Author: Sam

Story: The Butterfly Effect: 2 of 7

Series: One Little Change

Characters Intro'd: Tril

“Well.” Killian’s voice was softer than expected. Even more surprising, the large man reached over and started loosening Caspian’s ropes. With a nod for the lighter bindings, the dark-haired man finally met the blond youth’s eyes. “Make no mistake, lad. You’re not being set free, though it will be my hide if Lord Bern hears of this day’s work.”

He sighed and ran a hand through his almost too-short hair. “I did not buy you for cruelty, lad, but I cannot well afford to purchase and free each unfortunate I see, so your wage will be earned.” He shook his massive head, beady eyes taking in the full appearance of the youth standing before him.

“I cannot abide a child tortured, though…” His voice trailed lower as if in thought then suddenly strengthened as he went on, “and you’ve marks to show for Pug’s handling. They’ll be treated soon as we’re home, afore you’re put to working. No, I won’t tolerate cruelty and tying by the neck is harsh punishment indeed. But it was not for your sake alone that you were purchased, Lad.” Here, Killian suddenly checked himself as if he felt he’d said too much, and he cleared his throat with a deep, “harrumph”.

He reached over with a big, meaty hand and gently shoved Caspian’s shoulder so the youth was compelled to turn towards the alley’s second exit. Another light push started the teenager walking and he noted that Killian carefully, silently lifted Reepicheep to his massive shoulder and followed behind, guiding their path not with vocal directions but with gentle touches to either of the King’s shoulders.

“It is the oddest sensation,” thought Caspian, “to be treated as a favoured child might be, but to know one is a slave. It remains to be seen if this Killian fellow will be punished for daring treat his King as a slave.”

The silent threesome shortly passed from the activity and noise of the bustling town. For half an hour, they walked down a country lane, occasionally dotted with herds or the rare dwelling. All the while, Caspian kept his eyes toward the horizon, looking to catch a glimpse of the Dawn Treader, but the geography of the island prevented such a view, and the King had to content himself with plans to play on the kindness this man had thus far shown. The young man was sure that if he could get an audience with Lord Bern, he could quickly establish his identity and rescue his royal friends. There was small comfort that in time Drinian would become alarmed at his absence and a hue and cry would be raised.

Rounding a bend, the King was immediately drawn from his private thoughts by the sight of what Killian referred to as “home”.

Before him spread a rolling pasture surrounded by a well-tended wooden fence. High on the hill stood a house white-washed and in good repair. It wasn’t a large place, but it was beautiful in a small, homey sort of way. It even faintly reminded Caspian of the house of Badger, Trumpkin, and Nikibrik where he’d first met the oppressed Talking Beasts of Narnia.

“Let’s get you tended, lad.”

Killian’s deep voice, so sudden after such a long silence, startled the seventeen-year-old and caused him to twist his head, scraping the welts on his neck against his collar. His wince of pain didn’t go unnoticed for the large man frowned and stopped walking.

Frown deepening, Killian carefully inserted one large finger in the youth’s collar and looked at the injuries. With a shake of his head, he gestured towards the house. “There’s bandaging and medicines there. You’ll be tended well.” Then he gently pushed Caspian’s shoulder, indicating the youth should walk up the hill.

He did so without complaint.

Upon reaching their destination, Killian gestured towards the side of the two story dwelling. They walked round to a small side entrance and Killian put a hand in front of Caspian, effectively stopping him. Another small gesture and Caspian found himself sinking onto a crude wooden bench beside the house. The door opened and a tall, handsome young man strode out, stopping short at the sight of the three outside.

“Killian, I heard your return.” The young man, who was perhaps a year or two older than Caspian, didn’t take his eyes from the blond youth sitting before him.

“This lad has wounds which want tending. After he is cared for, put him to tending the garden until I find more suitable work for him.”

Green eyes widening, the young man looked up at the large Killian. “A slave? But, Killian...”

His words were cut off by a single look from the over-large man. Without another sound, Killian moved to the door of his home and slipped inside, Reepicheep still on his shoulder. Fortunately, the Mouse did not protest or give his liege away, keeping to his word as Mice were won’t to do.

Caspian lifted his eyes to the other teenager and ventured to ask, “Might I know your name, Good Sir?”

“It is Tril. This may not be in Killian’s normal line, but do not think you will be allowed escape, lad. A good master he will be if you do your work.” The dark-haired Tril moved to kneel next to the captive. “Besides, it wasn’t entirely for your sake you were bought, I’d lay odds.”

“He said much the same.” Caspian allowed the older boy to open his shirt and inspect his bruised neck. “What does it mean?”

Tril opened a small pouch on his belt and withdrew a vial of something viscous looking. “He purchased you to heal you and help you get your freedom, though you’ll need to pay back what he spent; he hasn’t the money to spare.” Carefully, the young man opened the vial and tipped a few drops on his fingers, then started applying the oily substance to Caspian’s neck. “But he might have not spent even that money if it weren’t for that Mouse.”

“Reepicheep?” Alarm suddenly sizzled through the young King. He could take any amount of abuse on his person if need be, but no one would be permitted to harm one of his subjects... and friends.

Tril looked up sharply, though his hand remained gentle and sure. “Reepicheep? A noble name for a noble creature.”

Puzzlement started to fill Caspian. “Noble? Why say you that, Tril?”

“Perhaps you can be forgiven for not knowing.” Tril stood, slipping the now closed vial back into his belt pouch. “The Lone Islands have long been separate from those who would rule them by right. The Mouse is a Talking Beast of Narnia, and by rights should be a free citizen, not an oddity to be owned or displayed.” Suddenly a harsh look came to the young man’s face, and before Caspian could reveal his own thoughts on the matter, the older teen bit out, “And as such, he will be freed immediately and given passage to wherever he chooses to traverse. Now, the gardens, Lad. You’ve work to do and precious little light left to do it in.”

Caspian rose at that and followed Tril around the house to a small garden patch under the back window. He knew that if he approached this right, he, too, would be freed. They could even gain powerful allies in trying to bring Pug to heel and free his friends. But it would take careful handling indeed. Just because they claimed to hate slavery and wish Talking Beasts and Narnians freedom, it did not mean they would view Miraz’s nephew in that same generous light. Even with his hated uncle three years dead and Narnia in Narnian hands once more, it seemed the people of the Lone Islands had not received word of the change of ruling styles; Killian and Tril, and possibly Lord Bern, might be the only people on these islands to support Narnian freedom... and that was not nearly enough for what Caspian had started to plan. As well, they might be lying as Pug had done originally, and then Caspian would be playing into a more dangerous situation; a King was worth far more in ransom than a slave at market.

He had to speak to Lord Bern; surely the man would recognize his claim to the throne of Narnia, would see his connection to his deceased father, King Caspian the Ninth.