19 - Madwomen And Fools
"That man back there—that was a Nazi!" Lucy panted as she and Van raced through the forest. She shuddered as she ran, remembering the man's uniform.
"What's a Nazi?" Van asked, racing along beside her.
"Evil men. Very evil, from my own world," she called. "They must be here to help the Witch."
"Where are you from?"
"England. Finchley."
"No idea what you're talking about," he said, dodging a low branch.
"How do we stop the hags closing the circle?"
"Sticking sharp objects in them's got my vote," he growled.
No sooner did Lucy smell sage and smoke than she and Van broke into another clearing. Four hags surrounded a fire. One gave a long hiss and dropped a yellow powder into the flames. The fire leaped and turned bluish for an instant. The hag opened her beaky mouth.
Before she could start an incantation, Van charged across the clearing with his sai raised. Lucy saw the danger right away—he'd be surrounded—but he launched himself at the hag with such furious abandon that she worried he'd lost all sense to rage. "Van!" she shouted, as much to warn him as to get the other hags' attention.
It worked. Two of the hags came toward her, and Lucy realized the only weapon she had—near-useless against magic—was her cordial dagger. She ducked a blast of bright light thrown by one hag, and scrambled behind a woodpile hastily stacked for the fire. With her heartbeat thundering, Lucy wrenched her dagger from its pouch. As soon as the first hag rounded the woodpile, she jammed her blade into it. The hag's shriek of pain deafened her, and it dropped on top of the woodpile.
Something fell from her belt and thumped to the tread-matted grass. Her cordial bottle—never resecured in its case after she'd hastily used it on Van. With a gasp, she grabbed at it, but the second hag appeared, and Lucy dodged away a split second before another white flash blasted the woodpile apart.
Lucy snatched a thin log and hurled it, broken point first, toward the second hag's face. The creature bounded back with a rattling hiss, its razor beak open wide, then it attacked again. She dodged another burst of light. Another. Another. No way could she keep this up.
Then she saw a glimmer under the scattered woodpile. Her diamond cordial bottle.
The front side of which bore a stylized etching of a sunrise over mountains.
The back side of which was plain diamond.
The voice of her tutor, a dry old dwarf named Burrgin, reached across a couple of decades, expounding on the properties of different stones. Some clear stones refract light, he droned. Diamond does it best.
Oh, Aslan. How good's my aim?
Breathless with fear, she scrambled for the woodpile. The hag hissed again. Shaking, Lucy thrust a hand under the tumbledown woodpile and closed it over the etched face of the cordial bottle.
In the same instant the hag threw another burst of light, Lucy spun around with the bottle's diamond face raised toward the attack.
Slam. The surge of light smashed against the bottle and burst into rainbows that filled the clearing. The hag gave an awful shriek and cowered away. Lucy's hand burned as though she'd stuck it into a fire. She cried out in pain as the force of the blast slammed her onto her back on top of the woodpile.
Gasping for air, she heard another shriek, cut short, and then Van appeared over her, panting. He was covered in greenish-black blood and soot. The last thing she saw was the alarm in his wide bronze eyes.
- # -
When Lucy opened her eyes again, it was to near-darkness. The candlelit face over her resolved into Edmund, his face drawn with worry. Her right hand felt like it was on fire. She gave a soft groan of pain and tried to rise.
"No," he said, pressing her back down. She lay on a thick, soft mattress, on what she realized was a stone floor.
Hurried footsteps pattered across the floor. Asha appeared, and then a boy who looked so much like Edmund there could be no doubt it was Silas. Asha yelped in relief and pushed Ed aside to crouch down and snatch Lucy into a hug.
Forgetting her pain for a moment, Lucy returned the embrace with equal feeling. "I'm so glad to see you."
"And you," Asha said, kissing her cheek. "Thank you." She kissed Lucy's cheek again. "We drove them from Selbaran."
"But Aslan? The Well of Opals?" Lucy wondered.
Edmund ducked around Asha again. "It can wait. Rest, Lu." Her urged her to lie down once more. Lucy's senses swam and she passed out again, wondering where Van was.
- #-
She woke at last to evening sun slanting through a window in her chamber. A fine, wine-red dress lay over the chair beside her mattress. Lucy sat up for a closer look at the shimmery fabric. Dryad-spun, no doubt, she thought, recognizing the simple slip-on cut and beautiful cloth. Lovely. So much nicer than the difficult ties and restricting buckles of Archenland-influenced Narnian court wear.
She reached for the garment, then she saw her bandaged right hand. It no longer pained her, but it throbbed like a healing injury. Cautiously unwrapping it, she saw the reddish burn scar etched into her palm: a sunrise over mountains, and above that, the backward imprint of her initials, LP. With a soft, surprised exhale, she touched the ridges of the sunrise.
She had always used the cordial to save the lives of others, never imagining it might save her, too.
A worried search revealed her belt hooked over the back of the chair, with dagger and undamaged cordial bottle both secured within. Grateful, she changed into the dress and matching slippers, then took the belt with her as she left the room.
Music reached her ears. She followed the sound to a large hall. Strings and wind instruments swelled in a lively tune. Dryads danced gracefully in pairs or groups, or surveyed a table laden with bowls of what looked like soil. A pile of fruits, breads, and meat lay at one end, presumably for non-dryad guests. Lucy's stomach growled, and she realized how hungry she was.
At the end of the hall stood a throne that looked much like a tree that had grown into the shape of a tall-backed seat. Asha sat there. On either side, seated in similar chairs, were Edmund and Silas. Lucy stepped into the room.
A hand snatched her arm and yanked her aside. She barely had time for a surprised gasp as a pair of gleaming, angry bronze eyes met hers. "You're trying to kill me by scaring me to death, is that it?" Van barked.
Her thrumming heartbeat lost none of its momentum. He had cleaned up, and now wore a dark-blue vest, white linen shirt, and black leggings. Tucked into, she noticed with a smile, his usual battered boots. "I'd rather scare you than we both be dead," she shot back.
He lifted her arm, raising the cordial belt still in her hand. The lion-headed bottle flashed in the afternoon light coming through the stained-glass windows of the hall. "What. Is. This?"
"A gift. It heals."
Van let her arm go, then looked from the belt to his belly. His eyes came back to her. "You're a force all your own, leddy," he said with a softness that shocked her.
Not sure what to do with that tone (he'd never said anything in much less than a growl before), she took a faltering step toward the buffet.
He pulled her back, then drew the belt from her grasp and handed it to a dryad moving through the crowd with a tray. "Bring that to the queen," he said. "Tell her the leddy's chosen to take a stroll in the yard."
"Yes, m'lord," said the dryad, and whisked it away.
Van eyed her again, with something like amusement on his face. "Other queen." He towed her out of the room.
"What are you doing?" Lucy demanded, trying to pull her hand out of his even as they emerged into an enormous courtyard, dominated by a fountain in the shape of a stylized tree. The music, softer out here, seemed to float on the cool breeze.
Van tugged her to the stone-paved square surrounding the fountain. "I'll dance, but I ain't doing it in front of your brother." He put a hand on her waist, and Lucy, too surprised to do anything else, let him lead her.
Around they went in slow circles, more graceful than she would have thought him capable. Lucy's thoughts ran in circles, too. "Why the sudden determination to be ... a gentleman?"
"You're a royal," he said. "Imagine you've got a blasted lot of suitors lined up for you after this war business is over." He grinned. "Won't be much chance for this when that happens. Enjoy it while I'm offering."
Lucy opened her mouth to ask him how many suitors he thought she might have, with two older brothers glowering over her shoulders—but the way he stared at her made her snap her mouth shut again.
The music slowed, and something strange flickered through his expression. A moment later, she noticed they'd stopped dancing. He still held her left hand, and his other still rested on her waist. His gaze roamed her face, and he ducked his head toward her.
Startled, she froze.
He hesitated. That look again, from her eyes to her mouth and back. Then he moved closer, and with surprising gentleness, he pressed his mouth against hers.
The kiss flowed through her with the warmth of wine, and she leaned against him to welcome it. She'd never cared very much about suitors before.
Until now.