14 - All The Things That Never Were
Repairs had been underway all day on the ship. While the hull of The Phoenix was impervious to cannon fire (anything aimed at her shattered to ice crystals as it reached her, thanks to the Witch's wand), it did not exempt her from damage in other places. Feathered crossbow bolts had embedded themselves all over the deck like a sparse coat of plumage. Sails were torn, shrouds snapped, rails and deck structures broken by the rain of cannonballs. A crippled bird.
All except the main mast.
Edmund approached the main mast that evening and stopped before it to touch the smooth, weather-polished wood. Dryad elderwood, unbreakable and immune to all but flame. Early in his travels, Edmund had found a pine dryad on the coast of Ettinsmoor, an elderly male taken prisoner of war. Edmund escaped with him in the night and secreted him away, but the old dryad's injuries were too great. He passed away knowing all that Edmund intended to do—the only soul to whom he'd ever confessed everything Aslan had said to him the day he'd been rescued from the White Witch.
And the dryad rewarded him with the gift of this mast, the wood of a dryad elder, the heart of a ship meant secretly to help Narnia's cause. "Thank you," he murmured.
"It is you, then," said a wondering voice.
Edmund whirled around, his hand going automatically to the hilt of a sword that wasn't there. He dared not wear it, as easy as it was to recognize.
Tottering into the dim, bluish light came an old faun with a graying beard and a stained woolen shirt. Even in this light, he looked pale. "I confess, I hadn't believed the story was true," the faun said, "and now I find myself at your very feet."
"Who are you?"
The faun bowed, seeming to take ironic pleasure in the act doubling as an introduction and an obeisance to a Narnian monarch. "I am Faun Kamus. I am a master scribe and storyteller, si—" He cut himself off and grinned. "—Captain."
Edmund glanced around, assuring himself they were alone. Most of the crew had gone to quarters off ship. "You're Lucy's charge, the one who's been ill."
"Her friend, I'd like to think," Kamus said, "though I'm a poor replacement for Tumnus. He wanted to come, but she feared for his health." Kamus sneezed. "My apologies. I might be starting to worry for my own health soon," he added with a chuckle.
"Tumnus," Edmund repeated, thinking of Lucy's best friend for the first time in many months. All of Narnia knew of Lucy's regard for him, and his for her. He smiled. He and Tumnus had gotten off to a rocky start, long ago, but Lucy's affection for them both had warmed each to the other's acquaintance. "What can I do for you, Faun Kamus?"
"Oh, no, no. It's what I might do for you, Captain." Round-eyed and serious, the faun moved closer.
A year of dodging mortal dangers prompted Ed to jerk back—no one touched or approached him without his consent. He staunched the impulse in order to lean down and hear what Kamus had to say.
"My particular station in life does not limit me to Narnian allies, sire," Kamus said quietly. "I have been of late to the Lone Islands, where I met a minotaur with knowledge of Aslan's movements."
The Lion's name flowed from Ed's ears down every nerve in his body, warming him through so much that he realized only now how distant he'd become from anything of home. He ached to hug his brother and Susan. All Peter's anxieties over the years about having his family together and safe and happy suddenly came into sharp clarity. "What did the minotaur say?"
"The Great Lion has arrived in Selbaran," Kamus said. "He pursues the White Witch through the Silverwood. Your lady is in grave peril."
- # -
Van dreamed restless dreams of a tall, cold-faced woman with a long, icy spear. She drove all fleeing before her in fear. A fox, whom she turned to stone with that spear and without compunction. A faun, shivering and terror-eyed, whom she ordered to capture any human creature that set foot in her country. A small, dark-haired boy. Even Van flinched when he heard the smack of her striking his cheek, but he saw the ferocity with which the boy stared at her once she turned her back.
And then the dreams changed, spinning ever faster through a series of flashes so quick he could hardly make sense of them. He saw three young men—one, that same dark-haired boy, now a bit grown—facing a massive army that they opposed only with a ragtag assortment of creatures. A desperate dragon-headed ship being swallowed by the coils of a giant sea serpent. A dappled horse, racing into battle against the hopeless numbers of an invading army. A young man, prisoner in some dark underground at the mercy of a lady in green. A country adrift without hope, turning to a devious ape because they needed so badly to believe in something.
And then a lion, so huge and golden and terrifying that its face and voice and sweet sun-and-grass scent filled Van's being. "Mind that last, Vandelar of the Sea," the lion said. "Hope cannot live without courage. Seek out your fear and face it."
He started awake in the darkness to a view of luminescent, blue-black rock far overhead. He'd fallen asleep on the deck of The Phoenix, and now he shivered in the chill air. Gathering his legs under him, Van stood and stretched. The pop of his joints echoed like cannon fire in the silence.
The scent of the lion lingered in his nose, as real as if it were still standing beside him. He tried—great landslides, he tried—to ignore it, but the scent reminded him of home, of the fields of Narrowhaven, long ago before he even knew or cared about the flaws of his heritage. And though he hated to admit it (even though they'd been at sea so long, it was undeniable), the sunny-meadow scent reminded him a little of Queen Lucy.
He was still marooned on that thought when a silhouette slipped from the aft deck and hurried to the plank adjoining The Phoenix and its dock. It paused to look around before crossing the board.
Van folded himself quickly into the shadows and followed, crouching among crates of repair supplies. The figure scurried like a shipboard rat. It paused to cast a lingering look upward, first at the rigging where the griffin slept, and then at a cavern above the water. Lucy's. Van's hand sought the reassuring grips of his sai before he realized what he was doing. When the shadow crossed the plank, he followed.
The stealthy creature didn't approach Lucy's cavern. Van, who'd been expecting it to do so, took a breath and tailed the figure as it exited the cavernous dock.
The stars and moon were out. The white brightness almost blinded him after the bluish dim of the Faelings' home. The figure paused in the cavern's mouth, clearly hesitant about leaving the cover of darkness. But with a last glance around, it scuttled off along a narrow dock flanking the walls along the watery Faeries' Gate.
Van followed as silently as possible, hoping his prey was too intent on its goal to look back. It didn't, but then it approached a skiff tied to the end of the dock. Van thought fast, then lowered himself carefully into the lapping water to avoid splashing. He swung under the dock and dangled from a beam underneath, half in the water, to avoid being seen as the figure climbed into the little boat and began to row away.
He waited, shivering, wondering why he hid and why he even cared, except that a body sneaking about clearly had something valuable to hide. When another look confirmed it safe to follow, Van climbed back onto the dock, dripping and rubbing his arms. He stalked to the end of the dock.
No boats. The only vessel that might follow the fugitive wasn't seaworthy. The Faelings had no use for ships. The dock had been built only to receive in- or outbound traffic from the outside world. "Blast," he whispered.
"Not going anywhere without wings, I'm afraid," came a voice from behind and above.
Van whirled around.
Clinging to the sheer rock above him was Arrow, his feathered tail lashing. He angled his head. "Going on a little nighttime reconnaissance, were you?"
"I was following someone."
He thought Arrow would dispute him, but the griffin's wings opened with a windy snap, and he glided down to the dock. "Get on."
"Fly? Not a chance."
"Fly, or let them escape."
Without another thought, Van sucked in his breath and leaped aboard the griffin. His stomach swooped into his boots as the griffin bounded forward once, twice, then shot into the air.