The Call To The Old - An Edmund Pevensie fanfiction

Chapter twenty-two

The footsteps got closer. The zip to the tent opened. Talia's head shot up, and she took a deep inhale. It was Miraz, covered in a splattering coat of thick, velvet red blood. It decorated spots onto his tanned face. His teeth were gritted. There was blood on them. There was blood everywhere.

Talia still shackled, attempted, as best as she could to shy away from this hauntingly evil looking man. He clutched his sword, which was also painted in deep red. Red was the girl's favourite colour, but here it shined with evil, with malice. She felt sick at simply Miraz's expression, his hunger, and for a second she believed that he was going to kill her. Now, the thought of death terrified her- she wasn't as brave as she thought she was.

Miraz towered over her, darkening her vision with his shadow. He looked down at her with an empty look in his eyes, "Why did you kill your brother?" he questioned, his tone of voice was unlike anything Talia had ever heard before- it was like his heart needed the answer to this question, like his sanity depended on it.

"He was going to kill me." she replied, moving her eyes up to meet the horrifying man.

"And you believe that that is enough reason?"

"I do." she did not really know if she had genuinely meant this, the words had just slipped out of her. Her nurse used to tell her that the excuse of an eye for an eye was cruel and meant nothing. She used to reprimand Talia for hitting back whenever Caspian hit her and used to tell off Caspian if he hit back when Talia had hit him. She told them it was petty and made you just as bad. Perhaps Talia was as bad as her brother; for how could she have truly known that he was going to kill her? Maybe she just really wanted to kill him.

But for Miraz, this was a good enough answer. It provided him with comfort for what he had just done. A comfort he never knew he would long for, that he would so willingly embrace. He never thought he needed such a thing as comfort. Until now.

The elder man breathed a harsh breath, "get up." he ordered, grabbing the girl from the floor, placing a threatening hand upon her shoulder to guide her steps. The pair walked, in silence. He was showing her something. He walked her a little further to the edge of the camp, and pointed forwards, "Would you care to explain who that is?"

Talia's eyes travelled towards where the man was pointing, "No idea." she spoke, even though she immediately recognised who it was. She recognised his walk confident and strong; she recognised the shining of his hair; and the way a gentle smirk lay across his face- she could just about make that out, and his smile made her smile. Edmund. She knew Miraz also knew this; because, as the boy got closer, it became much more obvious- he was a King. The King. The King of Narnia- it was clear.

Edmund was accompanied by a centaur and a giant; both Miraz and Talia knew that it would be some time before the trio managed to walk across the entire length of the field, so Miraz retuned to pulling Talia along beside him, back to the main tent of the camp- while Talia wondered if Edmund had spotted her. I suppose she kind of prayed that he had, prayed that he would help her, because she wasn't sure if she had the bravery to go against Miraz or her father, for that matter.

Again, the older man placed a firm hand upon his younger's shoulder and took her back to the main tent. He was threatening, and his silence made him even more so, but the worst thing about the King was that he was unpredictable, and the blood that was still splattered across his person only capitalised upon this nature. Who had Miraz killed? Talia never even thought of that. Blood was something she so strongly associated with both her father and Miraz, that it almost didn't shock her. The blood suited him. Talia was only now curious, as she began to think, although she associated Miraz with blood, she had never actually seen him covered in in for a long, long time- he always got someone else to do his bidding, unless he wanted to make a statement; he was alike her father in that way, or perhaps, more true to the story, her father was much like Miraz in that way. Whoever Miraz had killed must have been significant, and this was what worried Talia. Being covered in blood, was not a show of strength, especially not the dried blood that was now upon Miraz's body; being covered like he was, presented you as barbaric, uncivilised- it would imply you couldn't even afford a bath. The King must have not been in the right mind, or the person he had killed meant so much that to wipe away the blood would destroy him. Destroy the very last thing he had of that person.

Realisation crashed like a wave over Talia.

She turned to look up at the older man, "whose blood is that?" she questioned, bluntly.

Miraz didn't answer. The pair were approaching the main tent, where the killing, Talia supposed, must have taken place. Just before they entered, "close your eyes." the King declared, monotonal. This confirmed it for Talia, and she followed his orders- although she knew, deep down, that she would break them. They stepped into the tent. The floor was wet under her feet- it was not a feeling she had felt before, much unlike the wetness of a puddle or stepping into a bath- the liquid she had stepped into was warm and it seeped into her shoes. She recognised it, blood- perhaps it was a feeling she had felt before; the feeling of her brother's blood spilling onto her was not too dissimilar, or the blood of the telmarine soldiers she had killed, what seemed like a long, long time ago. Miraz kept a firm grip on the girl, but his steps appeared to have slowed.

All of a sudden, the voices of her ancestors began to perk up inside her, it began as gentle whispers, mixed in with some laughs. But the laughs got louder, and louder, echoing through every inch of her body; she couldn't escape the sounds of hysteria, and couldn't even let her eyes distract herself, as she was busy trying to keep them clasped shut. The whispers increased in volume too, soon they were shouts, so loud that it took all of Talia's strength to not scream back at them. They shouted for her to open her eyes, like some kind of siren at sea- she knew that following their orders, would mean breaking Miraz's, which could lead to her death. But, equally, she trusted her ancestors.

Her eyes slammed open. And they were met with the most awful of sights, that caused even the voices to abruptly quieten. There before her, lay the dead body of her father, and her feet were swimming in his blood. She froze, alerting Miraz, who did nothing but freeze also. Both were shocked, the King was shocked at what he had done to his longest friend, and the girl shocked because she did not know whether to laugh or cry- he was her father, but he had caused her so much pain. A singular scream echoed through her body, she recognised the voice as her mother's- it was a scream of agony; and once again, reaffirmed the point to Talia that there must have once upon a time been some good in her father, else this voice would not mourn him so.

However, the scream, which echoed inside of her, turned into the harshest of laughs, and all the others joined. It was a deafening sound, and it added to Talia's feeling of pure numbness. She couldn't hear anything aside from them, and her vision began to get cloudy- soon all she could see was the red. The laughter was turning her insane, and the sight of her lifeless father in front her, did not help. She was still frozen in place, but Miraz had now left her behind- perhaps to prepare to greet Edmund.

It was a crazed, manic kind of feeling that then fell upon the girl, and she too began to laugh with her ancestors. Justice, they were one step closer.

The laughs silenced- they had been listened too, and had done their job, in teaching Talia that sometimes not all deaths have to be sad. Her father was an evil man, it did not matter than once upon a time there may have been one drop of good in him, for he never showed that side. Her mother was delighted at the justice, Talia could feel it. So, the ancestors didn't need to make their point anymore, and thus ceased to make a noise.

Talia woke from her daze, her father's body now felt less like a body and more like a wax figure- she had no feeling attached to the cold mass that lie on the floor. And so, joined Miraz who sat further in the main tent, avoiding the eyes of seemingly hundreds of telmarine soldiers who watched over her.