Chapter Twenty – When Life Brings Pain
Edmund's hand groped for anything to pry open the iron vice clamped on his lower leg. The pain caused his vision to blur and he fought to keep his consciousness. Several minutes lapsed and he tried sitting up, but his swirling vision forced him down again. From the position he was in, he couldn't reach the iron thing. He wiggled around, gasping in pain as he jolted his leg, but succeeded in getting a hold on the piece of iron. He had no idea how to get it off. He had never seen one in his life, but something, some tiny memory from his life before the wardrobe, jiggled at the back of his mind.
Edmund frowned in frustration, and set his jaw to keep the pain of the throbbing wound at bay. Stretching out his arms, he cautiously pulled himself forward, dragging himself towards the nearest tree. When he reached the oak tree, he wrapped his arms around the trunk and struggled to pull himself up. At last he made it into a sitting position with his back against the trunk.
Now Edmund could see that the iron thing was some kind of animal trap. Anger boiled up inside him. His anger came from a deep concern for his people. Who would dare set such cruel traps? Not only was it a horrible way to snare non-talking animals, but what about the talking ones?
"Telmarines," Edmund spit out darkly. He bent over his leg, trying to force the trap open. The sharp teeth only dug deeper. There had to be some kind of release. He felt around the edges but couldn't find anything.
Low thunder rumbled nearby and a splattering rain began to fall. Edmund closed his eyes. Of course it has to rain, he grumbled. Thunder clapped overhead again echoing Edmund's distress. Edmund nearly laughed aloud at the thought. What an ungrateful king I am! I complain because it begins to rain, yet it is the same rain that will extinguish the fires and save my people.
He raised his head, letting the cold drops like tears fall on his face. They plastered his hair to his forehead and ran down his tunic in steady streams, soaking him to the skin.
"Oh, Aslan, I am sorry," Edmund announced. "After all You do, I am still an ungrateful wretch."
Slowly, Amon got to his feet, brushing soft mud off his trousers and tunic. He immediately realized that he was no longer alone. Amon whirled around as a man stepped out of the bushes. Amon stepped back, recognizing the face with dreaded. It had haunted his past, and when he finally thought he was safe, it turned up to haunt him in the midst of the Narnian camp. Amon was surprised, and yet not surprised that the man turned up again here.
The man smiled. "So we meet again, Amon. I've been looking for you."
"Leave me alone," Amon growled, looking away from the face towards the grey skies.
"But I can't," he answered. "Our master wishes to see you."
Amon's heartbeat quickened. "About what? I finished the task he gave me."
"But have you?" the man questioned. "What proof can you offer that you have befriended the Narnian King?"
"You saw," Amon answered. "I know you saw." He glanced around as thunder clapped and rain began to fall.
"But our master didn't," the man replied, pulling his hooded cloak over his head. "How can you prove it to him?" Amon frowned, folding his arms in front of his chest to keep the rain off. "See," concluded the man, "you can't. How sad. And you actually thought that you could gain your freedom." He turned, starting towards the bushes.
"Wait!" Amon held up his hand. "I don't know if this will prove it, but I can tell you where King Edmund is," Amon offered desperately.
"Oh? And where is he?"
"He-he—" Amon stammered as rainwater slowly traced its way down his cheeks. "He was following me, and then I heard this awful snap. He screamed, and I am sure that he didn't follow me here."
"A snap?" the Telmarine leaned closer, his nose protruding from under his dark hood. "Where did this happen?"
"I was running, and I-I'm not sure where it happened," Amon faltered, clutching his arms to his thin body to keep warm.
"I thought as much, pretty, little liar," laughed the man. "I should have expected that from a slave."
"I'm not a slave!" Amon shouted as he clenched his fists.
"You are a slave and always will be if you can't obey your master!" shouted the man as he lunged forward, seizing Amon's wrists. Amon struggled, but the man was stronger and held on firmly.
"I did what I was told, and you know it!" Amon cried. "Please," he sobbed, his tears mixing with the rainwater, "please let me and my sister go."
"No!" the man answered, sharply twisting the boy's arms behind his back. "You didn't—" A wet twig snapped, and the Telmarine broke off, looking around with sudden fear. Amon hopefully watched the bushes, hardly daring to dream that help would emerge from the shadows. "It was nothing," the man decided after a moment. But then another snap sounded. This time it seemed on purpose.
Amon saw a flash of silver in the shadows before the bushes parted in front of the flying hooves of a sword-wielding centaur. The Telmarine man stumbled backwards, releasing his grip on Amon, and fleeing as fast as he could. Amon jumped out of the way, dashing through the mud for the nearest tree but caught his foot on a protruding root and fell to the ground. Mud clung to his face as he lifted his head slightly. He was already wet to the skin and the mud couldn't make it any worse. He closed his eyes, teeth chattering as rainwater continued to slide down his face and arms.
"Telmarines," the centaur muttered in disgust as he sheathed his sword. Amon recognized his voice instantly, but didn't move. Of all of the people to find him, it had to be Oreius. Amon suddenly wished that he was a worm. All that the Telmarine had taunted him about disappeared as Amon remembered Edmund's scream in the woods. Did Oreius know? And if he didn't, how could Amon tell him?
"Amon, lad, won't you tell me what is going on?" Oreius requested. Amon felt the centaur's strong, yet wet hands grip his forearms, pulling him to his feet, but Amon couldn't look into his face.
"I-I can't," Amon sobbed. "You would hate me. King Edmund would hate me. I'm such a coward."
"I have seen the lies that torment you, young one. It's time to let go. The truth will set you free," Oreius declared, his face still set hard despite the cold rain. "Tell me all."
Amon swallowed hard. "I can't tell."
"But you must," Oreius insisted.
"I can't!" Amon protested. "I don't know where to start."
"On the day of the battle, why did you choose to push King Edmund out of the way of the knife?" Oreius questioned.
"Wouldn't you have done the same?" Amon answered boldly, raising his head and tossing his wet hair out of his face.
"Aye, young one," Oreius replied quietly. "I would have. But you are a Telmarine. Your people have no love for us."
Amon sighed and chewed his lip. "I had a deal, a sort of wager," he admitted as Oreius raised an eyebrow. "It was foolish. I should have known better." He scuffed the toe of his boot in the mud, not daring to meet Oreius's eyes. "That man, well, it was his master actually, who promised me my freedom, and that of my sister's, if only I could earn King Edmund's trust. I would never harm anyone, I swear!"
"That will be determined at another time," Oreius remarked. "However, there is more to the story that you are not telling me. Tell me all."
Amon shrunk back from the centaur, clenching his jaw stubbornly. "I can't. It-it—" He hesitated. He wasn't going to admit to the centaur that it hurt. Hurt was a sign of weakness!
"Amon, for your sake and for King Edmund's, please tell me what happened," Oreius entreated.
"I can't," Amon protested, looking away, his shoulders shaking with cold.
Oreius tried to prompt him further, ignoring the way the boy's lips were turning blue. "That time when I caught you meddling with King Edmund's sword, yet you claimed you were simply covering him up; what were you doing?"
"I-I just wanted to hold his sword again," Amon admitted slowly. "When he let me clean it there was something – something almost magical about it. The way it shone in the sunset and that beautiful lion face engraved on the blade." Amon lifted his head and for an instant Oreius saw a golden spark of light in the boy's grey eyes.
Oreius started. "Lion face?"
"Have you not seen it?" Amon questioned, the flicker of light glowing brighter in his eyes. "It's the most beautiful thing I have ever seen."
"No, I have not," Oreius remarked quietly as he looked away and pondered the information. When he gazed at Amon again, the spark of light had disappeared, and he saw only a chattering, wet boy, broken by despair. "But Amon, why would you make a wager to earn your freedom?" Oreius questioned.
"Because," Amon spat out, "I hate being owned by someone else." He lifted his chin defiantly. "I am my own master." He lowered his chin. "But I wanted my sister's freedom more. She deserves better."
Oreius nodded slowly. "But if you are a slave—"
"I am not a slave!" Amon exclaimed. "My father, he-he gambled away our money and was unable to pay his debt. My sister and I were taken as payment, but I am not a slave, no matter how they treat me."
"But how did you come to march with the army?" Oreius asked.
"That was my uncle's doing," Amon answered, folding his arms across his chest. "He thought he could help me escape if I received permission from the master to join the army. He persuaded the master that I could be of use. Of course, that's where the wager came in because it was the only way I could help my sister. I was a fool to accept." Amon hung his head, the cold rainwater sliding down the back of his neck. "I suppose I have told you my entire story now. Uncle always said I had a big mouth."
Oreius smiled. "You were reluctant to divulge information at first."
"You have way of weaseling it out," Amon remarked. "But I think you are right about telling the truth. I do feel better." But I haven't told you all, Amon thought sadly. Somehow I have to tell you about King Edmund.
"There is only one question I have yet to ask," Oreius continued, oblivious to Amon's thoughts, and unwisely ignoring the wet state that the boy was in. "Who started the fire?"
Cor slipped his arm under his brother to support him, and suddenly Corin's body went limp. Cor gasped in alarm, quickly lowering Corin's form to the floor again. He panicked and a minute lapsed before he was in control of his mind again. Steadying himself, Cor quickly checked Corin's breathing. He was breathing, quick and shallow, but breathing at least.
Cor sat back on his heels, clutching his brother's hands tightly before letting them drop. "I'll be right back, Corin. I promise." He rose to his feet and ran down the hall. The doorways and bright tapestries blurred as he flew past; he focused solely on reaching the infirmary. He stumbled as he reached a flight of stairs, losing his balance for a few seconds as he lunged forward. He reached the bottom safely, however, and continued to run. The morning sun streamed through the windows high overhead as he crossed the central area of the castle. He made a sharp about-turn and passed through a doorway next to the stairs. Beyond the doorway, he rushed down another hall until at last he reached the infirmary.
One of the assistant healers was in the hall and Cor blurted out the situation. The assistant instantly went to fetch the head healer. Cor clutched his side, panting with exertion as he sagged against the wall. He had barely regained his breath when the assistant returned with Taurin, the head healer.
"Lead the way, your highness," Taurin instructed. Cor started forward, and Taurin and his assistant followed, their long strides forcing Cor to jog to keep ahead. They reached the stairs and the centaur healers climbed up, taking them three at a time. Cor gained the top last, but lead them on. They turned the corner and hurried down the long hall. When they reached Corin, another figure already bent over him.
"Queen Susan!" Cor exclaimed.
She glanced up, her dark hair hiding part of her face. "What happened, Cor?" she asked. She stood up, stepping away from Corin as the healers inspected him.
"He knocked on my door," Cor explained. "He said that—" He broke off. "Aravis! I forgot about Aravis!"
"What?" Susan questioned in confusion.
"Have you seen Aravis?" Cor asked. "Anywhere?"
"Well, no, not since last night," Susan replied. "Why?"
Cor ran a hand through his hair. "Last night, she knocked on my door and told me a wild tale about her father, claiming that he was going to steal the healing cordial. It was so farfetched that I thought she had simply dreamed it, and I sent her back to bed. I knew she wouldn't stay there, so several minutes later I slipped out of my room, intending to follow her wherever she went. I did so, but she called to me. I couldn't see her. She told me to go back. There was such urgency in her voice that I knew I had to listen. Now I wish I hadn't," Cor admitted. "Corin said she was gone. Someone had to have taken her. I think her story was true."
"Is that why Corin came to find you?" Susan asked.
"Yes," Cor answered.
Alarmed, Susan turned to Taurin. "Master Healer, is Lucy's cordial still in the secure place that I advised you put it?"
"I hadn't checked this morning," he confessed.
"Do so," Cor suggested.
Taurin nodded. "First let us move Prince Corin to his chambers." With his assistant helping, Taurin carried Corin to his room. Susan pulled up a chair beside the bed, while Cor took a seat on the bed beside the still form of his brother. Taurin quickly dashed down the hall and the loud sound of his hooves echoed back to the occupants of the room where Corin lay.
Several moments passed in awful silence. Cor's attention had returned to his brother. Susan pressed her hand to Corin's forehead, feeling for a fever. Sharp heat met her touch and she drew back in surprise. Cor acknowledged the gesture with a quick nod.
"Corin," Susan whispered. "Corin?" But he didn't stir.
Hoof beats were heard again and Taurin returned to the room. "It-it's gone!" he stammered. "It was there last night. I locked it in the cabinet and double checked. Then I put the key in my pocket. I have it now." He held up the key as proof.
Cor's head drooped, and Susan felt her heart reach out to the boy.
"Maybe the lock was forced?" Taurin's assistant suggested.
"It didn't appear to be tampered with," Taurin answered.
"It really doesn't matter how someone managed to steal it," Susan cut in. "What matters is the fact that Corin needs it."
"You are right, my queen," Taurin agreed. "I apologize most sincerely for losing it."
"It was not your fault, Master Taurin," Susan responded. "But please, do whatever is in your power to help the boy."
Taurin busied himself with checking over Corin. With a frown stamped on his face, he listened to the boy's haggard breathing. He didn't speak, lips pressed hard together, as he motioned his assistant nearer. The assistant must have understood Taurin's silent request because he handed the healer a salve.
Cor hardly seem to notice this as he stared blankly towards his brother. His hands lay loosely in his lap, and he didn't move. Susan watched the healer work, her eyes following his large brown hands. At last Taurin straightened his back, quietly avoiding looking at either Cor or Susan.
"How long does he have to live?" Susan dared to voice the question that Cor could not.
Taurin slowly raised his head. "I've done what I can, but it's not enough. He has an hour to live, give or take."
Cor's eyes filled with tears and he swiped his hand angrily across his face. The tears blurred, causing his vision to be distorted. Motherly arms encircled him from behind and he leaned into the embrace.
"Shhh," Susan whispered in his ear as she held him tightly, tears filling her own eyes. "It's all right to cry."
"I-I just thought h-he would r-recover," Cor confessed brokenly.
"So did I," Susan murmured. "We all did."
"Your majesty!" A faun guard burst into the room, hesitating awkwardly as he took in the situation. "I am sorry to intrude, Queen Susan, but the captain of the guard requests your presence at the gate."
"Is something wrong?" Susan asked as she raised her head.
"Begging your pardon, but I should think so," the guard replied. "I saw a great pillar of smoke rising from the west. Looks like a forest fire to me."
"I will come," Susan decided. "I'll return in a few minutes," she promised Cor as she squeezed him tightly. She kissed his cheek and smoothed his hair as she stood up. She hurriedly followed after the guard, casting a worried look back at Cor and Taurin who bent over Corin's still form.
Author's note: I'd like to give a shout out to my sister who made a beautiful new cover for the story! Woohoo! Didn't she do a wonderful job on the faces?
Secondly, anybody remember several months ago when I asked you to consider nominating this story to win a Lion Award? Well, the nomination process is complete and voting/rating at begun! If you are still willing to help "Born For This" win an award, please head to www. thelionscall fan-creations/judge-lion-awards/ (remove the spaces). You'll find "Born For This" listed under several categories (the Rillian Award, the Eustace Award, and the Puddleglum Award). You can only vote once for the story, so I would prefer you to vote for it under the "Rilian Award: Best Alternate Universe Story, Long or Short". However, if you feel that it fits a different category better, feel free to vote for it in that category. Voting ends May 31st. Thank you so much!