Chapter Text
A Laputan sword clashed against a Calormene scimitar with a sharp ring of steel, sparks bursting between the two blades. Two opponents stared one another down from behind their armor in the scorching desert near the borders of Archenland. Heat shimmered across the endless sea of sand, blurring the horizon as Archlanders and Narnians battled the Calormene Army all around them. The thunder of hooves, the cries of warriors, and the crash of steel echoed through the dry air, yet the owners of the two blades ignored everything beyond their duel.
The Calormene warrior stood tall, broad-shouldered, and dark-skinned beneath his armor. Though a curtain of chainmail concealed most of his face, his piercing dark eyes remained fixed upon his opponent through the narrow opening of his bronze turban helmet. His armor differed greatly from that of the northern kingdoms. A heavy orange velvet robe billowed around his legs over gilded armor consisting of a polished cuirass, ornate pauldrons, engraved bazubands, greaves, and elbow and knee guards that gleamed beneath the relentless sun.
His opponent was no ordinary Narnian.
She was a woman, standing six feet tall with an imposing yet graceful presence. Light chainmail allowed her to move with remarkable speed, while a crimson skirt reached her knees over fitted leggings. Lion-etched spaulders rested upon her shoulders above an armored cincher, bracers, and greaves that bore the dust of countless campaigns. Her dark hair was tightly braided beneath a well-worn barbute helmet, and despite the exhausting heat, her emerald eyes remained calm and unwavering.
The two blades continued to clash as neither combatant showed any intention of yielding. Steel rang again and again while the woman moved with practiced precision, circling the Calormene in the loose sand, forcing him to continually adjust his footing in hopes of wearing him down. Her sword darted forward before retreating just as quickly, testing his defenses rather than committing to a reckless strike.
The Calormene answered with brute strength.
With a powerful roar, he lifted his scimitar high overhead and brought it crashing downward. Eirlys sprang backward, the curved blade slamming into the sand where she had stood only moments before, sending dust into the air. Before she could counterattack, he surged after her without hesitation, launching one heavy slash after another. Each strike whistled through the hot desert air with enough force to cleave armor, while she twisted aside, ducked beneath sweeping arcs, and narrowly avoided every blow. Her boots carved deep tracks through the sand as she searched for an opening.
Then her heel struck something solid.
She stumbled over the body of a fallen soldier hidden beneath the drifting sand.
The brief loss of balance was all the Calormene needed.
A triumphant smirk spread beneath his chainmail as he raised his scimitar for a decisive strike. The blade came crashing down. Eirlys barely managed to thrust her Laputan sword upward in time, catching the attack before it reached her. Metal screamed as the swords locked together above her. The sheer weight behind his strike forced her onto her back, the sand shifting beneath her as she struggled to keep the blade from descending toward her chest.
Her arms trembled beneath the pressure.
She gritted her teeth and tried to force him back, but the warrior leaned his full weight against the scimitar, pinning her firmly to the ground.
Unable to free herself, Eirlys thrust her left hand toward him.
A burst of brilliant magic exploded from her palm.
The blast struck the Calormene square in the chest, throwing him backward through the air before he crashed hard into the sand several yards away. Dust billowed around him as he rolled to a stop.
Eirlys drew a deep breath before climbing to her feet, brushing the sand from her skirt and steadying herself. The sounds of battle rushed back into her ears as another figure hurried toward her through the chaos.
A man clad in gleaming golden armor rushed over to the magical queen.
"Are you alright, Eirlys?" the man asked.
"I'm fine, Caspian," Eirlys answered. "Lookout!"
Without hesitation, she grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him sharply to one side as a Calormene blade swept through the space where he had been standing. Eirlys turned with the movement, catching the strike on her own sword before shoving the attacker backward.
Another Calormene charged.
Caspian stepped beside her, Rhindon flashing from its scabbard. They instinctively moved back-to-back as two enemy soldiers closed in from opposite directions. Their swords rose and fell in practiced rhythm, each covering the other's blind side. Eirlys parried one opponent before driving him back with a swift kick, while Caspian locked blades with another, forcing him away with a powerful shove.
Around them, the battle continued to rage.
Glenstorm and his three sons—Ironhoof, Suncloud, and Rainstone—thundered through the Calormene ranks, their massive hooves crushing shields beneath them. Arrows darkened the sky before raining into the enemy formations, while flying Narnians swooped overhead, dropping stones and other projectiles upon the advancing soldiers. Dust clouds rolled across the battlefield as steel clashed, horses screamed, and victory slowly began to turn in Narnia's favor.
"And I thought the giants would be difficult," Caspian muttered.
"This is what happens when you stop their slave trading," Eirlys countered, blasting a regiment coming their way. "Especially in Galma, Terebinthia, and the Seven Isles. What did you expect them to do? Simply stand down?"
"If I didn't know any better, you have some history with the Calormene?" Caspian taunted.
"The Dark Ages, anarchist, and men trying to force themselves in marriage, would that give me a reason." She muttered bitterly.
Caspian laughed. "Fair point."
Together they pressed forward until Caspian finally held Rhindon at the throat of Tisroc Hizdahr. The sounds of fighting gradually faded as Calormene swords and spears fell into the sand one after another. Around them, exhausted Narnians and Archenlanders lowered their weapons, breathing heavily beneath the blazing desert sun while the defeated army surrendered. Soldiers moved through the battlefield collecting the abandoned weapons as silence slowly settled over the once-chaotic plains.
"I need a holiday," Eirlys panted, removing her helmet.
"How about a voyage," Caspian offered.
Eirlys gave him a look before casting a spell, causing Caspian to trip.
.o0o.
Edmund's POV
Edmund opened his eyes from his dream. He stared at the ceiling of the bedroom before the awful sound of his cousin's snoring filled his ears. The once king sighed as he tried to grasp the memory of the dream before the realization vanished, holding on to the image of Eirlys's face for as long as he could.
He got these dreams now and then of Eirlys. They usually came as flashes, either relaxing on a beach, in a field, or at some grand event. Then there were the dreams of battles—a battle with the giants or against the Calormenes.
Eustace's snoring became louder as the vivid memory began to slip away. Moments like these, he wished he could suffocate his cousin. These dreams were what kept his aching heart connected to Narnia, and reality destroyed that connection every morning. He tucked his hand beneath the collar of his nightshirt and pulled out the string with a ring hanging from it. He remembered this ring from the Golden Age, when Eirlys had worn it. Before he left Narnia, she had slipped it into his hand as they hugged goodbye. The ring was silver with a sapphire in the center, the gemstone cool against his fingertips.
At first, he could fit the ring on his ring finger. But after going through another growth spurt, it no longer fit anywhere except his pinky, and people had started noticing it. If Edmund were to sell the ring, it would probably cost a few thousand pounds. But this was one gem he was never willing to sell. He raised the sapphire to his lips, part of his morning ritual, before sitting up from his cot and glancing over at his cousin in bed.
Eustace grumbled, pulling the blanket around himself until he resembled a cocoon. Edmund shook his head in disapproval. The thirteen-year-old was a pain in the arse. A spoiled brat, as the Americans called it—or, in this case, a prat. The Silver King would have called his cousin Useless Eustace soon after arriving at Cambridge, considering Edmund and Lucy had been doing all the chores. Then again, his aunt and uncle were terrible people. It was clear they didn't like the Pevensies, despite Aunt Alberta being their mother's sister. Uncle Harold simply went along with it, and the two always believed Eustace's lies over the honest truth from Lucy and Edmund.
Like it had been mentioned before, Edmund and Lucy had been doing most of the chores. While Aunt Alberta was at work, Uncle Harold was usually in his corner of the living room, listening to the radio and reading the newspaper. Lucy did all the indoor work—cleaning and cooking—while Edmund handled the maintenance and yard work. It drove him crazy. He had once been a king. Yes, he had done his fair share of heavy lifting, but he had never been treated like a pariah.
No wonder his father despised them. As his father often stated, the Scrubbs were very progressive people. They were non-smokers, teetotalers, vegetarians, and pacifists. There was nothing wrong with that, but their snobbish behavior was unacceptable, especially when paired with their luxurious undergarments and minimalist furniture. The house almost seemed barren, lacking the warmth of a proper family home.
It was too much to bear.
He was angry at his parents for dropping him and Lucy off here while taking Susan and Peter to America. If the situation had been different, he would have been fine staying with Professor Kirke. Unfortunately, Professor Kirke had volunteered the mansion to the military so wounded soldiers could recover there, leaving him to live in a one-bedroom cottage. Hell, Edmund wouldn't have minded sleeping on a bedroll—or even in a barn—if it got him away from his relatives.
But now, he couldn't handle it anymore.
The war was getting serious. Edmund had skills in war, being the best strategist and tactician, even in counseling and judgment. He possessed skills that could help the British Army. However, there was one slight problem.
He was seventeen.
Only a few months remained before he became a legal adult. If his father had been here, he could have signed a waiver allowing Edmund to enlist. Sadly, Mr. Pevensie was on the other side of the Atlantic.
So, last night, Edmund had come up with a plan.
When Aunt Alberta came home exhausted from work, she had left her purse on the counter. Her identification papers had been inside, and he had taken them. His plan was simple: enlist in the military. If the enlistment officer questioned the name, he would simply say it was a grammatical error. Of course, if he actually got in, it would mean leaving Lucy behind.
Only Lucy could handle herself. She was strong—stronger than anyone else, if not more tolerant than Peter and Edmund combined. Edmund was certain Lucy could manage until their parents found her safe passage to America.
Another snore broke his train of thought.
Edmund groaned as he got up and dressed for the day.
"Might as well get some work done," he muttered before heading downstairs.
Aunt Alberta was already awake. She hardly looked at him as she handed him the list of chores for the day, her attention already drifting elsewhere. Edmund accepted the list with a simple nod, biting back a sly remark before it could leave his lips. His mouth had gotten him into trouble often enough, usually costing him privileges or even his supper. Then again, nearly all his friends were back in Finchley or already serving in the war, and he doubted any of them had to endure a household quite like this one.
Once Aunt Alberta had left, Edmund unfolded the list while getting breakfast started. Deciding to lighten Lucy's workload, he prepared the basics—eggs and toast—being careful not to waste any food because of the rationing. The smell of toasted bread gradually filled the small kitchen as Lucy came downstairs, offering him an appreciative smile before quietly helping him finish the meal. They had breakfast settled just in time for Eustace and Uncle Harold to wander in. As usual, Uncle Harold buried himself behind the morning newspaper, scarcely acknowledging anyone, while Eustace muttered complaints under his breath about the food placed before him.
I so badly want to hit him, Edmund grumbled mentally.
The morning passed with Edmund tending the yard and repairing the front gate, his hands growing rough from the tools as the cool autumn breeze rustled through the hedges. Uncle Harold remained in his usual corner of the sitting room, oblivious as a blind mole with the radio murmuring beside him, while Eustace stayed hidden away in his room. A little later, Lucy stepped outside carrying a wicker basket balanced against her hip, filled with freshly washed laundry that still smelled faintly of soap.
"You had any dreams again?" Lucy asked.
Edmund sighed as he pinned a pillowcase onto the washing line, the fabric fluttering gently in the breeze. "Yeah."
Lucy already knew about Edmund's dreams. It had happened the previous year when he had fallen asleep in the backyard, mumbling Eirlys's name over and over. Ever since then, she had believed the ring he carried was enchanted, allowing Edmund brief glimpses into Narnia while he slept.
"What was it about?" Lucy asked, handing him another pillowcase. "Is she basking under the sun surrounded by nymphs?"
"No, a battle," Edmund answered. "With the Calormenes again."
"Over what?" she asked.
"Slavery," he answered, bitterly. "I guessed they are taking back the islands the Calormenes thought they could steal."
Lucy quietly nodded as she clipped a bedsheet onto the line. She hated slavery, and the thought alone was enough to darken her expression.
By the afternoon, they had finished most of the chores. All that remained was collecting the groceries. To Edmund, it was also the perfect opportunity to escape the house, if only for a little while. Part of him felt guilty for what he intended to do, but he needed to get away from this place. Otherwise, he feared he might eventually lose his temper and accidentally punch Eustace in the face.
After changing clothes, Edmund searched out the outfit that made him appear a little older before taking his father's hat and scarf. He adjusted both in front of the hallway mirror, hoping they would help him pass for eighteen, then met Lucy downstairs.
It was autumn, and the afternoon air carried a pleasant chill that hinted winter was not far away. They wheeled out their bicycle, fitted with the attached pannier over the rear wheel for carrying supplies. Edmund climbed on first before helping Lucy onto the back, then pedaled steadily toward the town square where the market bustled with shoppers.
Once they arrived, Lucy hopped off with a cheerful smile.
"Aunt Alberta wanted me to get something from the repair shop. Think you can handle the groceries?" he asked.
Lucy pulled the shopping list from her pocket and nodded. "I believe so. I'll see you back at the city hall in thirty minutes."
Edmund nodded as he climbed off his bicycle. Lucy made her way toward the market, completely oblivious to what was about to happen. Edmund checked his watch. He had thirty minutes before Lucy came back. That would have to be enough. After securing his bicycle, he hurried into City Hall, where the enlistment was taking place. A queue had already formed, something he had been dreading. Even so, he kept his composure, joined the line, and waited. Three men stood ahead of him while more quietly joined the queue behind him. Keeping his head lowered, Edmund avoided looking directly at the officers. If he caught their attention for too long, they might notice he was underage.
Every so often, he glanced down at his watch, watching the minutes slip away far too quickly. Nearly every recruitment interview lasted around ten minutes, causing the line to crawl forward at a frustrating pace. Edmund listened carefully to each conversation ahead of him, trying to pick up the key points he would need to say when it was finally his turn. By the time he stepped up to the desk, the military officer was already looking at him questioningly.
"Are you sure you're eighteen?" the military officer asked.
"Why? Do I look older?" Edmund asked.
The officer studied him for another moment before gesturing for the papers. Edmund complied, handing over his aunt's documents. The officer opened the registration card and frowned, lifting his gaze to stare directly into Edmund's eyes.
"Alberta Scrubb?" he asked sarcastically.
"It's a typographical error," Edmund explained. "It's supposed to be Albert A. Scrubb."
"Edmund, you're supposed to be helping me with the groceries," Lucy called out, entering the building.
Edmund mentally cursed as Lucy unintentionally gave him away. Every man in the room turned toward her at the sound of his name, noticing the annoyed look on her face before breaking into laughter. The officer smirked, trying—and failing—not to laugh as he handed the boy back his documents, or rather, his aunt's documents. The man behind him, who looked to be about nineteen, rubbed the back of his head beneath his hat with an amused grin.
"Better luck next time, eh, squirt?" the nineteen-year-old joked.
Edmund glared at him while straightening his hat before walking over to Lucy. He slipped his aunt's documents safely back into his pocket as Lucy led the way outside to where the bicycle was waiting.
"Squirt?" Edmund growled, taking the box from Lucy's hands. "He barely had two years on me. I'm a king. I fought wars, and… and I've led armies."
They reached the bicycle as Edmund secured the box onto the pannier. Meanwhile, Lucy carefully placed the shopping bag into the front basket.
"Not in this world."
"Yeah. Instead, I'm stuck here doing battle with Eustace Clarence Scrubb. If anyone so deserved a name," Edmund grumbled. He looked up just in time to notice Lucy staring off into the distance while absentmindedly adjusting a loose strand of her hair. "What are you doing?"
That snapped Lucy from her train of thought.
"Nothing."
Edmund arched a brow before glancing over his shoulder, spotting a young soldier chatting and flirting with a girl not far away. He let out a quiet sigh to himself, realizing Lucy had reached that age where boys had begun occupying her thoughts... for the second time. Unfortunately, Susan and Mum were both an ocean away, leaving no one to help guide Lucy through the confusing world of modern romance. Edmund certainly doubted Aunt Alberta would be much help in that regard.
The thought alone made him cringe.
"Come on, then," Lucy insisted, grabbing the handlebars of the bicycle and leading the way back home.
.o0o.
When they got home, Edmund carried in the box while Lucy followed with the grocery bag tucked securely against her side. The moment they stepped inside, Edmund set the box down by the front door before shrugging off his coat. He removed his scarf and father's hat, hanging them neatly on the coat rack before quietly placing Aunt Alberta's registration papers on the small key table beside the entrance. If she asked where they had been, he could simply claim they had fallen out of her purse. It was a believable enough lie.
"I'm home," Lucy called out as she slipped off her coat. "Hello!"
Taking custody of both the box and the shopping bag, Lucy headed toward the kitchen, passing through the living room where Uncle Harold was carrying out his usual routine. He sat comfortably in his favorite chair with the newspaper spread open before him while the radio murmured softly in the background, barely acknowledging the world around him.
"Hello, Uncle Harold," Lucy greeted politely as she walked toward the kitchen. "I tried to find some carrots, but all they had were turnips again. Shall I start making soup? Aunt Alberta's on her way home."
A moment later, she returned to the doorway, looking expectantly at their uncle, who continued ignoring her as though she had never spoken.
"Uncle Harold."
The only acknowledgment she received was a small cough from behind the newspaper.
Edmund found it unbelievably disrespectful and stuck his tongue out behind the older man's back.
"Father!" Eustace shouted from the staircase. "Edmund's making faces at you."
Damn the consequences. That bloody snitch, Edmund thought, glaring up at Eustace.
Without warning, Eustace lifted a drinking straw and fired a spitball at him. It struck Edmund squarely on the side of the neck.
Any composure Edmund had been clinging to vanished.
"Why, you little…"
He charged up the stairs.
"Father, he's going to hit me," Eustace whined, shrinking back just as Edmund reached the top step, raising a clenched fist.
"Edmund, look," Lucy called, hurrying over with a smile as she held up an envelope. "It's from Susan."
Please let there be some good news, Susan, he thought as he slowly lowered his fist and stepped away from Eustace.
Lucy led the way toward her bedroom. She was fortunate to have a room of her own. Though small, it received plenty of warm afternoon sunlight through the window and contained little more than a neatly made bed, a dresser, and a painting hanging on the wall. Even so, it was clean, comfortable, and certainly preferable to sharing a room with Eustace and his collection of insects trapped in jars.
The two sat down on the bed as Lucy carefully unfolded the letter.
"I do wish you were here with us. It's been such an adventure, but nothing like our times in Narnia. America is very exciting; except we never see Father. He works so very hard. I was invited…to the British consul's tea party this week by a naval officer, who happens to be very handsome. I think he fancies me."
"Hmm," Edmund replied as he stood up and wandered over to the painting hanging on the wall. Something about it caught his attention. For a brief moment, he thought it was simply an ordinary oil painting of the ocean, but then he frowned. He didn't remember there being a ship in the distance before.
"It seems the Germans have made the crossing difficult right now. Times are hard. Mother hopes you both won't mind another few months in Cambridge."
Lucy read the last part aloud before gasping, "Another few months? How will we survive?"
Edmund walked back over and sat beside her, gently taking the letter from her hands.
"You're lucky,” he grumbled. “At least you've got your own room. I'm stuck with mullet mouth."
He reread the letter himself, hoping he had somehow misunderstood Susan's words.
Lucy rose from the bed and wandered toward the mirror.
"Susan and Peter are the lucky ones,” She sighed. “Off on adventures."
Edmund lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, "Yeah, they're the eldest, and we're the youngest. We don't matter as much."
"Do you think I look anything like Susan?" Lucy asked, studying her reflection in the worn-looking mirror.
Edmund sighed, uncertain how to answer. He would admit Susan was considered the prettier of the two. Yet Lucy had always possessed a quiet beauty of her own, and more importantly, a warmth and kindness that far outshone appearances. He opened his mouth to answer, setting the letter down on the bed, but his attention was suddenly drawn back to the painting.
The ship.
It looked closer than before.
His brow furrowed as he slowly stood and walked toward it, unable to take his eyes off the canvas.
"Lucy, have you seen this ship before?" he asked.
"Yes," she answered with a smile. "It's very Narnian-looking, isn't it?"
The two of them stood side by side in front of the painting, quietly reminiscing about the world they had once called home.
"Yeah," he agreed softly. "Well, just another reminder that we're here and not there."
He sighed. He could use a trip back to Narnia right now. Then again, after three years back in their world, it had probably been three thousand years in Narnia. Most of their friends were probably dead by now... except for one.
Eirlys.
Edmund had caught glimpses of her in his dreams, but he often debated whether those dreams were actually in sync with Narnia's timeline. Was Eirlys alright, her immortal soul allowing her to survive the passing centuries, or had some battle finally claimed her life? The thought lingered in the back of his mind, refusing to leave. Even worse was the possibility that she had simply moved on with her life, finding another man to love after believing he would never return.
"There once were two orphans, who wasted their time believing in Narnian nursery rhymes," Eustace sang as he entered the room.
Edmund snapped, immediately walking toward him with his fists clenched tightly at his sides.
"Please let me hit him."
"No!" Lucy scolded, quickly grabbing his hand before he could get any closer.
Eustace instinctively stepped backward, looking more than a little intimidated by his oldest cousin.
"Don't you ever knock?" Edmund snarled.
"It's my house," Eustace countered. "I'll do as I please. You're just guests." He wandered farther into the room, glancing around with obvious disinterest. "What's so fascinating about that picture anyway?" He plopped down on the bed, folding his arms across his chest. "It's hideous."
Edmund took a slow breath to steady himself before turning back toward the painting.
"You won't see it from the other side of the door."
Lucy giggled at the remark before tilting her head toward the picture, "Edmund, it looks like the water's actually moving."
"What rubbish," Eustace sneered. "See? That's what happens when you read all those fanciful novels and fairy tales of yours."
Edmund narrowed his eyes at the painting. Lucy was right. The sea no longer appeared frozen beneath the artist's brush. Gentle ripples rolled across the painted water, catching the light as though real sunlight danced upon its surface. Tiny whitecaps formed and disappeared, while the distant ship seemed to rise and fall with the swell instead of remaining fixed on the canvas.
Using his imagination, Edmund sang,
"There once was a boy called Eustace, who read books full of facts that were useless."
Lucy burst into another fit of giggles
"People who read fairy tales are always the sort who become a hideous burden to people like me, who read books of real information," Eustace lectured.
Edmund slowly turned to face him, completely bewildered.
"Hideous burden?!” Edmund snapped. “I haven't seen you lift a finger since we've been here."
Eustace immediately climbed off the bed and backed toward the door, ready to escape, but Edmund reached it first and slammed it shut.
"I have a right mind to tell your father it was you who stole Aunt Alberta's sweets," he threatened.
"Liar," Eustace countered.
"Oh, really?" Edmund challenged.
"Edmund, the painting," Lucy called.
Edmund hardly heard her.
"I found them under your bed, and you know what? I licked every one of them."
Eustace's face twisted in horror”
"Ooh! I'm infected with you!" Eustance cried out in disgust.
A loud splash suddenly echoed through the bedroom.
The argument died instantly.
All three turned toward the painting.
A cool breeze swept through the room, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of salt and fresh seawater. Tiny droplets splashed onto the wooden floorboards as water trickled over the bottom of the ornate frame. Within seconds, the trickle became a steady stream, spilling onto the floor with a rhythmic splash. The painted sea was no longer still. Waves rolled across the canvas with astonishing realism, white foam curling over deep sapphire water as though an entire ocean existed beyond the frame.
Lucy stared in amazement.
A smile spread across her face, brighter than any Edmund had seen since their father had returned home from the war. The excitement in her eyes was unmistakable.
Edmund felt his own heart pound against his ribs.
Magic.
Not a dream.
Not another fading memory.
Real Narnian magic was unfolding right before his eyes.
The waves inside the painting grew larger, surging against one another as though stirred by a strengthening wind. Sunlight shimmered across the rolling sea while the magnificent ship steadily drew closer, its dragon-headed prow cutting through the water with effortless grace. The purple sails billowed proudly overhead, snapping gently in the unseen breeze as every passing second made the vessel appear larger than before.
"What's going on here?" Eustace demanded.
"Lucy, do you think…" Edmund started, staring at his sister.
Lucy held a bright smile.
"It's some kind of trick," Eustace barked. "Stop it, or I'll tell mother. Mother! Mother!"
Neither of the Pevensies paid him the slightest attention. They were too overwhelmed with excitement to hear anything else. More seawater poured from the painting, spreading rapidly across the bedroom floor until it soaked their shoes and splashed around their ankles. The roar of crashing waves grew louder with every heartbeat, filling the tiny room until it sounded as though the sea itself had broken through the walls. They were finally going back.
Back to Narnia.
Back to Caspian.
Back to Reepicheep.
Back to Trumpkin.
Back to Trufflehunter.
Back to Glenstorm and his sons.
Back to Professor Cornelius.
And most of all…back to Eirlys.
Edmund could hardly contain the joy rising inside him. This time, he silently promised himself, he would find a way to stay in Narnia forever.
"I'll just smash the rotten thing," Eustace promised, rushing forward and grabbing the painting off the wall.
Lucy and Edmund both shouted as they lunged after him, desperately trying to pry the frame from the thirteen-year-old's hands without damaging it. The instant the painting left the wall, the sea exploded from the canvas.
Water burst outward like a geyser.
The freezing torrent slammed into all three of them, knocking them backward as curtains whipped violently around the room. The thunderous roar of the ocean drowned out every other sound. Furniture scraped across the floorboards before lifting from the ground altogether. Lucy's books, keepsakes, and clothing floated past as drawers burst open, their contents spilling into the rapidly rising water. The current became stronger with every passing second, tossing them about as they struggled to stay on their feet.
"Put it down," Lucy begged.
"Let go!" Edmund ordered.
Eustace finally lost his grip, dropping the painting onto the floor.
Within moments the bedroom flooded to their knees.
Then to their waists.
Then higher still.
The current transformed into a violent riptide, sweeping all three of them off their feet before they could grab hold of anything. Edmund crashed beneath the icy water as chairs, blankets, books, and Lucy's treasured possessions drifted around him like wreckage after a storm. He fought to find his footing, but there was no floor beneath him anymore. Every stroke against the current was met with another powerful surge dragging him deeper into the impossible sea.
Holding his breath, Edmund opened his eyes beneath the water.
The bedroom had disappeared.
There was no ceiling.
No walls.
No windows.
No door.
Only endless blue water stretching in every direction while the furniture slowly sank into the depths below. His lungs burned as he pointed upward, urging Lucy and Eustace toward the distant surface. They had no choice but to swim.
All three kicked desperately against the current. Their soaked clothes dragged at their bodies while the swirling water pulled them back with relentless force. Every stroke became harder than the last, but none of them stopped.
At last, Edmund's head burst through the surface.
He gasped, filling his lungs with fresh, salty air.
Above him stretched an endless blue sky scattered with soft white clouds drifting lazily overhead. The warm sunlight reflected across gentle swells that lifted and lowered them as though they had always belonged there. Edmund ignored Eustace's frantic shouting as he slowly turned in the water, scarcely believing they were no longer in Cambridge.
Then the sunlight vanished.
A vast shadow passed over them.
All three looked up together and gasped.
Towering above them sailed the magnificent ship from the painting, its dragon-headed prow gliding effortlessly through the waves while its enormous purple sails billowed proudly against the sea breeze, casting their shadows over the three astonished adolescents floating in the Eastern Ocean.