Authoress's note: I've had pieces of these next chapters written for some time, so fortunately the updates are coming quickly for a change. The next chapter turned to be much longer than I anticipated, so I've broken it into two chapters. So, today you will be getting two chapters for the price of one. I hope you enjoy.
Disclaimers: standard disclaimers apply, no copyright infringement is intended.
Chapter the Fifty-first: Venom
17 Frostmoon 2076
The sharp rhythm of drums broke the silence of early pre-dawn aboard the Jewel of Archenland. Many lanterns suspended in the rigging washed the deck in warm light, which mingled with the faint, glowing gleam on the Eastern horizon. The purple sky still wore her starry mantle, and, under it, the Archenlanders stood sternly in their sorrow. In the day since the fateful battle, they had tended their wounded and counted their dead. The Jewel lost a third of her complement, with another quarter wounded. Of the Valiant's men, only fifty remained. The ablest among them relocated to the crippled Huntress to fill out her woeful fraction of remaining crew.
At her place of honor on the quarterdeck, Lyra stood straight-backed and solemn, a black ribbon interlacing her braided tresses. She breathed deeply of the chill air and glanced past the rail to see Huntress sailing within hailing distance, the jury-rigged hull patch flashing occasionally above the waves. Her crew and officers likewise lined the sloop's decks. Galen stood beside her, magnificent and grave in his armor and Archen green ceremonial tabard. He slipped his hand into hers and gave it a comforting squeeze. She looked up and returned his sad smile.
The marines' drumming ceased in well-practiced unison, and weighty silence fell. After several moments, Commodore Torin, who stood beside his sovereign with his hands clasped behind him, began to speak.
"We gather today in solemn remembrance," his firm voice resonated through the still air, "as we commit the bodies of our honored dead to their final rest. May Aslan welcome our fallen brothers into His country, for they died well and bravely in His service and in the service of their king. Let the sea receive her own." As Torin finished speaking, he nodded to Commander Barstowe. His acting first officer handed his superior a roll of parchment, then turned to give the sorrowful order.
"All hands, bury the dead."
In unison, both ships' bells pealed crisply through the cold air. The commodore unrolled the parchment and began to read.
"From His Majesty's ship Jewel of Archenland: Commander James Randolph, first officer. Commander Ian Cameron, ship's doctor. Lieutenant Charles Stewart, tactical officer. Ensign David Donovan…."
After each name, the funeral detail on deck performed their solemn duty, efficiently and precisely tipping the sailcloth-wrapped bodies of their fallen comrades into the sea. After a while, Torin passed the parchment to Barstowe, who continued to read.
"Anthony Ashley, Master Cooper. Seaman Daniel Louis, blacksmith's mate…."
The sun rose as the funeral continued, bathing the cold faces of the sorrowful group in pale light. Lyra still held her knight's hand, and she closed her eyes in prayer as the sun's warmth spread over her. At long last, the burial of the Jewel's dead was complete. Several shrouded bodies remained on deck, and the roll of dead passed in its turn to the princess.
"From His Majesty's ship Valiant," she read in a clear, unwavering voice, "Captain Henry Williams. Lieutenant Commander Mark Cadeyrn, first officer. Lieutenant Roy Weatherford, second officer…."
She continued for a time, then passed the roll of parchment to Galen.
"And those of the Valiant who perished in defense of the Jewel of Archenland: Lieutenant Atticus Mason, Royal Archen Marines. Corporal Howard Brant, Royal Archen Marines. Seaman…."
The last of the bodies fell into the sea. After a long pause, they could hear a voice take up the list of the dead from across the water.
"From His Majesty's ship Huntress," Captain Scott began, "Commander Daniel Tremain, first officer…."
Though the Huntress's dead had been hastily buried by the Jewel's shore party on the Dark Island, their captain read their names to pay them proper honor among their fellows.
"May Aslan receive their spirits as the sea receives their bodies," the princess spoke with quiet dignity when he had finished. "They have not perished in vain but in victory. We mourn their loss and honor their memory."
She nodded to Galen, who took up his flute and began to play. The clear, clean tones of the Narnian flute cohered into a beautiful lament. Later, in quiet musings, some sailors would say to each other that it mingled the wonder of Dawn with the wildness of the sea, and the sorrow of great loss with the reverence of hope. When the last note faded away in the morning air, Commodore Torin spoke last.
"All hands, dismissed."
Silently, the crew returned to repairing and cleaning the battle-worn ship. On the quarterdeck, the officers milled about quietly, their countenances full of sorrow and thought. Commodore Torin carried his grief well, but Galen could see that it ran deeply.
"My condolences for the loss of your first officer, Commodore," the Narnian spoke quietly as he joined the officer at the rail.
"Thank you, Sir Galen," the older man took a deep breath as he broke his long stare over the water to accept Galen's words with a grateful nod. "Jim Randolph was my right hand for many years. And my good friend. I will miss him dearly," he paused. "I will miss them all dearly."
The knight inclined his head, then moved away politely to give Torin the courtesy of privacy.
Meanwhile, the princess returned to her own cabin. She closed the hatch slowly and slumped against the bulkhead as her strength left her. Away from her companions' eyes, Lyra shuddered and allowed an anguished whimper to escape her lips. Her wounded arm throbbed with shooting pain, alternatively fiery and achingly numb, and her head swam from the strain of bearing it. She sank wearily onto her bunk and slipped into troubled sleep.
The next evening, the ships held vigil lament, as they had for Lyra's uncle. By then, the loss could be spoken of, with solemn songs, quiet toasts, and fondly-told stories. The ships began to return to familiar routine as they continued sailing smoothly southeast. The sea here was calm and clear, providing the men a welcome respite from the tricky handling of rougher weather. They continued in their duties, though more gravely than in earlier days.
Three days after the battle found the Narnian knight and his lady at the stern rail, watching the sunset together in companionable silence as they had been accustomed to these past months. The princess pulled her cloak closely against the oncoming night's chill and leaned into her friend, who drew her close with a gentle arm about her waist. She rested her head against her knight's chest, and in the peaceful moment each took comfort in the other's presence. Already, several stars shone brightly in the twilight sky.
"I think Aslan is coming," the Narnian mused, a smile playing across his face. "We must be drawing near our destination."
"What makes you say that?" Lyra asked.
"See those stars there? And over there?" He pointed to the West and the North. "I recognize them. In all the strange constellations we've seen in these strange waters, these are new. Or, rather, old. The centaurs tracked stars such as these over long centuries. They belong to the noblest court of the Heavens and appear most often to welcome their Lord and Creator."
She did not answer, but he could feel her smile. They continued to watch more stars appear as the sun set. After a while, the young knight felt his lady shiver violently.
"Are you alright, Lyra?" Galen looked down with concern.
"Just a chill," she murmured, and he wrapped his other arm around her to stave off the cold breeze.
But gradually Lyra became heavy in Galen's embrace, and he realized with alarm that she no longer supported herself.
"Lyra!" The Narnian called her name to no avail. His lady's head hung limply in complete unconsciousness. He strengthened his grasp and, kneeling, held her carefully in his arms.
"Lieutenant!" He sharply summoned the officer of the watch.
"My lord?" Came the prompt reply. Galen fixed him with a grim, commanding gaze.
"Medic. Now."
The officer's eyes widened, and he hastened to make the proper orders. As alarm spread through the ship, the young knight gently pressed his hand to his lady's pale forehead. His brow furrowed upon finding it unusually warm. The ship's senior-most remaining medic responded promptly and determined it was safe to move the princess to her own cabin. Galen gathered her up in his arms and carefully made his way down the quarterdeck steps. The crewmen on the main deck stood in uneasy silence, their caps in their hands, as the Narnian knight passed by cradling their beloved sovereign like a fragile porcelain doll. He saw his own worry reflected in their nervous glances. Presently, Galen eased Lyra onto the bunk and stepped aside for the medic to attend her. He watched anxiously as the medic worked, and his stomach twinged as he caught a glimpse of the angry slash on her forearm. After a while, the medic finished redressing the wound and turned to the princess's knight.
"Well? How is she?" the Narnian barely managed to keep his voice from trembling.
"The wound the Witch inflicted is infected, my lord," the medic responded with concern in his voice. "The princess has a high fever."
"But it's a relatively small wound—you can treat it, of course," Galen responded hastily.
"I can try," the medic answered grimly.
"Try?" Galen's eyes narrowed.
"My lord," he hesitated, "it is no ordinary infection. Certainly not like any I've seen. It behaves more like snake venom."
The young knight's heart dropped like a stone.
"Aslan's mane," he whispered in dread and clenched his hand. "What can be done?" He tried to keep his voice calm.
"Her body will have to fight it. If we tend her well, she may be strong enough."
"Is—is she in pain?"
Again, the medic hesitated to answer him, but the Narnian fixed him with a dreadful glare.
"Yes, my lord," he responded gravely at last. Galen paled and clenched his hand more tightly.
"I will tend her. Show me what to do."
From his seat beside his lady's bunk, the young Narnian could see starlight winking at the horizon through the window's thick glass panes as the ship pressed Eastward into the surrounding darkness. The commodore's steward, an attentive and faithful sailor, entered to light the lantern.
"Do you need anything, my lord? A bite to eat, perhaps?"
"No, thank you," Galen looked up from his reverie and shook his head.
"I'll be nearby if you change your mind," the steward replied kindly, then quietly withdrew.
The tiny cabin fell silent again, and the young knight's pensive gaze wandered to his lady's face. She breathed steadily as she slept but sweat began to bead on her pale brow. Galen knelt at her bedside and carefully pressed a cool cloth to her forehead. As he brushed aside a few stray strands of hair from her temple, his thumb lingered over the thin scar that the attack on the Terebinthian embassy had left her. It seemed so long ago, and his mind wandered to memories of that dreadful evening. But he returned to the present when his lady breathed deeply and began to stir.
"There you are, my love," her knight mustered a gentle smile as her eyelids fluttered open. "You've been asleep for some time."
"What happened?" She looked at him with confusion as she sat up, and he hesitated to answer.
"Your fight with the witch is not over, it seems," Galen haltingly answered. "She—she poisoned her blade, Lyra."
"I know," his lady answered quietly, looking down at her bandaged arm.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Confusion and anger flooded his countenance.
"If I am to die, then I would do so at my post. As so many others have done." Her voice trembled a little.
"Lyra," Galen chided, grasping her right hand firmly. "Lyra, look at me."
She hesitated, then met his gaze.
"Don't do that—don't resign yourself to death and duty." A tear slid from the corner of his eye. "Please," he pleaded, "please, don't push me away. Let me help you fight."
With a tearful shudder she nodded, and he embraced her tightly.
"Galen," she whispered, "I'm afraid."
"So am I, my love," he answered sorrowfully as he held her. "So am I.
Early the next morning, a soft knock sounded at the door of Lyra's cabin.
"Enter," Galen raised his voice just enough to carry. The door swung open, and one of the medics entered, along with the commodore's steward, who carried a tray.
"My lord," the medic bowed. "Forgive me for not checking in on you sooner. Only three of us remain, and one is presently aboard Huntress. With all the wounded, we are spread thin."
"No apologies necessary," the Narnian returned graciously. "Remind me your name?"
"Ensign Bryan, my lord," he answered. "How is the princess?"
"She's sleeping on and off," Galen responded, glancing back at his lady. "The fever is about the same."
The medic nodded. "I've asked Gerald, here, to prepare some tea that may help, along with a light meal."
"Thank you," The young knight inclined his head. Returning to his lady's bedside, he realized that Lyra was shuddering in her sleep.
"Ensign," he called sharply, and the medic hastened over. "She hasn't done this before. What does it mean?"
The medic's brow furrowed. "I don't know. A nightmare, perhaps?" He speculated. "Best wake her."
Galen nodded, then put a gentle hand to her cheek.
"Lyra," he called softly, and with a sharp intake of breath, she opened her eyes. "Are you alright?"
She exhaled groggily, passing a hand over her face. "Yes," she answered. "Just—a strange dream."
"Here," Galen helped her sit up against the pillows. "Breakfast is in order, then," he tried to sound cheerful.
"I don't feel very hungry," she protested. "I'm not sure I could keep anything down anyway."
"Please, my lady," the worried medic interjected, but Galen quieted him with a raised hand.
"Start with a cup of tea then," he spoke gently, taking the tray from the steward and balancing it across the bunk. Lyra wrapped her uninjured hand around the warm teacup and breathed the cinnamon and ginger scented steam deeply. Leaning back against the pillows, she sighed as she drank the comforting liquid. The Narnian glanced up at the steward and medic and nodded. The two sailors bowed slightly, and then withdrew, trusting that the young knight had the situation well in hand.
"Tell me about these dreams, Lyra," Galen asked as he sipped his own tea.
"It's all fuzzy now," she murmured, "serpents coiling, as though the ground were made of them."
"The dreams and visions around that island were heavy with snakes," he mused, his brow furrowed.
"And her dress—Juliana's I mean—it shimmered like scales. When I seized her arm, the fabric felt strange, almost like it was part of her," Lyra shuddered at the memory. "But I'm not really sure which part is real and which is dream. These dreams come more frequently now," she trailed off.
Before the knight could respond, they heard muffled shouts from the deck.
"What's happening?" the princess asked in alarm, making as though to get up.
"No, my lady," Galen hastily stopped her. "Stay here. I'll find out. In the meantime, please eat something."
"Alright," she frowned.
"Thank you," he smiled a little, then hastened from the cabin.
"What news?" He asked Barstowe as he made the quarterdeck through the buzz of activity as the sailors lowered boats.
"The Huntress is done for," the first officer answered grimly. "That patched hull couldn't take it, even with the calmer sea. She's been taking on water and listing. They're bringing off the men and what supplies they can salvage now."
The Narnian turned and saw for himself that the sloop leaned heavily to its starboard. Sailors busily handed down crates and barrels, while others climbed down into the boats. Captain Scott still kept to the quarterdeck, supervising calmly as the rescue effort continued.
"I'm sorry, commodore," Galen spoke solemnly to Torin, who was standing nearby with his hands clasped behind his back.
"Captain," the officer corrected, turning away from the doomed ship and pacing slowly across the deck, "for I have lost my fleet."
Gravely, Galen nodded, observing the sinking Huntress and the ongoing rescue for a few moments before returning to Lyra's bedside.
The days passed slowly and seemingly without change. The captain adjusted their course to make best use of the favorable wind, and the ship glided onward on the unending sea. The Narnian knight rarely left his lady's bedside, tending her in growing concern as her condition slowly worsened.
"Lyra, please try," Galen held a cup of broth towards her, but she shook her head. "Please," he pleaded more softly. This time, she sighed and took a tiny sip. But she promptly moaned and closed her eyes as a wave of nausea swept through her.
"I'm sorry, Galen," she murmured. "I am trying."
"I know," he sighed, looking at her with sorrow and pity as she leaned against the pillow again. Her face was wan and pale, and dark circles grew under her eyes. She shuddered again as sharp pain radiated up her arm.
"I wish the sleep brought rest," she spoke quietly after the twinge passed. "The nightmares feel so real, Galen," her voice wavered. "I," she hesitated, "I don't want to sleep anymore."
"I know," he repeated sadly, holding her hand in his as another wave of pain passed. "I wish-" he trailed off. "Perhaps there is something that can help after all," he finished thoughtfully. "Here," he took the tray away and helped her lay back. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he drew out his flute and began to play. The familiar lullaby filled the tiny cabin with resplendent tones, and the young knight concentrated on weaving its spell in due measure. The princess smiled a little, and then relaxed and allowed the melody to sweep her along. Her eyelids drooped closed, and by the time the notes died away, Galen could see with great relief that Lyra breathed more easily and slept soundly. He kept watch as she slept, praying fervently in the silent hours.
30 Frostmoon 2076
One evening, Captain Torin and his acting first officer lingered in the wardroom over their coffee. The other officers had long since finished their dinners and returned to duty or to their quarters.
"How far do we keep sailing, sir?" Barstowe was asking, and the captain sighed.
"Until we find what we're looking for, I supposed," he answered. "Our Narnian friend seems to think we are drawing near. Or," Torin amended, "he thought so a few days ago. I have not seen much of him since the princess took ill."
The captain pondered a moment in silence, then strode to the wardroom door and addressed his steward, who waited nearby.
"Send for Lieutenant Payne, please."
"Aye aye, sir," the steward acknowledged, then went in search of the ship's senior medic. In a few minutes, the young officer entered.
"You called for me, sir?" Payne spoke, a little out of breath from his haste and slightly nervous at being called up unexpectedly by his superior.
"Yes," Torin answered, speaking in low tones. "Tell me, what is the princess's condition?"
The medic's face hardened grimly.
"It deteriorates by the day, sir."
"How so?" Torin pressed.
"As near as I can tell," he answered, "she is fighting a slow-acting form of viper venom. It causes both numbness and sharp pain, both of which are spreading. She has not been able to take much food, and is weak from the prolonged fever. The wound, where presumably the venom was introduced, refuses to heal."
"Slow acting? How do you mean?" Barstowe asked.
"A full dose of viper venom would kill a person within minutes. This venom is different, or she received only a small amount, or both," the lieutenant continued. "There is something unusually evil about it, though. It causes terrible and persistent nightmares that deprive the princess of needed rest. My fellow medics and I have tried a variety of remedies, but only Sir Galen's magical lullaby seems to help her rest. It may be that the venom has a magical component."
"And what of our Narnian friend?" Torin asked. "How is he?"
Payne looked down and shook his head.
"Sir Galen refuses to give up his vigil. He sometimes snatches an hour or two of sleep against the bulkhead, but otherwise will not take any rest, despite our best efforts to trade shifts with him. He eats, at least, which is more than I can say for the princess, but these long days are wearing him ragged."
The captain stood and paced in frustration. Gradually, they became aware of the muffled tones of the Narnian's enchanted lullaby filtering from the deck below. The captain and his officers exchanged grave looks.
"Each day he has to play harder and more frequently to keep the poison at bay," the medic sighed.
"That song will be a dirge before long," the captain murmured, clenching his fist angrily. After a heavy silence, Torin turned to the junior officer.
"Lieutenant, you or one of the other medics is to watch the princess tonight. Send Sir Galen back to his cabin to rest. If he resists, tell him that he can either obey you or obey the marines I will send in your place. He's no good to her or to us if he insists on killing himself too."
"Aye, sir," Payne stood up.
"Dismissed," Torin nodded curtly.
The medic left the wardroom, then turned toward the princess's cabin. He knocked quietly, but when no answer was forthcoming, he pushed the door open. He smiled empathetically when he found Galen asleep at the princess's bedside. The Narnian was contorted in an uncomfortable position, kneeling on the floor with his torso wedged against the side of the bunk. His head rested on the bed on top of a folded arm. Thanks to the lullaby, Lyra slept peacefully for now. The young lieutenant set his medical kit down, and then quietly shook Galen awake.
"You need to rest, my lord. I will tend her tonight," the medic spoke kindly. "I will call you immediately if anything changes."
Galen started to protest, still groggy.
"Captain's orders," Payne insisted, and, at last, the young knight wearily relented. After kissing his lady's pale brow, he withdrew to his own cabin and collapsed onto the bunk, weeping bitterly until he sank into exhausted, dreamless slumber.
"My lord," a sharp voice brought the Narnian back to consciousness with a start.
"What's wrong?" Galen bolted upright.
"The captain requests your presence on deck," the sailor answered.
"I'll be there shortly," he nodded groggily. Standing up, he hastened to dress, then left his cabin and climbed the steps to the quarterdeck. The sky was still deep purple in the hour before dawn, and the stars all seemed to hang near and bright.
"Captain Torin, is all well?" The knight greeted.
"See for yourself," the captain replied, gesturing towards the starboard. Galen turned and fell speechless. Waves of turquoise and green light rippled through Eastern sky, and an array of brilliant, enormous stars gathered among the bands of light. Just below, silhouetted on the horizon against the dazzling aurora, lay a low island.
"Aslan's mane," Galen breathed. "How long has this been going on?"
"We sighted the island about an hour ago. The aurora began a few minutes ago."
"The stars have moved, too," the Narnian added, his eyes wide with wonder. "These are the ones I thought I recognized. Those the centaurs call the high nobility. They've gathered," his voice trailed off solemnly.
As they watched, two stars at the sky's zenith intensified in brightness and size: one large and deep red and the other small and blue-white. To their astonishment, the stars began to fall, streaking slowly through the sky and leaving trails of sparkling light behind them. Now the entire crew stood frozen as they watched the stars pass overhead and arc gracefully down. With flashes of light and a muted but audible rumble, the stars impacted the island.
"Captain," Galen continued gravely, "I believe this is the island we seek. When the sun rises, I will know for sure."
Torin nodded, leaving the young knight to watch at the starboard rail. Slowly, golden light diffused the aurora, and as the sky lightened, the stars became faint but did not entirely disappear. Closer, now, the island's hazy purple hills, with soft, pillow-like slopes came into view. With a surge of adrenaline, Galen recognized the island from the vision Aslan had shown him in the glen those months ago. Wordlessly, he caught the captain's eye and nodded.
"We should close on the island in a few hours," Torin answered the Narnian's unspoken question. "I'll send for you when we are ready to send a boat."
"Thank you, captain," the knight inclined his head, then hastened from the quarterdeck. In a moment, he had returned to Lyra's cabin, hesitating for a second before pushing the door softly open. Lieutenant Payne stood from his chair to greet him.
"How is she?" Concern shone in Galen's eyes.
"The same," the medic sighed, averting his gaze. The Narnian knelt beside his lady's bed and beheld her pale, sleeping face. Sweat covered her brow and plastered several strands of hair to her face. She breathed erratically, sometimes whimpering, twitching, or murmuring delirious words. An expression of pity and grief creased his face.
"I'll tend her for a while," he spoke softly, his voice catching, "but I'll have to go ashore soon." The medic nodded, then quietly left the cabin.
With a sinking heart, he reached again for the cloths and the pitcher of cool water. She awoke as he gently wiped the sweat from her brow. She blinked slowly, struggling to focus on him.
"Galen?" She murmured weakly.
"I'm here, Lyra," he fought to keep his voice from wavering and grasped her hand.
"Tell me of Archenland, when the grass was green," she whispered, her eyes feverishly bright. "Let me remember it again, for my dreams are dark."
Galen's brow furrowed, and then he forced himself to smile gently.
"Do you remember the willow in the glen?" He began. "In the spring, when the violets bloomed?"
She smiled as she pictured it.
"Did I tell you of the island Aslan showed me in the pool?"
Slowly, Lyra nodded. "You said it was purplish, with soft hills," she murmured.
"Yes," Galen smiled, but his heart twinged. "We've found it, Lyra. We've found the place Aslan sent us to find. I'm going ashore in a little while to see what is there, but let me tell you how the heavens arrayed to welcome us," his voice held wonder now.
As the ship sailed around the island in search of a suitable harbor, the young knight regaled his ailing lady with descriptions of the light and the color of the brilliant aurora and the falling stars. She listened, her focus drifting in and out, as she clung to the hope and light in his words. By the time a sailor came to fetch him and the medic returned to tend her, Lyra had exhausted her limited strength and fell back to sleep, the notes of Galen's lullaby keeping the nightmares at bay for another few hours.
Authoress's note: as always, I appreciate your readership and would love to hear what you think. You won't have to wait long for the next chapter: Avalon.