Okay, so. This chapter was soooo hard to write! I ended up going through several versions, with different villains, and then ended up piecing together this final cut from some of those so if it seems a bit discordant, that's probably why. (sorry if it waxes too poetic near the end)
Also, Cymopoleia is pronounced Sy-mo-POH-lay-ah. The name is borrowed from Greek mythology: Cymopoleia was one of Poseiden's daughters and was goddess of seas and earthquakes.
One final A/N, the creature I envisioned for this chapter is the sea serpent from the Dawn Treader movie (although it's black here since it was totally only green in the movie because of the weird green mist). Why did I choose that? Because I was inspired from a guest review by DorothyDryad back on chap 1. Long story short, I wanted to give Edmund a reason to be scared of sea serpents in Dawn Treader so here's my version of a back story on that phobia.
My chest ached with rapid, shallow breaths as I pushed myself through the jungle. When I ran past them, thorny bushes snatched at my tunic, tearing off bits of fabric and scratching the skin beneath. Sweat-soaked strands of hair flopped limply against my forehead as my steps pounded across the jungle floor. Broad leaves slapped my cheekbones. Shadows shimmered in the corners of my vision, winking in and out of existence, changing shape rapidly. It was disorienting and I lost my balance multiple times, crashing through the underbrush and accumulating another dozen cuts and bruises. My legs were tired from the constant running, throat parched and stomach empty. My head was fuzzy and my entire body was sweltering in the humidity that not even the setting of the sun had relieved. Miserable, fearful, and alone, I paused after yet another tumble. Raising myself to only a single knee, I bowed my head and prayed to the Great Cat.
Fresh strength bolstered me and I rose with determination. And it was then that I realized the awful silence of the jungle was not complete here. Behind the harsh gasp of my panting, I could hear the gentle rhythm of waves breaking against sand. Excited by the prospect, I sprinted through the trees in front of me and, thank Aslan, burst onto the beach. A breeze blew over me, the sensation so refreshing after hours spent in the oppressive jungle that I actually chuckled in surprise. Glancing up, I was caught off guard by the brightness of the moon, looming directly overhead, while stars sparkled beyond. Relief swept through me and I turned to share it with Peter. I spun around but he was nowhere to be seen. And then I remembered that, like the sacrificial fool he was, the idiot had stayed behind to act as a diversion while I escaped. Hoping, but not expecting, to see him emerge from the treeline at any moment, I was about to step closer to it when my collar was grabbed from behind and I was flung to the ground. Before I could recover, a boot kicked me twice in the stomach with enough force to drive the air from my lungs. Reflexively, my body tried to curl into a defensive fetal position. But that same boot planted itself against my sternum, pinning me in place.
"Ah, I wondered where you had got to, boy."
The pirate captain stood over me, torch in one hand, sword in the other, expression twisted in smug condescension.
"Get off me," I demanded, squirming under his foot.
He threw his head back and laughed, a nasty, mocking sound. "If this is the might of Narnia's king, it will be a small thing to accomplish my mission."
I froze, disturbed by the implication of his words. He sneered down at me, and without looking away, asked "Gorrim, is everything ready?"
"Almost," came the gruff reply. "I'm only missing one ingredient."
A face suddenly appeared next to mine, features nearly hidden beneath the strange markings tattooed across them. The slitted eyes stared at me for a moment before focusing on my hand. Gorrim's arm shot out and he clutched my wrist in his large fingers. Turning it over, he held it steady even as I tried tugging it away from him.
"All I need is traitor's blood," he murmured with nearly religious reverence.
I hissed when he drew an ornamented dagger and slid the blade across my palm. Cradling the knife to his chest, he disappeared from my view. I smirked up at the captain.
"It won't work," I stated.
"What won't?" he asked, annoyed.
"I've been pardoned by Aslan Himself," I explained confidently. "I am no longer a traitor."
The man's lip curled in disdain under his mustache. "We shall see."
From somewhere close by, Gorrim began chanting, using the same language he had aboard the ship. As he continued, nothing happened. I barely restrained myself from laughing when the captain's irritation became visible in his expression. When he turned to look over his shoulder, presumably to check on his subordinate, I abruptly wrenched to the side, causing pain to erupt in my ribcage. But it was worth it, as I dislodged his boot and rolled out from under him. Less than a second later, lightning struck uncomfortably close to me and I jumped.
Rather than showing annoyance at my escape, the captain grinned in triumph. "Once a traitor, always a traitor."
"No," I whispered, falling back a step.
The soft waves of before were now a frothing mass of water, piling high on one another before smashing into the beach. Thunder rippled through the air, and when I looked up, I could see massive clouds accumulating, poised to block out the moon at any moment.
"It doesn't matter that some overgrown kitten gave you a platitude," the captain taunted. "What you did can't ever be undone. Your betrayal has tainted you. You can never cleanse the stain from your soul."
"You're wrong," I said, hating the way my voice quivered.
"You want proof?" he jeered. "There's your proof!" He swung his arm wide and stepped to the side to afford me an unobstructed view of Gorrim.
The pirate was on his knees in the sand, holding the knife, still dripping with my blood, over some sort of crudely constructed altar. The stones it was built from seemed to absorb the moonlight, rather than reflect it. On top, bones and jewels of various sizes and colors were scattered around a crystal bowl of water. It was into this that he was allowing the blood to drain. He raised his voice, bellowing the unfamiliar tongue into the night.
"Deam maris! Veni ad me cito!"
The faint outline of a female figure flickered in front of the altar, never quite coming fully into focus.
"Cymopoleia." Gorrim's decorated face broke into a surprised smile, but only for a moment. The pleased look faded slowly from his features, replaced by one of fear as the shadow solidified into a tall woman, hovering several inches above the ground. Her skin was pale as porcelain, angular face framed by wild strands of long dark hair that drifted about her as if caught in swift currents. The simple gown she wore stretched to her ankles, a shimmering blue, constantly shifting as if it were made of running water. Eyes smouldering like diamonds in firelight, she stared down at him.
"No," he whimpered. "N-no, please. I have only e-ever been your f-faithful servant. P-please, please."
Cymopoleia tilted her head as though weighing a judgement.
"P-please, no. No. No!" he continued, voice rising in pitch, dropping the knife to wring his hands.
Openly weeping now, he threw himself prostrate on the sand, garbled pleas for mercy tumbling from his lips. The woman raised a slender hand. Gorrim went rigid, as though held by invisible bonds. His begging was cut off by unseen means, his breathing reduced to strained choking. His eyes bulged, face flushing red. Cymopoleia's expression was impassive as she abruptly clapped her hands.
From the waterline issued a sibilant shriek. I whipped my head around to stare at the creature emerging from the waves. Body wider than a great juniper tree, with dagger-shaped fins cresting its back, a monstrous sea serpent broke through the foam, pushing its hideous head ever higher above the ocean. It uttered another shriek, large externally fanged jaws splitting wide to reveal multiple rows of razorlike interior teeth. Covered in gleaming scales of pitch black, it was an extension of the night sky. Narrowing the amber eyes set close to its mouth, it slithered onto the beach like a viper. Frightened by its ability to move on dry land, I withdrew several paces, but my morbid fascination would not allow me to go any further.
The serpent reared back, towering above the terrified man. It stayed that way, poised above him, then looked to Cymopoleia. She inclined her head slightly. Taking the signal, the beast dived down, massive jaws snatching the pirate and raising him into the air. Impaled on the outer fangs, Gorrim was helpless to defend himself against the creature. The sea serpent's jaw was multi-jointed, as evidenced by the way the lines of teeth moved independently of one another. Horrified, I clamped my hands over my ears in an attempt to block out the screams of its victim as it systematically devoured him. Ripping, tearing, shredding the flesh from his bones. The gruesome display brought bile surging up my throat and I turned violently to the side, scarcely managing to conquer the nausea.
I will not be controlled.
I jolted at the sudden alto voice resonating inside my skull.
Mortals, why have you dared summon me?
Realizing that this...spirit, or whatever she was, was communicating telepathically, I glanced at the pirate to gauge his reaction. He was gawking at her, mesmerized by her appearance. Perhaps it was because I had previous experience with witches and magic, but I did not find her beauty attractive. Her gaze snapped away from the captain and over to me in an instant. I fought to stand my ground against those invasive, penetrating eyes. Without warning, phantom hands burrowed into my brain, prying at it as if to crack it open and expose all my secrets. Brought to my knees by the unprecedented experience of pain, I clutched at my skull, squeezing my eyes shut and crying out.
Traitor.
Never had the word felt so personal before. I had been accused many times, by many voices. But none so close, so intimate. The word echoed in my head, reverberated in my chest, filled up every crack and crevice as if it belonged there. I was a betrayer. That was my identity, who I was at my core. Nothing I could do would scrub it out. No matter how long I masqueraded as a just king, I would always be that wicked little boy who wanted to hurt his family, who would sell out friends for favors, who turned his back on the one True King.
Aslan.
The name came into my thoughts with the force of a battering ram. As soon as it did, the foreign touch retreated, leaving me weak and panting, but with a clear head. Aslan had paid for my treachery. Bought my redemption. Gave me forgiveness. I was His. That was who I was. Armed with the truth, I got to my feet, standing with a straight back and a raised chin.
Cymopoleia seethed wordlessly, teeth bared. The sea monster flicked its tail aggressively behind her, while lightning flashed sporadically, illuminating the skeletal remains its meal. Boldly, I stepped forward. She ran her eyes over my figure before switching her attention to the captain, who was just as transfixed as he had been since she first appeared. One thin finger pointed at him and then at me. The hypnotized captain nodded stupidly and turned toward me, brandishing his sword. I tensed, aware of the fact that I had no weapon, no backup, and one ticked off sorceress with a nightmarish familiar hoping I failed. Not the best odds, but I had faced worse. I clenched my hands into fists, grimacing as the torn edges of my injured palm met. Drops of fresh blood dripped into the sand and Cymopoleia's sharp eyes cut down to stare at them.
Lunging forward, the pirate captain made the first move. I bent backward under the blade to avoid the slice to my chest. He swung again and I jumped away, but not before the sword neatly skimmed my stomach. I grunted, feeling blood well from the shallow gash. Without pause, the pirate arched his next attack. I ducked to the side and he stumbled when his sword fell through empty air instead of sinking into my neck. Using the moment to my advantage, I pivoted on my heel, swinging my arm up and then bringing it crashing down between his shoulder blades. The momentum added to the strength of my hit, and he dropped to the ground, hitting his head on a rock when he landed. Disoriented, he lay still a moment. I snatched the rock and slammed it into his chin. His head wrenched to the side and he lost consciousness. Breathing heavily, I yanked the sword from his lax fingers and leveled it at serpent darted through the sand, eager for a fresh kill. With my attention fixed firmly on the water sorceress, I barely noted how the beast reared back at the last moment, shying away from the captain's unconscious form. Cymopoleia's eyes narrowed at me.
You cannot harm me with your forged metal, Son of Adam.
Somehow, intiutively, I knew she was right. Resigned, I lowered the sword, expecting her to raise her hand and sic her attack snake on me. But to my surprise, she merely floated in front of me, glaring. Too confused to do much else, I stood there dumbly. She regarded me cooly for a moment before abruptly straightening and looking off into the jungle as if she had heard a noise I could not. A stiff wind rolled across the shore and she grinned predatorily.
There is another.
Peter. She meant Peter. Oh, Aslan, please no. She clapped her hands briskly and the monster shot across the beach, slithering into the jungle before I could even comprehend what was happening. Helpless, I tightened my grip around the sword's hilt and, when Cymopoleia made to follow her animal, I stabbed the blade into her. Or rather through her. Just as she had said, the weapon didn't hurt her in the least, merely passing through her phantom body as if through mist. She didn't even notice, pace never slowing. Desperate, I wracked my brain for some way to stop her. But the beach was empty, aside from the slumbering pirate and the erected altar. For a single moment, I wondered if I would be able to use it.
Immediately, I dismissed the idea. Magic was far too dangerous for an unlearned individual such as myself to fool with. Clearly, the altar was tied not merely to magic, but blood magic as well, the darkest and most vile kind of black magic. I would never practice such a dark art. But, remembering how Gorrim had used the altar to summon the spirit, I rushed over to it. With a single sweep of my hand, I scattered the jewels and the bones. They clattered into the sand with dull thumps. I overturned the crystal bowl next, red-pink water dribbling out. Once I had toppled the pile of stones, I spun around to see if it had any effect on Cymopoleia. She was still ghosting ever closer to the jungle but her voice drifted through my mind.
The altar is not the source of my power, silly child.
Too preoccupied to bristle at the patronization, I scrambled for a reply that would divert her from her present course.
"Power? You think you have power here? You came when called, just like a lap dog. And not by some important sorcerer either. But by a pirate. You think yourself to be great when you can be so ordered about by a simpleton?" I taunted.
Just as I had planned, she paused. A low warning of thunder rumbled.
He was trifling with powers beyond his comprehension.
"And yet, you still showed up when he asked," I reminded, crossing my arms.
Lightning flashed.
You were witness to his demise. That is how I deal with those who displease me.
"Oh, so does that mean you are pleased with me?" I asked impishly. "Because, as both of us can see, I am alive and well." I uncrossed my arms and gestured to my entire body, ignoring the bloody scrapes and purpling bruises for the sake of the argument. "But if you'd like to remedy that oversight, by all means, call back your serpent." I would rather face it a hundred times than have it attack Peter.
She gnashed her teeth at me but, again, made no move against me. A realization dawned on me and I glanced to the shards of the crystal bowl sprayed across the blood stained sand before turning back to her with a raised eyebrow.
"Or maybe you want to kill me but you can't," I mused. Her already dark glare deeped to a truly venomous one. "The blood spell?" I hazarded a guess. And took the next growl of thunder as confirmation. "So we're somehow connected? Or at least, you need me alive in order to manifest?"
I have dwelt on this island longer than you know, mortal. I do not need anything from you.
"But Gorrim did something," I argued. "And it must have been something you didn't like, since you killed him as soon as you saw him." I puzzled through the situation, attempting to untangle the mystery with the few pieces of information I had. "Perhaps what he was after was a...binding spell?"
Silence!
I smirked in triumph and opened my mouth to further expand on my revelation but her next threat froze the words in my throat.
I may not be able to harm you, boy, but I will destroy those you hold dear.
The excitement of being right vanished.
I have seen it within your mind. Your precious Narnia. With wave and storm and wind, I will decimate the country you claim as your own, traitor. Your home will become a desolation, flooded by water and beaten with rain. I shall strike with lightning your people, and with thunder I shall ruin them. And I will kill your family, beginning with your brother.
Her lips twisted into a haughty smile and she turned around, facing the jungle once more. Panicked, I lifted my sword, positioning the tip against my chest. "Wait!" I yelled.
She only deigned me with a bored look over her shoulder.
"If you hurt him, I will fall on this sword and spill the blood woven into the spell cast upon you," I vowed.
The spell does not link us. Do as you wish. I shall take your brother's life.
Frustration and helplessness vying for dominance in my mind, I threw down the useless weapon with an angry shout. There wasn't any way I could stop the spirit. I had no way to warn Peter. Nothing I could do to protect him. He was going to die and I would soon after. The jungle was still crawling Fell of all sorts who would be eager to hunt me down. We would perish here on this miserable island, while Cymopoleia unleashed her wrath on our unprotected people. I stared despondently at the menacing outline of trees.
'Oh, Aslan,' I moaned inwardly. 'Why is this happening? Why did You allow these events to unfold?'
The next crack of thunder was drowned beneath a Lion's roar.
Rise, Son of Adam. I am not finished with you yet.
Unlike Cymopoleia's pernicious whispers in my head, the command of the King slammed directly into my heart, blasting through my despair and filling me with new life. I could do naught else but obey.
Behold, the flame. Take it into your hand and thus vanquish your enemy.
Overcome with wonder at His voice, I basked in His strength, relishing His direction and amazed at His authority, even as my sight flashed to the torch miraculously burning where it had fallen when I fought the pirate captain. Emboldened by the contact with Aslan, I sprinted across the sand and plucked the firebrand up, then dashed away from the beach. Without hesitation, I plunged back into the thick darkness of the cursed jungle.
framed-curiosity: Thanks! I'm glad you think it's exciting :D
Meeko: Thanks, I think! ;)
NarniaGirl: Hopefully it wasn't too unrealistic for an ogre to appear. Thank you so much for your encouragement-I'm doing my best to keep up with this story and I appreciate you taking time out of your busy life to read it =)
ChildofGod: Better late than never! I think it worked. *looks over entire body* *notices the bruise from work last week disappeared* Huh, I think the cordial fixed my original problem and more. Too bad it can't fix my mental state! XD