~ by Hannah Skipper

A bitter northwest wind ripped through the countryside, from the Ettin mountains all the way to the coast. It slashed through trees, tore off limbs, and uprooted underbrush along its route, tossing them as if a giant, angry child had lost its temper and decided to throw its toys across the room.

At the coast, the Eastern Sea churned with a violence no one alive could recall seeing before. Waves lashed at the cliffs that rimmed the harbor, then turned abruptly in the fickle wind, and drove with the force of a battering ram, back out to sea. The dark sky was nearly invisible, lost to a swirling mix of low clouds and the thick tracks of black smoke that belched from Cair Paravel’s chimneys. Lighting flickered at regular intervals and thunder seemed to constantly rumble.

Amidst all this, four young people, their cloaks cinched tightly under their chins, stood in front of a small crowd of various Talking Animals and Beasts, watching a tall ship attempt to enter the harbor over rocks exposed by the low tide. Nearly everyone was hunched over in an attempt to stave off the chilling wind and sea spray that leapt from the ocean.

Peter, now twenty-three, stole a fleeting glance at the smoke billowing from the castle chimneys, and longed that he and the others might be able to enjoy the hot food and fires within. Then he turned back to watch the ship, burrowing his hands deeper into his woolen cloak, and sighed. He wished things hadn’t needed to come to this.

Those “things” had started several weeks before. The tetrarch had begun to hear persistent rumors of a strange ape-man—so named because of his short squatty frame, long arms, and terrific strength—haunting the residences of the Lone Islands. Then came reports that this Ape was committing horrible crimes against the population. The tetrarch sent more than a few inquiries to their governor, Lord Highland, an old friend since the beginning of their reign, but they were only further distressed when he didn’t respond.

The first crime had been an attack against a young girl, the daughter of a shepherd on Felimath. The attack was brutal and only stopped when the Ape was confronted by the little girl’s brother. Lord Highland had graciously paid for the necessary surgery, but afterward, the little girl could only walk a few steps without assistance. The second crime was the theft of an old widow’s family heirlooms, her most prized possessions. Thankfully, the widow had been asleep at the time of the theft, and was not harmed. The heirlooms were recovered and returned to the widow several days later by a page sent from the governor’s residence.

The third was the slaughter of a horse belonging to one of the islands’ many merchants. Graciously, Lord Highland had immediately sent one of his own colts to the man as a replacement. The fourth was, thankfully, only a sighting—the Ape was seen prowling around the bushes of the governor’s residence, but alert citizens had contacted security officials and the Ape had run off, but no one doubted that he had been intent on harming the governor that night.

Finally, Peter, after several days of quietly arguing with Edmund, decided to recall the governor for an explanation.

Now, in the midst of this bitter storm, the High King looked over at his younger brother—his right-hand man—with a contented smile. Edmund, now eighteen, was standing as straight as was humanly possible, his ice-blue eyes trained, with what seem like deadly focus, on the tall ship as it was battered against the rocks, but Peter knew that Edmund’s gaze was all-encompassing. He would not miss a single eddy, whirlpool, or rip current.

Peter had, more than anything, wished to trust their old friend’s judgment in apprehending the Ape—after all, he was a man of outstanding reputation the world over, and nearly a grandfather to the young monarchs. If you can’t trust your grandfather, who can you trust? But, his younger brother had repeatedly argued that they, the kings and queens, would lose faith with their subjects and other countries if they didn’t require their appointed governor to answer their inquiries, if they didn’t do everything humanly possible to make certain the menace was caught. He argued that it was their reputations on the line if their man was not accountable.

Peter turned towards his other side, but immediately shielded his eyes as sea spray suddenly hit his face. As his vision cleared, he smiled at the sight of his two sisters. Lucy, at fifteen, was standing as close to the wharf as Susan’s grip would allow. Her golden head was tucked against her chest and her slim shoulders were hunched. She was forced to almost continually blink and wipe her face, as her proximity to the water had her taking a salty bath whenever the ocean pleased to send up a wave. Her cloak was soaked and sticking to her like a second skin, making Peter scowl a bit; he’d never been in favor of letting his siblings get sick, but he knew well enough that she wasn’t going inside. One hand was clenched under her cloak, and Peter’s sharp eyes noticed the tiny diamond bottle that had been her first Christmas gift in Narnia—of course, he thought, she’s anxious to help with any possible injuries this storm has given the governor’s company and crew.

Behind Lucy, Susan, now twenty-one, stood rigidly, shielding her little sister from the brunt of the wind—she couldn’t do much about the baths Lucy was taking, but she would do her best to protect her from the bitter wind. Peter noticed that her cloak’s hood had been ripped partially off her head, but she was too fixated on holding Lucy to take notice. Her raven hair was slowly coming out of its tie to blow raggedly about. He bit his lip and shook his head grimly. His sisters were a stubborn lot—it might be best if he turned back to watching the ship instead of fretting over things that he had little, if any, ability to control.

To his great relief, the ship had cleared the rocky entrance to the harbor and was progressing quickly towards the wharf. Sailors were already appearing over the edge, with ropes in hand to tie their vessel off. Lucy would be held no longer. She darted forward at a run and would have ended up in the black, churning sea if a stout grip had not wrapped itself around her small shoulder, just in time.

“Watch it, Lu,” Edmund growled, then he pulled her close to whisper in her ear. “After all, you’re not properly dressed for a swim.” The next moment he wondered how Lucy’s smile could be so brilliant on such a night as this.

“You alright, Lu?” Peter had an amused smile on his face as he and Susan peered over Edmund’s shoulder at her. He could see perfectly well that she was just fine.

Susan opted to not say anything, but let Peter talk for them both. Lucy gave the older two another blast of sunshine, and Susan was pacified. In the next minute, sailors were tossing ropes down, and the boys, alongside several Beasts, got to work tying the ship off.

“Is there anyone badly hurt on board?” Lucy shouted to be heard over the roaring wind and bustling wharf.

“Nay, your majesty,” a young sailor said as he saluted her. “Aslan had mercy on us in this foul weather.”

She smiled up at him and nodded her thanks before carefully scurrying to help Susan pull some of luggage out of the way of company descending the gangway. Not long after, Lord Highland was stepping down onto the pier with a rueful smile on his face.

“I’m sorry to make you all wait up in this nasty bit of weather we’re having,” he said, as he reached out his big hands to hug each of them.

The next few minutes were taken up with warm greetings and welcomes, but finally all that was set aside in favor of getting everyone indoors.

“Come, my lord,” Susan said, as she stooped to hoist a fairly small wooden crate, intricately carved with flowers and dancing fauns. “There’s hot food and warm beds awaiting us. All that needs doing is to get your luggage inside.”

“No, Susan.” Lord Highland gently took the trunk from her. “Not this one, my dear. Let me take this one.”

Susan was baffled—the trunk was far from being too large. “I don’t understand, my lord—I’d like help,” she countered in a quiet but firm voice. “There are far bigger ones that you can manage better then I.”

“Please, Susan, leave that one alone.”

Susan opened her mouth again—in her five years of being queen, no one had had ever rebuffed her offer to help more than once—but Lucy’s voice stopped her.

“Why, hello!” The younger queen had set aside the bit of luggage she’d been carrying, to hold out a hand in friendship to a young boy who was peering out from behind some of the governor’s staff.

He shrank back, shy in front of the pretty girl with such an eager smile. Peter and Edmund also stopped shoving large trunks and turned to see what their youngest sister was up to.

“Who’s this, my lord?” Lucy asked.

“Inside, Lucy, inside—out of this foul storm, and then I’ll tell you a bit about Gawain. That’s the lad’s name. He’s my new page—just took him on just a few weeks ago.” Lord Highland pulled Gawain out from the midst of staffers and trunks.

For an instant, a look of revulsion crossed the boy’s face as the governor’s big hand closed around his shoulder, but it was quickly replaced by astonishment when he was set down in front of the smiling tetrarch.

“It’s never good policy to shrink away from your kings and queens, my boy,” Lord Highland admonished. “You know better—greet them properly.”

Gawain did so, and was rewarded by the tetrarch’s immediate liking.

Some hours later, Susan and Lucy slowly trekked up the hidden staircase that led from the throne room to just outside the wing that held their four bedrooms. Everyone else, save for a few of the staff, had already retired.

“I imagine that I look a fright,” Lucy muttered tiredly, as she staring glumly down at her dress.

“No worse than I,” Susan replied, eyeing her sister. “Although, I daresay, your Myrrh will have a fit.”

Lucy shook her head. Her Dryad lady-in-waiting was always on an even keel. “Myrrh is used to my activities. It’s your Nary, who will blow her top, dear sister,” she said, speaking of Susan’s often turbulent Naiad lady-in-waiting.

“Someone had to keep you from swimming out to meet the ship,” Susan teased, then grew more serious. “I’m more than capable of handling Nary.”

They were quiet for a few steps, but then Lucy’s lips were tugged upward at another memory. “Poor Gawain—I thought he was going to melt into the floor when Edmund asked if he’d like to go horseback riding once all our duties have been seen to.” She shook her head. “I can’t imagine being so painfully shy.”

Susan didn’t hold back a chuckle, but she managed a diplomatic answer. “Perhaps he’s never ridden before.”

They reached the top of the staircase, and Susan pressed against a particular brick to slide the false wall back and reveal the hallway to the royal chambers and a rather startled faun, who had nodded off while standing guard.

“Y-your majesties,” he stumbled for words as he threw up an impromptu salute.

The queens gave him a smile as they stepped into the fully lit hallway. Lucy reached up to pull the ribbon from her hair, and shook her head to free her golden curls from their sodden coiffure. Droplets, looking like sparks of fire as they caught the light of the chandelier, rained in all directions.

Susan held up a hand as if to defend herself from the bath, but really only to conceal her smile. “Really Lu,” she teased, “aren’t I wet enough?”

Lucy ignored the comment since they had reached her door, but as she sleepily turned the knob, she felt Susan’s hand on her shoulder and turned back inquiringly.

Susan smiled and kissed her cheek. “My dear sister, I am not about to let you go to bed without saying goodnight to me.”

Lucy willingly put her arms around her sister and returned her kiss on the cheek. “I’m sorry, Su. I’m so tired; I must have forgotten myself for an instant.”

“Ah, but we have an early rise tomorrow, remember.”

“Yes, I know—goodness knows, we should all be used to late nights and early rises by now; we’ve been here five years—and I am glad that Lord Highland is here, so we can get this dreadful Ape business settled…or on the way to being settled.”

With that, Lucy gave her sister a final squeeze on the shoulder and slipped into her bedroom. Myrrh was waiting, and Lucy was too exhausted to say anything as her lady-in-waiting’s arms rustled in distress, just like a tree’s branches might, at the sight of her. The queen sank into a chair as the dryad began to gently comb the knotted mass of gold. In no time, Lucy was asleep.

Meanwhile, on the first floor of the castle, Lord Highland had prepared for bed. He was weary from the trip, but his restless mind kept him from sleep, so he anxiously paced the floor. He couldn’t stop thinking about him. He had a nearly overwhelming desire…but, no, he must control it.  With each step, he grew more frustrated…why did he want need to come here, of all places? He couldn’t let his dear friends find out. What would they think of him? No, he must always have control of him.

A small knock sounded from the outside and Lord Highland ripped the door open.

“It’s about time, boy,” he growled as Gawain entered with a service tray laden with tea and crackers. “If you’re ever going to make a proper knight one day, you’ll have to learn to follow instructions in a timely manner.”

He looked the tray over and scowled. “And follow instructions to the letter—I didn’t ask for crackers.”

Gawain cowered. Fear had finally taken over disgust as the dominant expression on his face. “I-I-I’m s-sorry, sir—the Beaver in the kitchen said I had to bring them. She said that you couldn’t have tea without something to eat as long as you were in this house.”

Lord Highland sat down heavily on the edge of his bed and wiped his large hands across his face, as if in defeat. “Well, alright then.”

He looked the tray over for a minute, then dug into the food and drink with greedy desire and waved a hand to dismiss the young boy—then thought better of it.

“Wait a minute, boy.”

Gawain turned—he really wished he were somewhere else.

“I hope you know how to control your tongue when Edmund has you out on the horse—I don’t think you can control yourself as well as I can.”

A sudden flash of anger made Gawain brave. “Control, eh? You’re one to talk about control! Well, you sure showed a lot of control when you hurt my sister! I saw you.” Hot tears began to streak down his face.

In a flash, Lord Highland knelt beside the boy, his big hand over Gawain’s mouth. “Hush boy—control yourself,” he hissed. “Don’t wake everyone with a fit. A knight must always have control of himself.” He slowly relaxed his grip, but did not release it. “As for your sister…that wasn’t me—that was him. Remember? And I took care of what he did—remember?

Gawain nodded; in the big man’s grip, he was suddenly afraid again.

“Good lad.” Lord Highland smacked him on the back. “That’s a good lad—now go on and get some sleep, my boy.”

After Gawain left, Lord Highland remained on his knees and wiped his hand over his face with a groan. Food and drink had not calmed the restlessness inside him—he was stirring. It had been easy enough to ignore him while there was a storm at sea, but now, with only a warm bed and his own thoughts to look forward to, Lord Highland sensed him calling.

“I’m a strong man,” the Governor whispered to himself. “You can’t beat me. I’m in control.”

He rose and moved quickly to the back of the room, where his luggage had been stored. He searched like a man possessed, for a few minutes, until he came upon it—a fairly small wooden crate, intricately carved with flowers and dancing fauns. He held his breath as he slowly unlatched it and moved aside several wooly blankets to reveal a small unadorned wooden box. Inside were glass bottles—some held a red liquid, others held a green liquid. He opened one with green and swallowed the contents in one gulp.

“Ah, that’s better,” he said, sinking to his knees with a relieved sigh. No, his dear friends would not be meeting him tonight—or any night. No, he had control.