chapter 8

                                    

                                          
Chapter 8
The Problem of Edmund
"Jadis, the Queen of Narnia! Empress of the Lone Islands!" 
Of the prophecy's children, only Edmund had seen the Witch before. They joined the crowd of Narnians lining the path through camp. Aslan stood in front, staring coolly down at the Witch and her entourage of horrors. Two towering cyclops carried her on a litter. She sat back against her throne in a gown of blue fabric the color of corpse skin. A fur shrug was draped around her shoulders in protest of the warmer weather. Spikes of ice protruded from her thick blonde hair as a form of crown. Water streaked the Witch's pallid face. Her crown was beginning to melt.
The royal fraud was placed a few yards from Aslan. Skeletal fingers wrapped around the icicle wand in her lap. She rose to face the great lion. In every place that he was warm and golden, she was sinister and silver. In the arena of reputations, Jadis had curated hers perfectly. Not an icicle was out of place. Dahlia widened her stance, grateful for the breathable fabric of her slippers. The hum of the earth steadied her. She clung to its fragrance and life, pushing the chill of the Witch's magic away from her charges. In the corner of her eye, she saw Edmund shaking. She wrapped a hand around his wrist, in turn linking him to the earth's warmth. His shivering stopped. She continued to hold him as the Witch glared in his direction.
"You have a traitor in your midst, Aslan." The Narnians gasped at the Witch's proclamation. They knew now what he had done, and revered him despite it, but to hurl the accusation at Aslan was uncalled for. Dahlia slid her grip down Edmund's arm to his hand. He squeezed it in thanks.
"His offense was not against you." Aslan's voice sounded so steady, so calm. His composure was infectious. It slowed Dahlia's rapid pulse; her fear was the one thing nature's magic could not quell. She glanced sideways at Oreius. His shoulders were snapped back and his chin jutted out in defiance. She copied him exactly. For the Pevensies' sake, she had to appear strong.
"Have you forgotten the laws upon which Narnia was built?" Jadis sounded haughty, staring down her pointed nose at Aslan's rippling mane. She had an image to maintain, but even she knew it was fractured. Not even Jadis could deny that Aslan was the true ruler of Narnia. Her tyranny was only a glimmer in the world's history.
"Do not cite the Deep Magic to me, Witch," Aslan growled. "I was there when it was written."
"Then you'll remember well that every traitor belongs to me. His blood is my property." Dahlia released Edmund's hand. Fire danced across her palms and laced through her fingers. To her right, Peter drew his sword. The unsheathing of weapons sang around them. A minotaur on the Witch's side brandished his ax.
"Try and take him then," Peter challenged. The Witch paid him no attention. She narrowed her crystal eyes on Dahlia.
"You must be the little mage." Jadis stepped closer. The grass froze where her skirts dragged behind her. Though Dahlia could not see it, Susan's hand rested on her bow. Even little Lucy grasped her dagger. "Such a pity you're on the wrong side. Together we could be unstoppable." Her words worked their icy tendrils into Dahlia's mind. The flames flickered as her focus slipped. Jadis barked a frigid laugh and Dahlia's fire was extinguished. "Do you think that mere force will deny me my right?" Jadis cooed as if speaking to a baby. "Aslan knows that unless I have blood as the law demands, all of Narnia will be overturned and perish in fire and water." She jabbed a pointed nail at Edmund. "That boy will die on the Stone Table, as is tradition. You dare not refuse me."
"Enough," Aslan thundered. "I shall talk with you alone." Both crowds silently waited as the Witch followed the great lion into his tent. Edmund's fate rested in frigid hands and massive paws. He plopped to the grass once the last bit of the Witch's dress whooshed into the tent. His siblings settled around him. Dahlia stood sentinel above them for a while until Oreius gently tapped her shoulder and relieved her of her duty. She stared down at her hands, then at the ring on her right middle finger. The silver band was etched with stars. It had belonged to Celeste.
As if Susan had guessed its significance, she scooted closer. "I'm sorry about your parents, Lia." This new moniker tugged at the corners of Dahlia's lips. She twisted the band around her finger.
"It's not a fresh wound, and I haven't been alone these five years. Maeve has looked after me." The mage stopped fidgeting and leaned back on her hands. "We've looked after each other, I suppose. Her husband was killed by one of the wolves."
"That's horrible," whispered Peter, who had been listening in.
"It was. I had never seen so much blood." Dahlia forced away the image of Wesley's unrecognizably crimson form on the snow. She thought instead of Maeve's plump face framed by fluffy terracotta hair and the way her home always smelled of sage. "Maeve's a lovely woman. I'd like for you all to meet her one day."
"I'd like that, too," said the boy who was doomed to die. Dahlia tried to smile at Edmund even as the balance of his life hung around her neck. The tent flaps were thrown open. Jadis stalked out, staring at the gathered Narnians as if each one had individually wronged her. She marched back to stand before her mobile throne. Her posture was pinched as though she was trapped in a vice. The negotiation had not gone her way.
Aslan emerged to announce this officially. "She has renounced her claim on the son of Adam's blood." The Pevensies embraced their brother. Dahlia heaved a relieved sigh over the cheers from their army and the grumbles from the Witch's. Two skinny arms wrapped around her. She stumbled, then caught them both. Edmund's floppy black hair was tucked under her chin. Dahlia smiled and hugged him back.
"How do I know your promise will be kept?" Edmund flinched back at the Witch's voice. He stayed tucked under Dahlia's arm as they turned to see Jadis. She stared Aslan down from her position on the litter. In response, the great lion simply roared. The Witch toppled into her seat as the Narnians cackled wildly. Her cyclops hoisted her back up and the wicked army marched out of the camp.
As Edmund returned to his siblings, Dahlia's name echoed in her mind. Now knowing it was the great lion, she looked over her shoulder. Aslan inclined his head towards his tent and plodded inside. Dahlia left the celebrating Narnians to join him. Unease turned in her gut. She hoped intuition was not one of her powers.