The Deeper Magic

Edmund's Meeting And What Happened At The Dinner Table

Edmund found himself pushed to the snowy ground with a jolt, a cackling and hissing dwarf on top of him. A crudely twisted whip was swinging in front of his nose, a battered but sharp stone knife was at his neck, and a hot, wet breath was on his face.

The dwarf was snarling, and his face was twisted and crinkled and his yellow teeth were bared as he made his attempt to appear menacing. His faded red cap hung front his head, the dirty tail swishing around his face. 

The rough fabric of Ginnarbrik's tunic brushed against his neck. As he looked at the dwarf's outfit and his long, unkept hair, which had long ago faded into a greasy gray, Edmund couldn't help but wonder whether the witch's dwarfs preferred sand paper or nails for their clothing. Did they make an effort to appear so uncivilized, or did they simply not have enough time to groom after bowing at Jadis's feet?

He wrinkled his nose and squirmed uncomfortably, trying anything and everything to pull away from his little friend Ginnarbrik, who so rudely, even after thirteen hundred years, was still attempting to slice a knife through his throat. The dwarf just kept growling and Edmund noticed, that despite his unfavorable circumstance, that also even after thirteen hundred years, the dwarf still stunk just as unfathomably bad. 

Edmund forced himself to conceal his amusement at the dwarf, who was all too out of his wits. Though Ginnarbrik did indeed currently have the upper hand, he could disarm him in a heartbeat. 

"What is it now, Ginnarbrik?" A voice echoed, distasteful and impatient. 

"I believe your little minion over here has gone mad," Edmund called, and he ever so slightly smirked to the dwarf, who in turn pressed the knife harder against his throat. 

Dark anger flashed in Ginnarbrik's eyes, the kind that one's gaze would contain only after being deeply betrayed or offended or beat, and one could be sure that they would rarely find such a blood thirsty gaze in all of Narnia, if it weren't for the white witch herself and a few other rare keepers. 

Edmund could tell that he had had far too much of his share being undermined. 

Ginnarbrik snarled, raising his arm with a jerk. "How dare you address the Queen of Narnia!" 

Well bother. He'd really done it this time.

 He wondered faintly for a moment if he had always been this way, or if not, how quickly it had taken Jadis to corrupt him. 

Just as the dwarf was about to strike, Jadis's cold, hard voice sounded through the air. It was cool and collected, piercing through the forest with such an authority that even the planets might stop and consider pausing their orbits if they believed they could please her. 

Of course, nothing could satisfy a murderous witch out of Charn, and so they saved the trouble and the world kept on spinning.

"Wait!"

Jadis's towering silhouette, just a few feet from Edmund now, was so surreal that he had to blink for a moment or two or three to completely comprehend her presence. It was as if he were back in this wood for the very first time, and as if he had just seen her form frozen in the ice at Aslan's How yesterday and her marching her troops across the battle field a day before that. She had this strange quality that was as if you were always meeting her for the very first time, and yet you had always and forever known her.

Edmund narrowed his eyes. 

He absolutely despised witches.

"What is your name, Son of Adam?" She lifted her chin, face void of any emotion except perhaps disdain, and clutched her silvery wand in her lengthy, pale fingers. Her dress was long and thick, the palest blue material one could ever find, woven and and stretched and layered and textured in such a way that it was both stiff and gliding at the same time. A fur coat of the purest white clung from her shoulders, all the way down to her feet, and her hair was woven to the side. Icicles were planted on her head in the form of a crude crown and her skin was colorless, seeming to gleam in the light of the snow.