorted like a sleepwalker back to Dores' death chamber by the faun who seemed eager to get out of her presence. Already the servants who were oblivious to the panic outside, had begun to cover every mirror in the palace. It was a Narnian tradition to do so after a death so that the soul was not trapped and could go to its reward. Susan felt nothing but numbness now, not even tears could have been shed if her life depended on it. Shock had acted like a smothering blanket for her; she felt neither the pain from her injury or from her sorrow.
Lucy had fixed the broken arm with no protests from her sister. But it was obvious that the injury the Valiant had suffered while trying to get the cordial was more serious than previously thought. Angry welts looking like slender fingers had appeared on the girl's throat. And Lucy had acted queerly, forgetting things said moments before and loosing her balance despite the flat floor. It was due to the head injury, Cyriacus informed the two older siblings as their brows knitted in worry. But she would recover swiftly from it as long as she was woken every once and awhile that night and made sure her senses were about her.
By that time, Edmund had spoken to and calmed the crowd and sent a messenger through out the castle asking for volunteers to add to the search party. Cyriacus had helped Susan and Peter set Lucy up in a cozy sitting room near the front of the castle where it was warmer when the messenger found them. The High King was hovering by his sisters like a mother hen, torn between staying near to protect his sisters and protecting his subjects. Yet Susan had assured him that she had all under control. And so Susan sat with Lucy until the child had fallen asleep. As instructed, Susan roused Lucy every once and awhile and made sure the Valiant's wits were about her.
In between waking Lucy, Susan was left alone with her confused mind as a companion. She did not feel herself and was unsure if it was due to the ordeal she had underwent or if it was something else. It did not escape her notice that she sat in the same room that she and Dores had that afternoon and contacted the spirit.
Edmund's remorse and agony was plain on his face, it was not in his character to stand idly by when he saw something that was not right-at least not after he had escaped the White Witch. He knew that contacting the dead was a risky-some even would argue forbidden-act. And yet his senses of good and evil- of which he was renowned- failed him. And the blood that was spilled tonight-even those of the missing children- were directly because of his silence and hence they were on his hands. Susan did all in her power to manipulate her brother into silence for motives that she hardly could know herself. And yet she felt no remorse for her deeds-didn't even feel anything about the evening. Not the snapping, nor the deaths of her friends nor even how she used her myriad of charms on every male at the ball, making them long for her despite their genus.
Shaking her head, Susan threw a log onto the fire and it accepted it hungrily and almost instantaneously. 'By the Lion!' She thought to herself with an outward cringe at the thought of her emptiness, 'What has come over me?' She recalled how in moments-for that was what they were- she felt almost out of her body. And with a slow intake of breath, she recalled how she ran her hand caressingly up the arm of Vitus-a man who she was most certainly not wild about.
'No,' Susan thought turning from the fire to look around the room. The shimmer of the ornate mirror caught her eye. It had seemed in the excitement of the search party the maids forgot to cover the mirror. It was silly to think that she had done all of those things unwillingly. Logic was her mainstay and it was illogical to think that she had no power over her body. Yet she recalled earlier that morning at breakfast…she was unsure what she had said to Peter but it was so uncharacteristically harsh that he was taken aback. Peter was never taken aback by anything she had ever said and gave her vexed look when she had honestly admitted that she was confused as to what she had said.
Sighing, she raked her disheveled hair back from her face. The delicate, golden daffodils on her crown snared her hair, much to the apathy of Susan. She began to walk forward to the chaise, intent on waking Lucy but a dark shimmer in the mirror caught her eye and for the first time since she had donned her gown that night, Susan glimpsed her appearance. Her long dark hair had gone as wild as the vines on the South wing of the Cair. Strands had been caught up in her crown and the rest fell about wildly as if not knowing where to go. Dark and tired rings hung underneath her eyes like those of an old blood hound's and the green in her eyes appeared dulled and suppressed. Her face was so ashen and pale that her freckles-which thanks to the bleaching effects of buttermilk last winter had all but faded-glared so much it seemed that the queen's countenance was nothing but freckles. She did look like hell.
She was stressed just as her siblings and lacking sleep as well. So logically, it was natural to be a bit paranoid, was it not? Susan gave her reflection a curt nod in deciding that she was not out of her mind, just tired. Although part of her was loath to accept the excuse. Turning from the mirror, the Gentle approached the chaise where her sister was resting across from the mirror. Careful to walk behind Lucy for the child startled when waking up to a face at her face, Susan looked down at Lucy.
The finger marks on the Eastern Sea's throat was unsettling and the youngest queen looked every bit as disheveled as her older sister. Lucy was always an active sleeper and in her tossing and turning her red locks had fallen across her contorted face. The Valiant was not having a restful sleep, it was certain.
Queen Susan's mouth formed a worried line, as was custom as of late. Her own mental and physical state was tolerable but she could not bear to see any unhappiness in her siblings. How distant and unreal the safety of Cair Paravel seemed. Her canopied bed with a mattress so soft that it embraced who ever laid in it felt like a distant memory. Thinking back, Susan found that she could not recall the scent or lay out of the rose gardens nor the Great Hall nor the favored sitting room she and Lucy had spent so many rainy afternoons. All she could remember was this castle, as if she had always been there. Despite her loathing of the place, she felt as if part of her was imbedded in the very walls. It was an unsettling thought for the part of her that felt connected to the place felt that this tomb…this place made for death and despair…was her home.
Susan shook the thought from her head as she reached down to guide a flaming strand of her sister's hair from her face. Lucy's face contorted in some unknown dream at her sister's touch but did not wake. Susan did not know what compelled her but as she softly raked another rouge strand out of her sister's face, she looked up into the mirror.
A horrified yelp escaped her lips. The sight was ghastly. Susan's reflection held a face that was contorted beyond anything worldly. And her hands closed around her sister's throat in a silent vice. Lucy's reflection roused at the pressure and tried futilely to escape her sister's grip. Susan's eyes darted to the sleeping form of her baby sister, who slept soundly on the chaise. The youngest Queen's reflection struggled and the ghastly scene continued as Susan stepped away from the lounge. Tears streamed down the Gentle's face as she let out a scream.
With in moments, Vitus rushed in, his sword poised to battle what ever threatened the queens and his best friend's sisters. He took in the scene, Lucy sleeping soundly on the lounge and Susan seemingly sobbing over something unknown. Surely there was no danger in the room, just upset and drained queens. As if it were to soothe the women in the room, Vitus softly sheathed his sword.
"What happened?" He inquired, stepping towards the Gentle. At length she looked up at him, tears swimming in her eyes. They were worn, scared, hopeless eyes and seemed to belong to an older woman than the eldest queen's newly sixteen years. Her back straightened as she saw the griot, her chin jutted and an attempted haughty face asked silently why Vitus wasn't one of her brothers. Vitus heaved a sigh, taking a tentative step forward. "Peter was concerned that he would be unable to reach you or your sister in time should something happen and so bid me to take vigil near the room." He paused, the question of if she and Lucy were alright hung in the air although it was not said.
The Gentle drew herself to her full height in attempt to salvage her pride. The fact that Vitus came to her aid flustered her. A hasty hand wiped the tears from her cheeks as she stalked past the political prisoner with her sister's name on her lips.
"How is she?" Vitus wondered, exasperated that he was not getting a straight answer. He grudgingly realized that his inquiry sounded more of a demand than a question but to him the small queen was just as dear to him as a sister.
At his statement, Susan turned to face him. "We are fine, Vitus, truly."
"You screamed, my lady. That hardly constitutes as 'fine, truly'." Vitus retorted, grabbing the queen's arm and staying her. Her expression gave away her lie despite her attempt to cover it.
"Lucy was thrown when she was retrieving her cordial…and was choked." She admitted, unsure if word had gotten to Vitus. "I don't know what would have happened if E.G. didn't come when he did. Cyriacus prescribed rest with someone to wake her at times, to be sure her wits are still about her."
"Your brother informed me of that, my queen. That still doesn't resolve why you screamed."
"I just thought I saw something in the mirror." Susan caved, not giving the entire story. "I was startled, that's all. Hardly a motive for you to run in here, sword raised." She turned to the chaise Lucy slept on, catching a glance of the mirror out of the corner of her eye. The same woman Susan and Edmund had seen earlier that day stood in Susan's place on the other side of the mirror. Her face, void of any orifices looked calmly back. The mouth covered by her skin turned upward in an ill grin and a blue sleeved arm reached for the Southern Sun.
Queen Susan let out a yelp and jumped back from the chaise as if it were on fire. Vitus was by her side and his hand on her shoulder turned her around to face him. "What did you see?" he asked. The eldest queen had been on edge ever since he barged in. He had seen Peter's sister in all forms of emotions yet this uncharacteristic jumpiness was an unsettling matter and Pete did not need to have more on his plate to worry about.
Susan cupped her head in shaking hands as she all but flopped into a nearby chair. Her body soon began to shake in time with her hands and a sob escaped her lips. Not knowing what exactly to do, Vitus knelt down beside her and sat in silence until she spoke in a ragged and hoarse voice. "By the Lion! I'm loosing my mind!"
Anticipating Vitus to voice his reassurance that she wasn't-even if that wasn't his opinion- she continued. "No, I have become most certain that I am. I've seen…things this night. One-naught but a moment ago! A woman! The same woman Edmund and I saw this afternoon. Dores saw her too and look what has happened to her! And I'm certain that I am next only Dores met her end by the stairs. I'll loose my sanity then my life."
"You saw a woman?" Vitus questioned, his brow furrowed. The queen's sudden out pour of emotions was baffling. They had been cordial and on the odd occasion there might have been something else there but hardly had she spilled emotions to him. And the content was most confusing in and of itself.
"In the mirror. But she was hardly a human woman. Her face looked as if a canvas of her own skin was pulled over it. She had dark hair…" Absentmindedly she ran her hand through her own hair as she mentioned the lady's hair. "And her feet were pointed backwards. Edmund, Dores and myself saw her in the mirror this afternoon and I saw her moments ago in the mirror. I…I think it was-is Madame Lihi." Despite the surprised look in his sharp hazel eyes, the queen continued both doggedly and aimlessly. "I was loath to tell Peter about what transpired and still am but…It's so odd, Vitus…" Her words died off as her train of thought did and the two sat in silence for a moment or two.
At length, the lad questioned tentatively, "You have spoken to the ghost? Madame Lihi? How do you know tis her?"
Susan lifted her head to look at the political prisoner who-as usual- appeared to be taking in the very last detail of the conversation. Her hands dropped numbly onto her lap and her fingers limply grazed his hand resting on her knee. "And if I have?" She shot back defensively, "Would you run to the High King like my little brother intended to? Would you listen, nodding unbelievingly at my tale? Or perhaps would you take my hand and listen intently to my every word? Aye, I spoke to the ghost as did Dores. And Edmund condemns me for it as much as he condemns his silence." The queen paused and looked ahead into space for several moments as Vitus' confusion and concern increased.
"I'm going crazy, Vitus." She informed the griot calmly, "I know I am. At times I feel…not myself- But Dores…and Waylon…do you suppose they joined the spectral legion in this castle?"
She continued, speaking of things that were loosely tied together in her mind, giving no cause to clarify them. Vitus wondered briefly if he should call Cyriacus for Queen Susan was most certainly suffering from some sort of shock. Yet could the medical doctor really help, the lad questioned himself. He knew from his brief conversations with Peter that Lucy was the only one to receive a decent night's sleep the night before. Perhaps it was merely a good night's sleep that was needed. Either way, Pete should be notified regardless. There was something about the queen's behavior that concerned him though he could not put a finger on it. "Queen Susan," Vitus spoke up at length, "shall I fetch one of your brothers?"
"No!" came the hasty reply and then a pale hand reached for Vitus' face, caressing his jaw line, then running its way through his hair. At any other time such a touch from such a beautiful young woman would weaken his resolve to do anything. Yet neither Susan's touch nor voice was not her own and chills ran down Vitus' spine. "We needn't bother them with such trifles as a spooked sister. No…we will find more…practical uses for you, shall we not, love?"
Vitus frowned and stood up, escaping her caresses. "Queen Susan, you are not yourself." His voice was stern and matter-of-factly as if the statement itself would bring reason to her.
She stood up with a belittling laugh and regarded him from behind dark lashes with eyes that held no warmth of humanity. Susan moved forward to Vitus, her hips swinging seductively and her lips forming an amused smirk on her face. "How perceptive you are, Master Griot." She cooed in the deeper voice of a woman nearing the end of her prime.
She backed Vitus into a corner and pressed her body against his. "Who are you to take over the Queen's body?" He demanded in short breaths for the nearness of her body and the path of her hands both terrified and excited him against his will. His body went ramrod straight in uneasiness as he drew himself to his fullest height.
Whatever held Susan's body tutted as her hand caressed Vitus' neck then chest. "Shame, shame, Griot. You ought to know your history. Shall I tell you?" She pressed her face near his ear. Her breath was hot on his cheek and her answer made his very blood chill. "I hear all that the moon sees…"
XXXXX
Edmund, Oreius and several other guards made their way through the darkened great hall, their feet and hooves echoing off of the walls and pillars. Outside, the storm howled like a child in a tantrum, unwilling to give up the people in the palace-its play things. The garlands of autumn flowers and lanterns still hung in quiet vigil over the hall but the darkness seemed to take the beauty of them, twisting the once beautiful hall into a bleak, echoing room.
"Sarah, Salvatrice Bristlesplat!" A guard called out as he and his comrade fanned out to search the deep corners of the hall.
Holding the torch in one hand and the hilt of his sword in the other, Edmund took a moment to glance at his mentor. Oreius' face was drawn in a set grim line that would not have moved for even Aslan himself. The centaur's body was so stiff and tense that the fifteen year old king could see individual muscles spasm on Oreius' flanks. The general who had never been one for words spoke less than ever before.
"Ove! Ove Galewe! Can you hear us?" One of the guards called. When no answer came, Oreius' drawn mouth drew a tighter and straighter line.
"Much is on your mind, Oreius." Edmund observed quietly.
"Aye, more than you know, King Edmund." The centaur replied stiffly and quietly. "More than you know. Much is on your mind as well, Sire, and I wager that it is more than I know as well."
"I fear that I have blood on my hands due my selfishness." The young king admitted quietly, his head bowed and his eyes locked on the floor. In his deepest distresses, Edmund always went to the general for council more than any other. Perhaps it was the bond forged between those who fought back from the brinks of death or maybe twas because in the training lists Oreius pushed Edmund beyond all physical, mental and emotional limits. Either way, the king could not help the stream that came from his mouth.
He quietly explained to Oreius everything. How he saw Susan performing the séance, how she had bribed him into silence with his hate of dancing, his challenge to the ghost that led-he was certain-to Lucy's attack and Waylon's death and how despite the deaths that were his fault, he still kept a silent tongue from Peter.
The general regarded his king for a moment, noting that any course of action involving the dead ended up worse than one expected. There was fault in King Edmund's actions but what could have happened if he told the High King? The Just's conscience would have been clear but would a clear conscience have saved Dores from the wrath of a disturbed spirit? Certainly not.
At length, Oreius spoke his thoughts to the king. "You entered the room as the séance was going on," Oreius pointed out in his quiet flat tone Edmund recognized as an equivalent to consoling. The centaur kept his voice low as the two guards searched the hall, oblivious to the conversation. "You could not have stopped it from happening. Your Royal Sister has a mind as unyielding as the Cair's battlements, as you know."
The centaur paused once more to let his point sink in, hoping that the king would allow himself to be forgiven. The lad had a habit of being as stubborn in his remorse and guilt as Queen Susan was stubborn by will. It was a trait that both mentor and king knew must be overcome if he were to be truly just. For how potent of a judge could anyone be if they were being just and fair with others but not to themself.
"Truly," the centaur pressed, "Would telling your brother have prevented Dores' death? The spirits here are vengeful. This castle, I fear, is like a wolverine. It has bitten down on us and we shan't escape from it. Not now."
Edmund listened silently, feeling wholly better and worse that his sins were verbalized. When they stood in silence for some time, Oreius shifted his weight.
"King Edmund," Oreius began again with a softer tone. The centaur's body carriage shifted and all of a sudden, Edmund found himself not talking to the general, teacher or consult but to plain Oreius. "Shortly before the Hundred Year Winter, I had a family; a wife, two fillies and a colt.
The day I became entangled with this cursed castle had been a day of great feasting for the arriving Spring. We all had danced and caroused until the sun had set. If you can believe it, King Edmund, I was carefree that long time ago." Oreius paused and his mouth twitched in a suppressed a harsh chuckle to himself. "As we returned to our home accompanied by a fox and his kit, my two youngest and the kit hummed a tune. But we thought naught of it for the story of Madame Lihi spiriting away children whose tunes were on the wind was nothing more than a tale. We bade the fox and his son good-bye, not thinking of the danger our children were in. But as we slept, Lihi came and took them, by the time I got to where they slept Ebele and Baldo were gone. The fox and I had taken no rest until our search brought me to this castle…but I was far too late. We found naught of the children except entrails." The centaur paused and breathed a slow breath as if it would give him the ability to continue.
"As the fox and I turned to leave, Lihi appeared. I escaped with my life but my companion was overcome and as I fled I could hear his dieing cries as Lihi skinned his very face. Now that fox is bound to this castle, forever looking for his son."
"Your companion was the fox Lucy had seen." Edmund summed up quietly, his condolences for Oreius' pain following silently.
"Aye. I knew the moment I heard."
"Why, then, did you not say anything?"
The centaur shook his head in remorse. "I was a father once, Sire. And I know you feel something akin to your people and your royal siblings as I have had to my children. Had I voiced my concerns, perhaps they would have been heard. But what kind of father would I be if I didn't try to free Ebele and Baldo's souls from this wretched place?"
Edmund swallowed hard, taking in all that the centaur confessed. "Do you believe that their blood can be washed from your hands?"
The centaur's response was delayed by one of the guards who had approached them. "We've found nothing, M'lord, General." He informed the two. In the dim light the guard's straight lined mouth cast a deep shadow but Edmund had immediately recognized him as the guard on the parapet. Telling the group that they will continue on if there were no signs of the youngsters, the group pressed on and soon Edmund found himself with Oreius, purposely far enough away from the others to continue the conversation.
"If I live, there will still be stains on my hands." The centaur returned grimly.
"What do you mean 'if you live'?" The king wondered.
"As I said before, King Edmund, the castle is reluctant to see us leave and I fear we have lost our chance. Be it by our wills or the castle's, I shall see my children again."
A/N: A decent place to stop, I think. Once again the chap was intended to be twice the size but this story has a mind of its own! I must say I am in love with this chapter. Especially the Susan-Vitus scene. Anyway, I'd like to thank all who review and read this and I commend everyone for their patience. Hopefully chap 14 won't be up long after.