Work Text:
Jadis was dead, and I could not be sorry, although she was my mother. I could not be sorry, though I had, perhaps, in my way, loved her, as she had, perhaps, loved me; for she had had her time, and she had forgotten the Deep Magic in her passion, in her obsession with Aslan.
But I had not forgotten all that she had taught me, and I had learned much more in all the time that I had been given by the apple of immortality—for that was my mother’s first lesson.
I knew that neither she, nor I, nor my father (a giant of Harfang), could ever rule Narnia. No—not truly. She had taught it to me herself, and yet she had forgotten: that only a son of Adam or a daughter of Eve can be the true king or queen of Narnia. Her birthplace was Charn, not Earth, and mine is Narnia. And that is only the beginning of the unfairness of Aslan’s laws.
So when she died, I took my leave of my father, and I sought another way. I sought the larger, fiercer giants to the south, but they could not follow even one simple instruction. I went further, to Narnia itself, to Archenland, to Calormen; but I could see that even the men and women there could never give me what I needed. Dwarves and wolves had not been enough for Jadis; the weakness of humanity would not be enough for me. And so I sought other lands, other worlds.
It was not a place that Jadis had known, for she only loved the cold, and who that loved the cold would seek the deadliest of heat? But growing up in the embrace of the White Witch’s winter, I had always been interested in the heat. And so I sought old stories, old texts, anything about the great fire that I had been told lay beneath the earth. And I found it.
I took on my serpent form, for that was the best way to travel—quick and quiet, and no one can see you passing.
I found a way into the earth, under a once-great city, and I went down. I went through the mines, and past the Great Sleepers, and through the caverns, until I reached the Sunless Sea. And there I found them.
Even in the darkness, in the depths of the earth, in the cold, I could feel them. I knew they were there, below me, and I knew they could never be prepared for what I was and what I would do. So I used a magic word that Jadis had taught me and I opened the earth.
I knew I could not go to where they were, for being immortal—the way I am immortal—does not mean that you cannot die. The heat would be too great for my weak frame. And that is why the men of Bism would be most ideal for my purposes: because there were no bodies stronger than those that withstood the greatest possible heat beneath the earth.
I opened the earth, and then I called one of them up. It was an ugly, squat little thing, with a flabby face and a flappy nose, and I almost turned away from touching it. But only with these men of Bism could I achieve my desire and due, so I took hold of its fat ears and held its face so that it could not turn away, and I looked into its eyes to find its mind—to find my way into its mind, where I could take hold and take control.
Its shouting and attempts to wrest itself from my grasp almost immediately stopped as I took hold of its greater motor functions. That was only the first step. I must delve deep, deep, as deep as these men had delved into the earth—deep into its mind, to where my control would be absolute, to where I did not need to state every little action, but could simply give an order and it would be done.
Its struggles vanished entirely as I found the spot, and with a breath of my magic, took hold. Then I released it. It swayed in place, but did not move, staring at me with dull, black eyes. Ah, these men of Bism—I had learned to take hold of the minds of giants and of animals, of men and of trees, but none were so suitable for enslavement as the men of Bism. Men and trees freed themselves too easily; giants and animals were too stupid to understand my command. But in Bism, where they conversed with the salamanders, the men were intelligent; in Bism, so far below the earth, the men were innocent.
“Go and tell your fellows I am here,” I told the one whose mind I had enslaved. “Tell them how beautiful it is to behold the face of Melis. And return, bringing others with you.”
He nodded once, and then he went below to his fellows, in the deep bright flame where I dared not follow. When he returned, three of his fellows trailed after him, curious and laughing. I took hold of them, one by one, and in a trice I had enslaved their minds, now that I had the trick of it. So I bade them bring up more of their fellows, and more, until there were hundreds of men of Bism before me, still and silent, wanting nothing more than my word.
To be sure, I could not take all of them. The salamanders warned them, and the ones behind eventually saw what had befallen the first to leave. But I did not need all of them. I spoke another word, and the hole in the earth sealed again, so that none below could come up, and those above could not return.
I kindled a witch-light so that I could see them. They stared at me with their cold, tangled minds. “Build me a castle,” I commanded them. “And a ship to cross the Sunless Sea.”
They did not wait for further explanation. Half of them turned to the highest hill by the sea to begin building my castle. And the other half turned to the sea to begin building my ship.
I watched them as they began their work. And then, satisfied for the nonce, I resumed my serpent’s guise and swam back across the sea, to return to the surface.
For the men of Bism would not be enough for me. To rule Narnia, truly rule it, I needed a son of Adam—a man who would do my bidding. A man of the ruling lineage, who would never be taken from the throne, whose power could not be disputed.
I did not know, yet, where to find one. But I had time to make my plan. I could be killed, but without that, I could not die. I would have none of Jadis’s impatience.
I was Melis, daughter of Jadis, and I would rule Narnia.