This is the second to last chapter, people! Whew, it's been a long ride, but I so enjoyed writing this and hearing y'alls feedback...This is definitely one of my favorites.
And of course, many thanks to luv and joycelyn. o. ting for leaving reviews last chapter! Thanks to anyone who's reading this, honestly. The response to this has been much better than I imagined, thank you all.
Chapter 23
Suncloud walks as slowly as she does. Mira begins brusquely, striding out of her home and pushing through the laurels as if she's angry at the entire world. But once her house is out of sight, once it's only her and Suncloud in the forest and the reality of what she's agreed to sinks in, Mira plods along ever slower, all but dragging her feet in the leaves and pine needles. Suncloud always keeps pace with her, always stays glued to her side as if he's terried she'd going to bolt into the trees and disappear into thin air.
Honestly, he probably is.
Perhaps she should say something. Make small talk, ask how he's been, ask how Caspian's been, how Narnia's been. Perhaps she should even ask about Caspian's voyage east, because she didn't quite get all the details before. But everytime she goes to open her mouth her tongue dries and her throat feels more like the Calormen desert than anything else. She can't seem to say anything.
Suncloud, at least, seems to be as much at a loss for words as she is. Several times, Mira notices him swallowing hard and parting his lips, but every time he snaps his mouth closed again and looks away.
Mira doesn't even know where they're going, and she's sure she should be much more afraid than she is. Even after so much time away, she still trusts Suncloud – at least enough to follow him. Not enough to share the broken pieces of herself with him, but enough that she doesn't question where he's taking her or ask where, exactly, they're going. They're going to Caspian, and that's all she needs to know.
How on earth is she going to face him again?
The forest was different. It was unexpected, unplanned, and she could slip away with ease. Suncloud himself said Caspian hadn't been sure if he'd only imagined her there, even with such solid proof as her bow and knife on the forest floor. She's gotten almost too good at keeping people away.
"Where will you go?" Suncloud suddenly pipes up, after the fifth or so indecisive swallow. "After you've said your hellos. I know you won't stay here."
Of course he knows. Mira can't look him in the eye for the guilt and shame.
"I don't know," she says, the first truly honest thing she's told him in a long while. "I was thinking Calormen, but deserts are very different from mountains."
"And so they are." Suncloud doesn't press her further, and Mira gets the strangest sense he's not holding any questions back. It's a first, and a welcome one. Right now, she could almost believe he doesn't have any interest in knowing what happened since he saw her last, since she left Narnia. Only her past experience challenges that notion.
Perhaps it's different now. It has been a year, a little more even. Perhaps he doesn't care any more, perhaps he won't ask.
But Caspian will. He just did, mere hours ago.
Mira's steps slow again. More than a year she's avoided the prying, and now she's willingly walking right into it. She's a fool.
"Would you like to ride on my back?"
Suncloud's offer is as sudden as his last vocalization, and Mira jumps a little.
"What?" she says stupidly.
Suncloud looks down at her, all brown-eyed warmth with no strings attached. "So you don't have to walk. You look tired."
She is, though she isn't sure why. Mira wouldn't normally agree, isn't quite inclined to, but she does realize what an honor it is to ride a centaur, and so it seems unspeakably rude to decline. Hence, she accepts, and Suncloud swings her up onto his back as if she weighs nothing at all.
Well, she has been losing weight, but she's never been an especially small girl. All that practice must have really done her good.
"Thank you," she murmurs, holding onto his waist for balance. She hasn't been on a horse much at all, especially not recently, and it's a bit interesting trying to figure out how to keep from slipping. Naturally, Suncloud isn't wearing a saddle, and she has only her legs and the warm, solid torso in front of her to keep herself steady.
Suncloud walks a bit faster once she's settled. Actually, he walks a lot faster, almost breaking into a trot. Mira hangs on tighter, but she doesn't ask him to slow down. As little as she's looking forward to this, technically the sooner she gets there the sooner this can all be over and she can go off on her own again.
Why doesn't the thought bring that same excitement, the same relief it should? It should make her happy, make her feel safe, but it only makes her heart sink a little more in her chest each time she imagines it. Has seeing Caspian and Suncloud again changed everything so much in just one day?
Then Mira has no more time to wallow in her thoughts, because there's a fire ahead and a familiar silhouette standing in front of it.
Caspian.
Her heart shouldn't be racing so at the thought of seeing him again. She shouldn't even care that much. But she does.
Suncloud bursts into a trot, jostling Mira enough that she grips his human middle for balance. She starts to slide, but then they're there and Caspian is only a few paces away, the warmth of the fire spreading out in front of him as if to comfort her. Mira's heart pounds even faster.
Suncloud helps her down, keeps her from tumbling to the ground in an unbalanced heap once her feet are on solid land again. He keeps hold of her hand once she's steady, squeezing it as if he knows how much she wants to run. As if he knows how afraid she is that she wants to stay. Mira grips his hand in return, suddenly terrified to let go.
"Hello, Caspian," she whispers. He just stands there silently, staring at her like he's trying to work out if she's real or not. It makes her heart twist.
"Mira," he finally answers, and takes a single step toward her.
She tightens her grip on Suncloud's hand until her fingertips are numb, but she doesn't step away like she wants to. There's nothing she can think to say, so she ends up staring at him rather like a deer before the hunter, glancing just to the side of him so she can look at the crackling fire and not his eyes as he steadily comes closer, step after step.
Suncloud shifts beside her, a simple transfer of weight that jerks her awareness away from Caspian for precious moments. When she looks back, he's much closer than before and for a moment it's as if she never left. But the truth of the situation comes crashing back when Caspian speaks again.
"You are no ghost."
No, she's not, but she can't speak to say so. She can only hang on to Suncloud's hand like a lifeline, because if she lets go she knows she's going to fall, though she's not sure which kind of falling she's talking about.
Then Caspian does something strange, the last thing she would have expected. He extends his arm and reaches for her, palm up, fingers curled just a little. His hand trembles, only slightly, but easy enough to see with the firelight illuminating him from behind. Mira stares at him, suddenly sure they must be back at the castle days after he's been crowned, alone in the garden playing a child's game of Truth or Dare. "Take my hand," his eyes seem to say, echoing his dare from so long ago.
Her own hand shaking, Mira does.
Now both of her hands are being held, warm fingers against her own. It's safe, it's familiar, it's something beyond relief and quieter than happiness. Peace. It's peace.
The three of them stand there for a thousand eternities, the fire crackling away behind Caspian and keeping the night's chill at bay. Mira leans against Suncloud's arm, suddenly exhausted, and doesn't shy away from Caspian's gaze. His fingers tighten around hers almost imperceptibly.
In the end, Suncloud breaks the silence.
"I'll stand watch."
Mira doesn't loosen her hand, doesn't want to see him go. 'There's no need for a watch,' she wants to say. 'Don't go.' But the words never make it out of her throat and far too soon Suncloud's stepping away and releasing her hand. His movement brings a chill, his warmth replaced by the cold night air of an approaching winter. He looks back at her only once, after nodding to Caspian. Some sort of understanding passes between them, and Mira sways on her feet. Suncloud disappears into the night, leaving her lost and suddenly afraid again, Caspian's hand still cocooning hers.
Gently, he tugs. Mira stumbles forward a few steps, now suddenly close enough to feel him breathing before her. He's warm, and he feels safe too. It doesn't feel complicated or wrong right now.
Before she quite realizes it, Mira's leaning against Caspian's chest, listening to his heart beat as his arms close around her. She should by shying away, frightened of the human contact with a man. But she's not – she's pressing in closer, her head tucked under his chin, greedy for the safety of his embrace.
"I've missed you," he whispers, breath brushing over her hair. She trembles against him, afraid of the words that escape in reply.
"I missed you too," she murmurs. She didn't want to, didn't want to admit it, but she did. So much so that somehow she's not afraid to feel his body against hers anymore, that it's a source of comfort rather than fear. Here, she feels even safer than she's felt in her solitude for a year.
"I was angry," Caspian says, breaking the silence again. "I didn't understand why you left again."
Mira swallows hard, and her heart speeds up in time with his. Shivering, she keeps herself from pressing closer again this time.
She answers with a voice that shakes, dreading what else he'll divulge. "I know," she says. "I'm sorry."
From there, she's sure he'll ask about why she left, about what was so terrible that she had to go away again. He has every reason to, and now she's with him. He could, technically, ask her anything in the world he likes.
So when he doesn't, Mira doesn't know what to do. His arms tighten, drawing her closer, and now it's him who's trembling. He presses a kiss to her hairline, but his lips stay there long after they need to.
"Aren't you going ask?" Mira finally breaks, anxious to know just how far her luck goes. His anger seems to have dissipated, for now – she has to know if the curiosity has too.
Miracle of all miracles, Caspian shakes his head, lips brushing over her forehead. He presses another kiss to her hair.
"I thought I was," he admits. "I wanted nothing more for much of the time you were away."
"But not now?" Mira's hand quivers, but she lets it rest against his collarbone just the same. His pulse roars against her fingertips.
Caspian exhales, his cheek coming to rest on the top of her head. "You're here," he says. "That's enough."
Mira believes him.
After a little while, she grows tired of standing, even though it's really quite comfortable. She wants to be closer to the fire, wants to see Caspian's face a little better because it really has been a long time and she wasn't focused on anything but getting away this morning. Almost as soon as she's wished to scoot closer, maybe sit down, Caspian loosens his hold and steps back. It's a strange moment, but Mira can't decipher why.
At least, until his mouth descends and presses against hers. And then it's gone and she's left blinking up at him, sure she must have imagined it. Is this how he felt in the forest?
She should say something. What is there to say? Mira isn't even sure it happened, that thing that felt like a kiss. But Caspian is still holding onto her waist and looking down at her as if he's afraid she'll push him away.
"I'm a little cold," she hears herself saying, the words distant and foggy as if someone else is saying them.
Wordlessly, never letting his arm slip from her waist, Caspian leads her closer to the fire and guides her to a blanket spread on the ground. She sits cross-legged, the chill from the ground seeping through to her legs. She shivers and scoots closer to the fire, hands outstretched for warmth. Caspian sits down beside her, all warmth and solid muscle, but she can't look at him. She's terrified she imagined a kiss. She's afraid that she didn't.
"Will you leave again?"
Caspian's question eases her, strangely. It's a return to the normal, the normal before she thought he might've kissed her and he might've not. Did he? Does she wish he had?
"I should," Mira whispers, turning her face toward the dancing flames and savoring the heat. Caspian's hand slides from her waist to her back, rubbing up and down her spine in a soothing line. His thumb brushes half circles against her, and she finds herself enjoying those moments where his hands wanders above the line of her dress and brushes her skin. She shouldn't, just like she should find a new place to call home after tonight.
"I don't know if I can." Mira's confession takes even her by surprise. Her lips press back together and curl in towards her teeth as if to stop any more too-honest words from slipping out.
Caspian pulls her close again, and she lets him. It's a relief to let her head come to rest on his shoulder, tucked in close as if it's always fitted there.
"Then don't."
It's not that simple, and she so wants to remind him it isn't, but here by a fire in the mountains where it's only the two of them on a blanket, it feels like it is. Was this the sort of safety, peace, she's been craving? How strange, that she should find it here by a fire with a man she thought she might never see again. Instantly, she's immeasurably grateful to Suncloud.
But she doesn't answer Caspian. She can't give him false hope. She isn't ready to promise anything, not after only one day. And besides, it must be getting close to that hour limit. She should be getting home, packing just in case she changes her mind. She should get up and say goodbye to Caspian and Suncloud. She should be preparing to leave, and preparing them for it too so if by some strange chance she doesn't it'll be a pleasant surprise. Better that than let them think she intends to stay when she may well change her mind and leave for Calormen, or perhaps Mount Pyre, by dawn.
Yet, Mira just sits by the fire with her head resting on Caspian's shoulder, saying none of the things she should and doing anything but what she's supposed to.
She stays for much longer than hour. The fire burns hotter, higher, and then it needs more wood. Caspian makes no move to get more, and Mira can't convince herself why she should get up either. She knows that the spell will end the moment she stands up. Perhaps, if she just sits here with the fire while it dies out, she can stay under this strange trance where she forgets enough of her heartache that she can pretend to be happy for these precious hours before dawn.
The sky begins to lighten just as the fire starts to wink out. Mira, strangely, wants to lie down and sleep, though normally she has to wait until full sunrise to even consider it. Even after more than a year, she can't sleep well at night. It's too easy to think something – someone, really – is lurking just beyond the shadows. But tonight, that doesn't seem to matter.
"Sleep, Mira," Caspian whispers. "I know you're tired."
It goes against everything she's been doing, but Mira stuffs all her old habits and lifts her head. She doesn't want to move away and sacrifice the combined warmth of the fire and Caspian. So she doesn't.
Mira just curls up into a tight little ball with her back pressed against Caspian's leg. He stills, just as he did up on the tower when she first hugged him. Now, as then, he's afraid of scaring her off. But once she settles into a position she likes, his hand comes back down, resting on her ribs and calming the rapid beating of her heart. Her mind may be finding the idea of sleep before dawn less repulsive, but her body isn't reacting quite so favorably. Yet, with Caspian's touch and his solid warmth beside her, it isn't so bad. She still feels safe.
And she sleeps, until long after dawn.
Caspian is still beside her, exactly as before, when she wakes. Mira doesn't want to get up just yet. Suncloud must've gotten more wood for the fire – it's blazing up again, keeping the morning chill away from her. And Caspian's hand is still laying on her side.
She feels protected, and nothing she can remember has ever felt so good. Leaving seems foolish right now. How can she give this up? It was never this simple when she was by herself.
Eventually, Mira does have to move. Her stomach is starting to get that pinched feeling, and she's getting pangs in her side that mean she didn't eat enough yesterday. Well, she did forget her meals.
She gets up slowly, regretfully. The tranquility of the night is starting to wear off already, and she's sure that once she leaves this camp, she'll convince herself to never return. She wants to savor these last minutes before she remembers all the reasons why she didn't want to come and why she's been chasing anyone and everyone away this past year.
Caspian looks up at her, his arm falling back to his side. He has that guarded look, the same one she feels so often in her own eyes. He's waiting for the inevitable. He knows she means to leave, he must.
"I should get breakfast," Mira says, and it tastes like a lie in her mouth.
Caspian doesn't ask if she's coming back, but she sees the question in how he stares at her – unblinking, unmoving, as if he can keep her here if only he stays still enough. She's sure he's going to stay silent, but again he does the thing she isn't expecting.
"Shall I wait for you?"
That is, in effect, still asking that loaded question she doesn't know how to answer. It'll feel like a lie no matter what she says. Perhaps the most honest answer isn't an answer at all.
"I don't know." Mira stares into the fire so she won't have to see Caspian's reaction. He's surprised her all night, but now it's morning and there isn't the same spell over them anymore. Last night was last night, and Mira isn't about to go around expecting the same thing as all that.
She leaves then, heading off into the deeper parts of the forest toward her home. Well, what was her home; she doesn't know if it still is. She's beginning to suspect it stopped being that as soon as she agreed to go with Suncloud.
She does remember to say goodbye to her centaur friend as she goes. He looks tired, as if he didn't get any sleep last night. Mira tells him to get some rest, and when he asks if he'll see her again she can only offer a sad smile and tell him the same thing she told Caspian. It's not fair, but it's better than a lie.
It's a lonely walk into the forest just the same.
Mira gathers her breakfast like it's any other morning. She's determined to act as if it is, on the chance that the normality will bring clarity. This place, these woods of pine and laurel – it's become her home. Staying should be easy. The familiarity of the nuts hidden among fallen pine needles is soothing, the ease of stripping away pine bark a cocoon of safety. She's always been safe here, no matter if there were few curious souls every now and then.
Whatever she chooses, she'll have to leave.
If she agrees to rebuild something with Caspian – not that she knows what exactly that something will be – she'll have to go back to Cair Paravel. Perhaps not immediately, but it will become an inevitability. She'll have to rejoin humanity, have to adjust to a life where there are people all the time, where there are expectations of her.
And if she doesn't, if she decides she has to continue her exile, she certainly can't stay here. She'll have to move on, find a new remote place to call home. Staying in the Southern Mountains would be a risk – she'd be too close to this current home. If she leaves again, it will have to be someplace far, far away. Calormen, perhaps, or she could cross the entire country and see if Ettinsmoor holds anything for her. The Giants did surrender unconditionally to Narnia, after all. It might be more hospitable than Calormen.
Mira tucks her breakfast of black walnuts and pine bark into her pocket, shivering. She should have brought that cloak.
Normally, Mira would go back to her home and eat there before going back out to practice shooting. She should go back, to maintain the façade she's playing for the morning. But instead she finds herself gripping the trunk of a nearby pine and starting to shimmy up.
She finds a nice perch on a branch almost as thick as her waist, where she has a wonderful view of the forest. If she looks hard enough, she can see the smoke curling through the trees a little ways off. Caspian's camp. Her stomach tightens at the reminder and she turns to her walnuts and bark.
"What would you do, Leila?" Mira whispers into the morning.
"You can't get a broken keyboard!" Miranda laughs, trying to tug Leila away from her new favorite thrift find.
But Leila is a stubborn, stubborn thing, and she digs in her heels. "Don't you get it? That's exactly why I've got to get it! No one else is gonna want it. How will it feel, sitting here by itself and doing nothing but collecting dust?"
Miranda sighs and yanks on Leila's arm again. "It'll still collect dust if you get it. No difference."
"Every difference," Leila fires back with a furiously determined gleam in her eyes. "It's to be the subject of my next masterpiece. It'll be a star!"
Mira laughs and shakes her head, staring down at the child's instrument. The electric blue paint is chipped all over, the tacky off-white plastic showing through, and only half the keys aren't permanently stuck in the down position. "And after that? It'll still collect dust, Leila."
"But it will be loved." Leila breaks free and runs gentle, reverent fingers over the abused toy. She taps the D key, then the E. The notes are fragile, forlorn excuses for sound that grate on the ears, but Leila smiles radiantly. "Come on, help me with this."
Not twenty minutes later, Miranda is driving to Leila's house with a broken keyboard stuffed in her backseat, and Leila's babbling about what lighting would be best – she prefers a soft yellow light bulb over a harsh white LED coil – and asking Miranda what medium to use.
"Painting it seems too generic. I'm thinking charcoal, maybe a pencil sketch. What do you think?"
Miranda snorts. "Don't you want to bring out that chipped paint? Maybe use some colored pencils?"
Leila flaps a hand dismissively. "The color of the paint isn't important, I just want the shadows around it. I want it to be a sad, lost keyboard, but I want it to be loved too. Know what I mean?"
Miranda most certainly does not, but she smiles and says she does anyway. Leila spends a solid month getting her charcoal portrayal of the keyboard just right, and Miranda comes after school everyday to watch the art take shape.
In the end, Leila's proven undoubtedly correct; the charcoal sketch of the keyboard is perfect. Leila's done the shadows dark around the shape of it and focused the light on the keys themselves. But in her drawing, the keys look well-loved instead of overused, nostalgic instead of pathetic. When Miranda asks how she did it, Leila answers the same way she always does after making a piece of junk into art.
"It was broken," she answers with a shrug. "That's what made it perfect. I just put it on a piece of paper."
The memory is chased by a gust of sudden wind that carries a lion's roar with it.
"Aslan." Mira finishes her breakfast and scampers down the tree. She hasn't seen or heard from Him in all the time she's been here at Stormness Head, and she has a feeling he might be able to give her some guidance. She doesn't want to be selfish, and all of her options feel that way.
She chases the distant roar through the trees, legs pumping and chest heaving as she picks up speed. It never grows any louder; it stays constant on the breeze, whispering to her.
"Aslan, please," Mira calls. "I think I need you."
She bursts through a thick band of pines, and there stands a great golden lion before her in the clearing, tall as an elephant among the wildflowers.
Mira runs to him and collapses at his feet, swallowing back tears she doesn't want him to see. She doesn't want to be ungrateful, and she's sure Aslan and everyone else has had their fill of seeing her cry.
"Why didn't you come before?" she chokes, pressing her forehead to his front right leg. His fur tickles her nose and smells of the sunshine and of hope.
"You never wanted me until now, dear one. You only needed to ask."
His wild breath fans over her, ruffling her hair, and Mira feels a bit better. Her tears dry and she finds strength enough to gaze up at him in all his glory, mane almost glittering in the early morning sun.
"I know you must have let me come back for a reason," she says. "What was it?"
Aslan's rumble is tinged with disappointment when he answers. "There are those who care for you here," he explains. "You were as much help to them as they were to you."
"And now?" Mira waits at his feet, staring down at paws as wide and long as her face. Surely things are different now, with a year of absence and secrets.
"Now it can be so again. Stop fearing them, dear one. You are afraid of ghosts."
Mira sighs, her breath trembling as it leaves her body. "So it's best for me to go back?"
Aslan's tongue sweeps across her forehead. Mira calms, the shivers gone. Returning to the Cair doesn't sound quite so terrible, not now with Aslan giving her strength. But there's still one thing holding her back, one thing that she can't understand no matter how much she tries.
"You knew what would happen when I went back for Leila," Mira whispers. "Why did you let me?"
Aslan growls, and her heart stutters with nerves at the rumbling warning. "Do you still not trust me?"
Mira stays silent, because she still doesn't understand but she doesn't want to anger him further.
"I told you you would suffer, but it was not in vain."
Mira wants to trust him so much, but her best friend is still dead and it's all her fault and now even Aslan can't change that.
"Dear one, you did not fail. Leila lives because of you."
Her heart stops. Aslan breathes on her again, but it beats erratically and Mira's body shakes. That can't be right, she heard…
"What?" Mira leans back and searches Aslan's fierce amber eyes. "H-how?" she stutters.
"Close your eyes."
Mira obeys. Thick, soft fur brushes her face, and she sees the truth.
She sees herself, tearing through the trees with Bates mere steps behind. She sees the gun that's haunted her for many months lying in the leaves, the tip still smoking. And only a few paces away lies her best friend, broken and bleeding. And breathing. Her chest is rising and falling shallowly, but she's breathing.
Mira hears the struggle between herself and Bates, sees herself pinned to the ground a ways off with his hands around her throat. And Leila's hand is fluttering to her chest, her mouth open as she sucks more air into her lungs.
Leila is dragging herself away with her right elbow by the time Mira has Bates bleeding underneath her. When Mira runs off and vanishes into the ground, Leila is almost to the barn where Mira found her.
Bates doesn't get up for a while, but he finds only a bloodstain where Leila was. His curses are perhaps the best thing Mira has heard in her life.
The view spins, and Leila is in a hospital bed with an IV. Her eyes are open. She's talking weakly with two police officers, who take notes on small handheld spiral notebooks.
She sees Bates again, and he's looking worse than ever – thin and pale and missing four teeth – in an orange jumpsuit.
Leila appears, now back home in her room that's filled to the brim with all the broken, perfect things she's collected over the years. There are a few new pieces, and Mira likes the blood-red pitcher with white daisies painted around the lip the best. It sits in front of its half-finished oil painting on a creaky easel.
The visions fade back into a meadow surrounded by pines and scattered with four-petaled purple wildflowers, where a lion nuzzles away the salty wetness on her cheeks.
"You see you did not fail," Aslan says. "I did not abandon you."
"Thank you." Mira's voice is strangely steady though the world is still tilting with the shock. Over a year she's mourned her friend, and she was alive the whole time. "I shouldn't have blocked you out."
Aslan doesn't scold her like she thinks he will. No, he only nudges her back with a giant paw and supports her while she gets her feet underneath her.
"Go to him," the lion says.
She obeys.
luv - Caspian did not bring the star back, no. I didn't want to throw too much into the mix...As for Mira, she's spent a long time trying to get to a place where she can try to be happy, and in this next chapter I think you'll be glad to see she does make some good strides.
Remember to leave a review if you have a sec! :)