Navigating by Stars for therck
Title: Navigating by Stars
Author: redsnake05
Recipient: therck
Rating: G
Possible Spoilers/Warnings:
Summary: Jill tries to find her purpose as she, Eustace and Puddleglum search for Rilian. She learns to find her way by new stars, and also finds an answer to something that's been troubling her for a long time. As Puddleglum says, we are all of us between the paws of the Lion.
Navigating by Stars
>>>>
The first day would be the hardest, Eustace told her, as they shouldered their burdens outside Puddleglum's wigwam. She was cold and her fingers were shaking as she buckled her bag. The marshes were misty and damp, and didn't look at all inviting for adventure. In the dim, filtered light of the morning, the quest seemed foolhardy: two human children and one Marsh-wiggle weren't enough to take on this challenge.
She glanced at Eustace resentfully. He didn't seem to be having any problems or qualms; in fact, he looked eager to be gone. The first day didn't look like it was going to be hard for him.
"Don't worry, Jill," said Puddleglum. "Likely we all find today too hard. Leaving aside the possibility of rain, and perhaps a flash flood, chances are one of us will sprain an ankle, or perhaps meet a dragon."
Jill ignored him and tried to get the other buckle done up, barely listening to Scrubb telling Puddleglum not to to be so gloomy. Jill could understand his pessimism. She wanted to give up on her bag, go back inside and curl up under the blankets. It was okay for Scrubb: he'd been here before, he was a hero, or something like it. She'd heard the owls talking a little about his journey with the King all those years before. She was an extra, a spare who'd been sucked into this world by accident and had no real business being here. She was never important. Now she was here, Puddleglum was probably right and she would sprain her ankle or something else to ruin the whole expedition.
"Pole," said Eustace, in the sharp kind of a voice people get when this is the third time they've said your name, "Puddleglum remembered he has some rope inside. Can it fit in your bag?"
Jill turned and walked back into the wigwam, taking two or three deep breaths, and trying to remember where she had seen a coil of rope. She finally found it under a stack of baskets and went back outside. She looked at Eustace and Puddleglum, laden down with swords and a bow each, and then herself, carrying rope.
"Ah, you found it," said Puddleglum. "Likely as not, it will be too short, if we need it, and almost certainly frayed. Stow it in your bag anyway, though I doubt not you'll find it mortal heavy after walking all day." He waited till Jill had done so, and then said, "Now, tell us again the signs, young Human. I think it would be good for us to start off with Aslan's signs in our ears. It will steady us and keep us serious, which I can see we all need, being full of frisk as we are."
Jill sighed and closed her eyes, recalling the face of the Lion and the signs he'd told her. She echoed the voice in her mind, one sign after another, feeling stronger and more confident with each word. When she was finished, and opened her eyes, she was almost expecting to see Aslan in front of her. However, she was still confronted by Eustace and Puddleglum, and the damp marshes stretching away to some trees in the distance. Still, she felt different.
Aslan had given her the signs. Whether he had wanted to give them to Eustace didn't matter right now; he'd given them to her, and she felt perversely happier knowing she had that responsibility. She shoved the rope into her bag and fastened the last buckle with fingers that still shook a little, but she was ready to set off now.
"Ready to go, are you, Jill?" called Puddleglum. "That's right, put a brave face on it. I don't doubt that's the last time any of us will see my little wigwam." Jill smiled at Eustace as Puddleglum continued talking about the many failings of his house, and they turned to the North and started walking, mud squishing under their feet.
>>>>
It had been raining all day, the first wet day they'd encountered, and Jill hated the squelch in her shoes and the dampening, muddling sound of the rain all around. It wasn't heavy, but she was wet and the whole world around her was grey.
The first day hadn't been so bad and Jill had found the walking easier than she had expected as the days followed. Puddleglum taught her to shoot on his second-best bow. He had been funny to watch at first, until she got used to his long, thin limbs and solemn face. He was a good teacher, and she found she enjoyed it; dragging back on the string, making a perfect arch and letting go. She was good at it, though not as good as Puddleglum or Eustace. Eustace didn't crow about it.
She didn't think she would enjoy shooting this afternoon when they stopped and made camp. She didn't even know if they would be able to catch anything in this weather. Everything seemed wrapped up in the wet, and she had barely even heard birdsong the whole day. She realised she had come to the point where she could recognise several different birds by song alone; the thought cheered her for a brief moment. Stepping into a puddle, her brief optimism vanished. She was relieved when Puddleglum led them into the edge of a tiny woodland that nestled into the side of a small hill.
Eustace dropped his bag with a grumble. He'd steadily complained all morning before slowly subsiding into dull, sullen silence. He sat down on a rock and looked sulky. Jill wished she could join him. Her shorts were sticking to her and her hair was plastered to her face.
"A damp sort of a day," announced Puddleglum, looking out from under the shelter of the trees. He took off his hat and solemnly wrung it out while his reedy hair dripped. "Jill can look for wood, but I daresay we'll all be spending a wet and uncomfortable night."
Eustace's scowl settled further. Jill couldn't bear to stay to see it or listen to what he might have to say. Another day, she would have flung herself down next to him and they would have sniped and bickered until they went to bed cold. Today, though, she lacked the energy to fight. She was damp and dispirited, and her only desire was to be dry. She slipped further into the woodland. She knew she could find dry wood, whether Puddleglum believed in her or not.
Skirting a fall of boulders, she found a hollow between two trees and smiled. There should be enough dry wood here for a fire tonight, and perhaps to carry as kindling tomorrow if the weather didn't improve. The trees were new to her, not really like anything she'd seen at home, but she guessed it would burn just as well. Piling her arms high, she turned back to their camp.
At the edge of the clearing, she stopped to see Eustace prodding moodily at the ground with a broken stick. He looked up to see her with her arms full and his scowl lifted slightly.
"At least we'll be warm tonight," he said. "Take that, Puddleglum, you wet blanket."
Jill smiled, relieved that there wasn't going to be a fight. Eustace came and helped her stack the wood under the tree.
"Is there more?" he asked.
"Yes, heaps," replied Jill. He followed her back to the hollow and helped her strip dead wood from the tree in the hollow. They made several trips, but were rewarded with plenty of wood. Jill was tired and still wet at the end of it, and she'd scratched herself on some bark, but she felt satisfied to look at the fuel they'd collected and know that she'd done that.
As she started to lay the fire, Eustace said, "I'd never built a fire before I came to Narnia. In fact, before this visit, because last time I only watched other people. It's harder than it looks."
"My parents taught me," said Jill. Eustace looked at her in surprise for a moment. She'd never spoken about her family, but neither had Eustace. She realised how little they knew about each other. Perhaps in response, she continued, "We used to go camping, near my grandparent's place. We would stay in the woods, sometimes in a cabin, but sometimes in tents. We never slept out like this, though. I know my parents did, before they had me, so perhaps we would have as I got older."
"Where is your grandparent's house?" Eustace asked. "Don't you still go there?"
"In France," she said, turning away to find Puddleglum's tinderbox. Eustace whistled low.
"Of course you can't go there now then," said Eustace. "What part of France?"
"The Ardennes," she replied. She concentrated on stacking the wood in a beautiful pyramid, ready for the smallest twigs and dry leaves to catch and spread the conflagration upwards.
"Your name isn't French, though. I suppose your mother is the French one."
Jill made a noncommittal sound and continued stacking the wood. She was starting to feel uncomfortable with even the small amount she had shared, and Eustace's eager questions were too prying.
"I say, that must have been something, hiking in those mountains. Do you speak French?"
"Look, I don't want to talk about," said Jill, knocking over her careful stack of wood. Hands shaking, she tried to rebuild. She hadn't expected that talking about her family would upset her so much, and wished that Eustace would stop talking. She felt all her old inadequacies and fears flood back. She'd almost forgotten about them: her failure on the mountain, her blubbering at Experiment House, the long, lonely summer without her family. She concentrated on one stick of wood and the perfect placement for it.
"Did you go there every year?" he asked.
"Yes," she said shortly. Glancing up from her efforts to get the wood to stack neatly, she saw Eustace open his mouth again. "Stop!" she shouted, scattering the wood again. "We're not friends, it's not like you have to pretend to be nice to me just because I got called up here by accident! I know you didn't mean to bring me and you probably don't even want me here!"
She took a deep, shaky breath and tried to gather together the tinder again, even though she couldn't see clearly through the tears starting in her eyes. Eustace was deathly quiet and Jill couldn't even imagine what he was going to say. Perhaps he was going to agree that she shouldn't be there. Perhaps there was a way to send her back.
"The Lion never makes mistakes," said Puddleglum, stepping into the clearing. "Wiggles do, and I daresay humans are just as bad, but if the Lion brought you here, he wanted you here." Jill felt heartened by the calm confidence and unexpected lack of pessimism in Puddleglum's voice. He was completely matter of fact, continuing, "And I see you found wood you think is dry. There's no harm in trying to light it, Jill, though chances are the tinderbox won't catch on account of treacherous breezes. If you could pluck these birds, Eustace, that would be good, but don't worry if you can't get all the feathers. They probably can't poison us, after all."
Jill turned back to the fire and started to gather it together again. Hands building a pyramid in which the flame would catch, she let Puddleglum's placidity soothe her and settle her racing thoughts. The image of the Lion grew in her mind, and she remembered the calmness and certainty of his face. Puddleglum was right; there was no way he would have brought her here by accident. She didn't know why he had brought her along with Eustace, but she knew he had a purpose.
The first spark caught in the dry tinder and she gave a small crow of triumph.
"Good for you, Jill," said Puddleglum. "You might have enough wood here for the fire to burn for quite half the night. It will go out just as it's getting really cold."
"You old pessimist," Jill said, "you know there's nothing wrong with my fire, or my wood." Ignoring Puddleglum's protests against being a pessimist, she stood and brushed the dirt and twigs off her legs. She crossed the clearing to help Eustace with the plucking and cleaning. He stiffly ignored her, but she nudged his arm with her elbow till he looked up.
"I'm sorry," she said. He continued to look sulky for a moment longer before his face relaxed.
"I'm sorry too," he said. "You're right, we hardly know each other and I shouldn't have talked like a fool."
"Well, we have time to talk," said Jill. "We can start with the easy things. You could start by telling me about your last journey in Narnia. I've heard bits of it, but not the whole thing."
Eustace's face brightened further. "It was a great adventure," he said, "even though I was an insufferable little prig at first. I was seasick, you see, but there was much worse than that." He paused. "I'm not very good at telling stories. I start in the middle and break off and don't know the important things to say. I never learned how from reading books that tell a story. All my books are about facts."
"Facts can be a story too," said Jill. "Start telling, and I'll ask when I get stuck."
>>>>
The next day was sunny, with a brisk wind that cut through their cloaks and jackets. The ground was steadily rising and getting rockier and more desolate. There were stands of trees, but the ground between them was covered in sparse grass only. Jill looked ahead, to the mountains. They seemed much closer today, and she knew that they would soon be leaving the moors.
"How far away is the edge of the moors?" she asked Puddleglum.
"About a week," he answered, "if we don't fall over and break our legs, or-"
"Yes, yes, dragons, I know," she interrupted rudely.
"I can see you're still putting a brave face on it," said Puddleglum. "Keep your chin up, Jill. With an attitude like that and a healthy dose of luck, we might even make it to the edge of the moors."
"Don't bother," muttered Eustace, as Jill opened her mouth to reply. "He's just going to say something else gloomy. Never met a chap like him for looking on the bright side."
"Me neither," said Jill. "He's a regular ray of sunshine." She smiled as she said it, though. Eustace smiled too; they both knew they liked Puddleglum despite his despondent ways.
They continued walking together. Jill looked at the distant mountains, then around at the bare ground, the solitary stands of trees, and the wide blue sky. Birds wheeled far overhead. They had been strange to her once, but now Jill could tell you about their appearance and habits. She was getting familiar with this place; it seemed like she'd never been anywhere else.
"When you're in Narnia, do you think you've been here forever?" she asked. Eustace looked at her in surprise and Jill found herself blushing. "I mean, I can hardly remember England, or school, or the war or anything."
"Me too," said Eustace. "I thought it was just that, well, it's not like England is as, well, important as this, so it makes sense. But I thought, your family...." His voice trailed away uncomfortably.
"My father was killed at Dunkirk," Jill said, voice flat. "And my mother left me at Experiment House a year ago and went off to join the war. I haven't had a letter from her in months." There was a terrible silence as she swallowed hard. Her father's death had been hard, and she and her mother had clung to one another. She tried hard not to think about her mother's recent silence, her fears about where she was and why she'd left Jill behind.
"I'm sorry," said Eustace. Jill gave a little laugh, not a happy sound. "No, Pole, I am," he said. "Dash it, I'm not good at this, but I am. Sorry, that is. Because. We're friends, aren't we?"
Jill looked at him then, taking in his hot face and the way he was carefully looking everywhere but at her.
"We are friends," she said. "I didn't laugh for that. It's just. I haven't talked about it in so long. Not since I started school. You're the first person to say it to me and mean it." She took a deep breath and they continued to walk side by side, the silence between them not precisely comfortable, but not as deeply awkward as she'd expected.
"My parents think this place has ruined me," said Eustace. Jill looked at him in surprise. "Oh, they don't know about Narnia in particular. But they disapprove of the changes in me. They wanted a modern child, one who could tell the price of something; that's what they said. A future economist, that's what they called me. And I'd have been happy. But Aslan called me and it's all different now."
Jill looked at him carefully. This was more than Eustace had ever said to her before, and his thoughtful tone was the voice of a man recognising an opportunity that has passed him by, not a petulant boy. She considered herself, and the way she could look inside herself deeper now than before and examine what she found there. She could see past the hurts that had cluttered up her child self, and into her heart. They weren't gone, but seemed smaller, or easier to look at. Before she could try to articulate this to Eustace, Puddleglum called to them, hurrying them up to join him.
>>>>
The evening, when they had wood for a fire and hunting had been successful, was a magical time. This had been Jill's favourite part of the day, when camping with her parents. Her mother had always told stories around the fire as they lay back and watched the stars wheel overhead. Even after Jill's father had been killed, her mother had made time to tell her stories. That had all stopped, when her mother volunteered and Jill had been left alone.
Taking a deep breath, Jill tried to think of something else. There was no point dwelling on the past and her fears. She had a job to do here. She leaned back against a log and looked up at the sky. Puddleglum was teaching her the stars.
"Tell me the constellations to find north again," Puddleglum said, "assuming you haven't forgotten, which you probably have, and assuming I remembered right, which I probably didn't."
Jill had considerable confidence in Puddleglum's woodcraft and knowledge of stars, but she didn't bother to say so. She merely smiled affectionately as she worked her way around the sky, naming each constellation and explaining its relationship to direction, just as Puddleglum had coached her.
"Now, admit I did it perfectly," she said, as she finished up.
"Now, now," said Puddleglum, "there's no point getting too far ahead of ourselves. You did it perfectly tonight yes, after a meal of pigeon and rabbit, and the prospect of a nice sleep. The rabbit was a bit stringy, it's true, and the ground's probably covered in sharp stones, but it's easy for a young one like you to be optimistic. Now, when you're a in a pinch and you need to find your direction, that's when I'll be satisfied with perfect."
"You're perfectly good at finding the gloomy side of everything," she retorted.
"When I was a young wiggle, I was always getting in trouble for my frisks and jolly good nature. I'm still quite a cheery chap, Jill, and I can always do with a bit of steadying."
"I don't believe it. What scrapes have you ever gotten into?" Jill turned to Eustace, who had just come up to the fire. "Scrubb, come and sit down, Puddleglum's going to tell us a story." This wasn't the first night he'd told stories; as Jill had learned about the stars, he'd told her the stories of the constellations and the creatures the patterns were named after. Narnian stories were just as good as human ones; or even better, since the creatures were real here, and stars were real people too. It felt important to know the story of a real Narnian, whose story was being acted out by the dance of the stars; more important than knowing the stories behind their earthly stars. Puddleglum was a good storyteller too, though he always seemed surprised to find himself narrating a happy ending.
"This isn't my first time in the land of the giants," Puddleglum said, once Eustace had taken his seat. "When I was young and heedless, I wandered up this way before. I wanted adventure, and those who want it are apt to find it, aye, more of it than is entirely comfortable. I got past the giant's alley and thought it was all plain sailing from there.
"So I was looking for shelter for the night when I found an unusual hillock just poking out of some trees. I thought I'd climb it, to see if there was anywhere nice and sheltered nearby. It looked like coming on for rain, not dissimilar to how it looked today, and mark me if we don't have a tidy little downpour tonight.
But I was talking about my hill. I clambered up the sides quite nimbly, for I was an agile chap in those days. I'd no sooner climbed it than I realised my mistake, though. A hat it was, and I just had time to cling for all I was worth to the band as it was swept off the ground and onto a giant's head."
Jill wasn't sure whether to giggle or not. The image of Puddleglum being swept off the ground like a stray reed was hilarious. She glanced at Eustace to see his face twitch with repressed laughter. It was too much for her and she snorted as she tried to smother a giggle. That set Eustace off and they both started laughing.
Jill was afraid Puddleglum would be offended, and glanced at him nervously as she sobered. "Sorry, Puddleglum. It's just that the image was too funny. I'm sure it was very frightening." As she said it, she thought about how she would feel if she was hoisted up, clinging desperately to a giant's hat.
"Not frightening enough. Here I am, still as flighty as ever." He sighed mournfully as he said it and Jill nearly laughed again. "But I was telling you about the giant."
Jill leaned back against her log and looked at the stars as Puddleglum told them about his adventure on the hat. Everything felt pretty perfect to her.
>>>>
Jill was dreaming, she was sure of it. It had only been a little while ago that she'd woken up with cold feet as Eustace had wormed more than his share of the blanket off her. She'd lain there, looking up at the stars and telling herself the stories of the constellations, memorising them, just as she'd done with the stars in England, the stars in France. She'd drifted off telling herself the story of the constellation Catascopia, a woman seated in the heavens with her spyglass.
When she blinked again, she was in moonlight still, but a glance told her that the moon was in the wrong quarter, and the stars were not right. She blinked again and realised that these were the stars of her own world. Looking around, she saw she was on the edge of a rough road, partly behind a tree, and dawn streaked the sky in the east.
She heard footsteps and shrank further behind the tree. Round the nearest bend, a man and woman emerged, walking briskly along in the chilly morning air. Jill gasped, the sound deafeningly loud in her own ears; it was her mother. She was wearing a rough jacket that Jill didn't recognise, and a bright yellow scarf wrapped round her hair. Jill wanted to call out, but something kept her silent. She watched her mother walk past, only a few feet away. Barely sparing a glance for the man, Jill had eyes only for her mother. She looked tired, pale, but determined.
Their footsteps fading, they disappeared around the next bend. Jill looked up into the sky, seeking understanding. Tears blurred her vision and she blinked them away as the yellow light of dawn grew stronger. A Lion's rumbling growl filled her ears as all she could see grew golden and she felt the shadow of Aslan's breath on her face.
Jill woke up in camp, breathing hard and sitting up sharply, dislodging the blanket from Eustace. He grumbled sleepily and tugged it back up. Jill rubbed her eyes. She was definitely back in Narnia. Puddleglum was tending to the fire and the sun was almost completely up.
Wrapping her arms around her knees, Jill stared at the horizon and the way the dark purple or the night sky was peeling back into blue.
"Good morning, Jill," said Puddleglum. "That's not to say it won't take a sharp turn for the worst later." He had just put the billy on, and some leftover rabbit was waiting on sticks to be heated. Next to her, Eustace stretched and sat up.
"You're quiet this morning, Pole," he said. "Morning, Puddleglum. No sudden rainstorms or attacks of manticores that I slept through?"
"I had a dream about the Lion," said Jill, completely interrupting whatever Puddleglum might have been going to say.
"A dream of the Lion?" repeated Eustace. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up more fully. "What happened? Did he tell you more about the Signs?"
"No," said Jill, "it was about home. Or, at least, I think it was."
"You'd better tell us both from the beginning," said Puddleglum. "This water might get hot before we run out of wood, but you'd both better come and start on this rabbit."
Over cups of hot water steeped with a mint-like herb, Jill told both Puddleglum and Eustace about her dream. At the end of it, her voice trailed off into silence and she waited to hear what they had to say. She banished the thought that they might think she was imagining it, or making it up. She and Eustace had come a long way about learning to trust and rely on one another, and Puddleglum had never doubted either one of them.
"Well," said Puddleglum, "this war of yours sounds mortal wicked, but we're all between the paws of the Lion. If he sent you a vision of your mother, he meant you to have it."
"Did you recognise the place?" asked Eustace, ever practical.
"I think so," said Jill. "At least, maybe. I think it was the road leading from my grandparents' house."
"And that's where your mother was walking?" he asked. He gave a low whistle. "Pole, I think your mother might be a spy!"
Jill's heart sank; she couldn't even laugh at Eustace's sudden wild guess. It all made sense: the regular letters that all sounded the same, staying at school in the holidays, even the fact that the letters had stopped. She dimly heard Puddleglum's voice and tried to focus on him, on the cold moor around her and the taste of mint in her mouth.
"Eustace, hand Jill another mug of tea. She looks powerful pale and I wouldn't be surprised if she fainted." He sounded a little delighted at the prospect and Jill pulled herself together sharply.
Accepting the second cup of tea from Eustace, she tried to conjure up a smile. "You're probably right," said Jill. "It makes sense of everything." As she said it, she realised that it really did. Deep inside her heart, one small, frightened, rejected spot stopped hurting. She was still scared, still worried, but at least she no longer felt abandoned.
Her smile was firmer the second time she tried it. "It makes sense of everything," she repeated. "We're all of us between the paws of the Lion."
>>>>
No one heard what else the Lion said to Jill, as they stood by the stream on the top of his Mountains, their quest fulfilled. Caspian and Eustace had started talking, something about Caspian's second-best sword, as Jill drew aside to cut the switch Aslan had asked for. As she was choosing the best branch, Aslan drew near. Her hand fell away from the branch as she wondered what he had come to speak to her about.
"Daughter of Eve, no one comes to Narnia by accident, not since the first day."
"Puddleglum told me," she said.
"Believe him," said Aslan. "You were needed here. To learn the stars, learn the woods, learn yourself. To find Rilian, yes, but to find something about yourself too."
She plucked up her courage in both hands. "Please Aslan, my mother. What has happened to her?"
"I cannot tell you her story, only your own. Tell me, do you not feel your mother inside yourself?"
Jill considered it. She was able to look into the heart of herself now, and wasn't frightened to do so under the Lion's eye. He must have already seen everything that was inside her. She thought about the stars at night and finding her path. She thought about the birds and trees and woodcraft. She thought about a difficult journey, in stealth, to do her part in a quest to save a world. She thought about the mountains of Narnia and the mountains of home, or one of her homes.
"Yes," she said at last. "You showed her to me."
"My Daughter," said Aslan, "you learned to see her yourself." He bent his head to lick her face and she buried her hand in his mane. "Now come, for your companions are waiting for us."
Jill broke off a switch and it turned to a riding crop in her hand. As she looked at Eustace and saw his eagerness, she found herself smiling too. Then Aslan roared and she ran forward, over the rubble of the present and into her future.
Original Prompt that we sent you:
What I want: character studies, backstory for minor characters, incidents implied in the books but not explicitly explored, Talking Animals being people while definitely not being human, adventures in worlds other than Narnia (have any Narnians crossed into other worlds?). I would prefer gen or bob to romance or porn. I like time travel stories, but I don't see that necessarily working with Narnia. I'm just kind of throwing things out. I'm sure I'll be happy with whatever I get.
Prompt words/objects/quotes/whatever: "Broken hearts and dirty windows/Make life difficult to see/That's why last night and this mornin'/Always look the same to me."
Author: redsnake05
Recipient: therck
Rating: G
Possible Spoilers/Warnings:
Summary: Jill tries to find her purpose as she, Eustace and Puddleglum search for Rilian. She learns to find her way by new stars, and also finds an answer to something that's been troubling her for a long time. As Puddleglum says, we are all of us between the paws of the Lion.
Navigating by Stars
>>>>
The first day would be the hardest, Eustace told her, as they shouldered their burdens outside Puddleglum's wigwam. She was cold and her fingers were shaking as she buckled her bag. The marshes were misty and damp, and didn't look at all inviting for adventure. In the dim, filtered light of the morning, the quest seemed foolhardy: two human children and one Marsh-wiggle weren't enough to take on this challenge.
She glanced at Eustace resentfully. He didn't seem to be having any problems or qualms; in fact, he looked eager to be gone. The first day didn't look like it was going to be hard for him.
"Don't worry, Jill," said Puddleglum. "Likely we all find today too hard. Leaving aside the possibility of rain, and perhaps a flash flood, chances are one of us will sprain an ankle, or perhaps meet a dragon."
Jill ignored him and tried to get the other buckle done up, barely listening to Scrubb telling Puddleglum not to to be so gloomy. Jill could understand his pessimism. She wanted to give up on her bag, go back inside and curl up under the blankets. It was okay for Scrubb: he'd been here before, he was a hero, or something like it. She'd heard the owls talking a little about his journey with the King all those years before. She was an extra, a spare who'd been sucked into this world by accident and had no real business being here. She was never important. Now she was here, Puddleglum was probably right and she would sprain her ankle or something else to ruin the whole expedition.
"Pole," said Eustace, in the sharp kind of a voice people get when this is the third time they've said your name, "Puddleglum remembered he has some rope inside. Can it fit in your bag?"
Jill turned and walked back into the wigwam, taking two or three deep breaths, and trying to remember where she had seen a coil of rope. She finally found it under a stack of baskets and went back outside. She looked at Eustace and Puddleglum, laden down with swords and a bow each, and then herself, carrying rope.
"Ah, you found it," said Puddleglum. "Likely as not, it will be too short, if we need it, and almost certainly frayed. Stow it in your bag anyway, though I doubt not you'll find it mortal heavy after walking all day." He waited till Jill had done so, and then said, "Now, tell us again the signs, young Human. I think it would be good for us to start off with Aslan's signs in our ears. It will steady us and keep us serious, which I can see we all need, being full of frisk as we are."
Jill sighed and closed her eyes, recalling the face of the Lion and the signs he'd told her. She echoed the voice in her mind, one sign after another, feeling stronger and more confident with each word. When she was finished, and opened her eyes, she was almost expecting to see Aslan in front of her. However, she was still confronted by Eustace and Puddleglum, and the damp marshes stretching away to some trees in the distance. Still, she felt different.
Aslan had given her the signs. Whether he had wanted to give them to Eustace didn't matter right now; he'd given them to her, and she felt perversely happier knowing she had that responsibility. She shoved the rope into her bag and fastened the last buckle with fingers that still shook a little, but she was ready to set off now.
"Ready to go, are you, Jill?" called Puddleglum. "That's right, put a brave face on it. I don't doubt that's the last time any of us will see my little wigwam." Jill smiled at Eustace as Puddleglum continued talking about the many failings of his house, and they turned to the North and started walking, mud squishing under their feet.
>>>>
It had been raining all day, the first wet day they'd encountered, and Jill hated the squelch in her shoes and the dampening, muddling sound of the rain all around. It wasn't heavy, but she was wet and the whole world around her was grey.
The first day hadn't been so bad and Jill had found the walking easier than she had expected as the days followed. Puddleglum taught her to shoot on his second-best bow. He had been funny to watch at first, until she got used to his long, thin limbs and solemn face. He was a good teacher, and she found she enjoyed it; dragging back on the string, making a perfect arch and letting go. She was good at it, though not as good as Puddleglum or Eustace. Eustace didn't crow about it.
She didn't think she would enjoy shooting this afternoon when they stopped and made camp. She didn't even know if they would be able to catch anything in this weather. Everything seemed wrapped up in the wet, and she had barely even heard birdsong the whole day. She realised she had come to the point where she could recognise several different birds by song alone; the thought cheered her for a brief moment. Stepping into a puddle, her brief optimism vanished. She was relieved when Puddleglum led them into the edge of a tiny woodland that nestled into the side of a small hill.
Eustace dropped his bag with a grumble. He'd steadily complained all morning before slowly subsiding into dull, sullen silence. He sat down on a rock and looked sulky. Jill wished she could join him. Her shorts were sticking to her and her hair was plastered to her face.
"A damp sort of a day," announced Puddleglum, looking out from under the shelter of the trees. He took off his hat and solemnly wrung it out while his reedy hair dripped. "Jill can look for wood, but I daresay we'll all be spending a wet and uncomfortable night."
Eustace's scowl settled further. Jill couldn't bear to stay to see it or listen to what he might have to say. Another day, she would have flung herself down next to him and they would have sniped and bickered until they went to bed cold. Today, though, she lacked the energy to fight. She was damp and dispirited, and her only desire was to be dry. She slipped further into the woodland. She knew she could find dry wood, whether Puddleglum believed in her or not.
Skirting a fall of boulders, she found a hollow between two trees and smiled. There should be enough dry wood here for a fire tonight, and perhaps to carry as kindling tomorrow if the weather didn't improve. The trees were new to her, not really like anything she'd seen at home, but she guessed it would burn just as well. Piling her arms high, she turned back to their camp.
At the edge of the clearing, she stopped to see Eustace prodding moodily at the ground with a broken stick. He looked up to see her with her arms full and his scowl lifted slightly.
"At least we'll be warm tonight," he said. "Take that, Puddleglum, you wet blanket."
Jill smiled, relieved that there wasn't going to be a fight. Eustace came and helped her stack the wood under the tree.
"Is there more?" he asked.
"Yes, heaps," replied Jill. He followed her back to the hollow and helped her strip dead wood from the tree in the hollow. They made several trips, but were rewarded with plenty of wood. Jill was tired and still wet at the end of it, and she'd scratched herself on some bark, but she felt satisfied to look at the fuel they'd collected and know that she'd done that.
As she started to lay the fire, Eustace said, "I'd never built a fire before I came to Narnia. In fact, before this visit, because last time I only watched other people. It's harder than it looks."
"My parents taught me," said Jill. Eustace looked at her in surprise for a moment. She'd never spoken about her family, but neither had Eustace. She realised how little they knew about each other. Perhaps in response, she continued, "We used to go camping, near my grandparent's place. We would stay in the woods, sometimes in a cabin, but sometimes in tents. We never slept out like this, though. I know my parents did, before they had me, so perhaps we would have as I got older."
"Where is your grandparent's house?" Eustace asked. "Don't you still go there?"
"In France," she said, turning away to find Puddleglum's tinderbox. Eustace whistled low.
"Of course you can't go there now then," said Eustace. "What part of France?"
"The Ardennes," she replied. She concentrated on stacking the wood in a beautiful pyramid, ready for the smallest twigs and dry leaves to catch and spread the conflagration upwards.
"Your name isn't French, though. I suppose your mother is the French one."
Jill made a noncommittal sound and continued stacking the wood. She was starting to feel uncomfortable with even the small amount she had shared, and Eustace's eager questions were too prying.
"I say, that must have been something, hiking in those mountains. Do you speak French?"
"Look, I don't want to talk about," said Jill, knocking over her careful stack of wood. Hands shaking, she tried to rebuild. She hadn't expected that talking about her family would upset her so much, and wished that Eustace would stop talking. She felt all her old inadequacies and fears flood back. She'd almost forgotten about them: her failure on the mountain, her blubbering at Experiment House, the long, lonely summer without her family. She concentrated on one stick of wood and the perfect placement for it.
"Did you go there every year?" he asked.
"Yes," she said shortly. Glancing up from her efforts to get the wood to stack neatly, she saw Eustace open his mouth again. "Stop!" she shouted, scattering the wood again. "We're not friends, it's not like you have to pretend to be nice to me just because I got called up here by accident! I know you didn't mean to bring me and you probably don't even want me here!"
She took a deep, shaky breath and tried to gather together the tinder again, even though she couldn't see clearly through the tears starting in her eyes. Eustace was deathly quiet and Jill couldn't even imagine what he was going to say. Perhaps he was going to agree that she shouldn't be there. Perhaps there was a way to send her back.
"The Lion never makes mistakes," said Puddleglum, stepping into the clearing. "Wiggles do, and I daresay humans are just as bad, but if the Lion brought you here, he wanted you here." Jill felt heartened by the calm confidence and unexpected lack of pessimism in Puddleglum's voice. He was completely matter of fact, continuing, "And I see you found wood you think is dry. There's no harm in trying to light it, Jill, though chances are the tinderbox won't catch on account of treacherous breezes. If you could pluck these birds, Eustace, that would be good, but don't worry if you can't get all the feathers. They probably can't poison us, after all."
Jill turned back to the fire and started to gather it together again. Hands building a pyramid in which the flame would catch, she let Puddleglum's placidity soothe her and settle her racing thoughts. The image of the Lion grew in her mind, and she remembered the calmness and certainty of his face. Puddleglum was right; there was no way he would have brought her here by accident. She didn't know why he had brought her along with Eustace, but she knew he had a purpose.
The first spark caught in the dry tinder and she gave a small crow of triumph.
"Good for you, Jill," said Puddleglum. "You might have enough wood here for the fire to burn for quite half the night. It will go out just as it's getting really cold."
"You old pessimist," Jill said, "you know there's nothing wrong with my fire, or my wood." Ignoring Puddleglum's protests against being a pessimist, she stood and brushed the dirt and twigs off her legs. She crossed the clearing to help Eustace with the plucking and cleaning. He stiffly ignored her, but she nudged his arm with her elbow till he looked up.
"I'm sorry," she said. He continued to look sulky for a moment longer before his face relaxed.
"I'm sorry too," he said. "You're right, we hardly know each other and I shouldn't have talked like a fool."
"Well, we have time to talk," said Jill. "We can start with the easy things. You could start by telling me about your last journey in Narnia. I've heard bits of it, but not the whole thing."
Eustace's face brightened further. "It was a great adventure," he said, "even though I was an insufferable little prig at first. I was seasick, you see, but there was much worse than that." He paused. "I'm not very good at telling stories. I start in the middle and break off and don't know the important things to say. I never learned how from reading books that tell a story. All my books are about facts."
"Facts can be a story too," said Jill. "Start telling, and I'll ask when I get stuck."
>>>>
The next day was sunny, with a brisk wind that cut through their cloaks and jackets. The ground was steadily rising and getting rockier and more desolate. There were stands of trees, but the ground between them was covered in sparse grass only. Jill looked ahead, to the mountains. They seemed much closer today, and she knew that they would soon be leaving the moors.
"How far away is the edge of the moors?" she asked Puddleglum.
"About a week," he answered, "if we don't fall over and break our legs, or-"
"Yes, yes, dragons, I know," she interrupted rudely.
"I can see you're still putting a brave face on it," said Puddleglum. "Keep your chin up, Jill. With an attitude like that and a healthy dose of luck, we might even make it to the edge of the moors."
"Don't bother," muttered Eustace, as Jill opened her mouth to reply. "He's just going to say something else gloomy. Never met a chap like him for looking on the bright side."
"Me neither," said Jill. "He's a regular ray of sunshine." She smiled as she said it, though. Eustace smiled too; they both knew they liked Puddleglum despite his despondent ways.
They continued walking together. Jill looked at the distant mountains, then around at the bare ground, the solitary stands of trees, and the wide blue sky. Birds wheeled far overhead. They had been strange to her once, but now Jill could tell you about their appearance and habits. She was getting familiar with this place; it seemed like she'd never been anywhere else.
"When you're in Narnia, do you think you've been here forever?" she asked. Eustace looked at her in surprise and Jill found herself blushing. "I mean, I can hardly remember England, or school, or the war or anything."
"Me too," said Eustace. "I thought it was just that, well, it's not like England is as, well, important as this, so it makes sense. But I thought, your family...." His voice trailed away uncomfortably.
"My father was killed at Dunkirk," Jill said, voice flat. "And my mother left me at Experiment House a year ago and went off to join the war. I haven't had a letter from her in months." There was a terrible silence as she swallowed hard. Her father's death had been hard, and she and her mother had clung to one another. She tried hard not to think about her mother's recent silence, her fears about where she was and why she'd left Jill behind.
"I'm sorry," said Eustace. Jill gave a little laugh, not a happy sound. "No, Pole, I am," he said. "Dash it, I'm not good at this, but I am. Sorry, that is. Because. We're friends, aren't we?"
Jill looked at him then, taking in his hot face and the way he was carefully looking everywhere but at her.
"We are friends," she said. "I didn't laugh for that. It's just. I haven't talked about it in so long. Not since I started school. You're the first person to say it to me and mean it." She took a deep breath and they continued to walk side by side, the silence between them not precisely comfortable, but not as deeply awkward as she'd expected.
"My parents think this place has ruined me," said Eustace. Jill looked at him in surprise. "Oh, they don't know about Narnia in particular. But they disapprove of the changes in me. They wanted a modern child, one who could tell the price of something; that's what they said. A future economist, that's what they called me. And I'd have been happy. But Aslan called me and it's all different now."
Jill looked at him carefully. This was more than Eustace had ever said to her before, and his thoughtful tone was the voice of a man recognising an opportunity that has passed him by, not a petulant boy. She considered herself, and the way she could look inside herself deeper now than before and examine what she found there. She could see past the hurts that had cluttered up her child self, and into her heart. They weren't gone, but seemed smaller, or easier to look at. Before she could try to articulate this to Eustace, Puddleglum called to them, hurrying them up to join him.
>>>>
The evening, when they had wood for a fire and hunting had been successful, was a magical time. This had been Jill's favourite part of the day, when camping with her parents. Her mother had always told stories around the fire as they lay back and watched the stars wheel overhead. Even after Jill's father had been killed, her mother had made time to tell her stories. That had all stopped, when her mother volunteered and Jill had been left alone.
Taking a deep breath, Jill tried to think of something else. There was no point dwelling on the past and her fears. She had a job to do here. She leaned back against a log and looked up at the sky. Puddleglum was teaching her the stars.
"Tell me the constellations to find north again," Puddleglum said, "assuming you haven't forgotten, which you probably have, and assuming I remembered right, which I probably didn't."
Jill had considerable confidence in Puddleglum's woodcraft and knowledge of stars, but she didn't bother to say so. She merely smiled affectionately as she worked her way around the sky, naming each constellation and explaining its relationship to direction, just as Puddleglum had coached her.
"Now, admit I did it perfectly," she said, as she finished up.
"Now, now," said Puddleglum, "there's no point getting too far ahead of ourselves. You did it perfectly tonight yes, after a meal of pigeon and rabbit, and the prospect of a nice sleep. The rabbit was a bit stringy, it's true, and the ground's probably covered in sharp stones, but it's easy for a young one like you to be optimistic. Now, when you're a in a pinch and you need to find your direction, that's when I'll be satisfied with perfect."
"You're perfectly good at finding the gloomy side of everything," she retorted.
"When I was a young wiggle, I was always getting in trouble for my frisks and jolly good nature. I'm still quite a cheery chap, Jill, and I can always do with a bit of steadying."
"I don't believe it. What scrapes have you ever gotten into?" Jill turned to Eustace, who had just come up to the fire. "Scrubb, come and sit down, Puddleglum's going to tell us a story." This wasn't the first night he'd told stories; as Jill had learned about the stars, he'd told her the stories of the constellations and the creatures the patterns were named after. Narnian stories were just as good as human ones; or even better, since the creatures were real here, and stars were real people too. It felt important to know the story of a real Narnian, whose story was being acted out by the dance of the stars; more important than knowing the stories behind their earthly stars. Puddleglum was a good storyteller too, though he always seemed surprised to find himself narrating a happy ending.
"This isn't my first time in the land of the giants," Puddleglum said, once Eustace had taken his seat. "When I was young and heedless, I wandered up this way before. I wanted adventure, and those who want it are apt to find it, aye, more of it than is entirely comfortable. I got past the giant's alley and thought it was all plain sailing from there.
"So I was looking for shelter for the night when I found an unusual hillock just poking out of some trees. I thought I'd climb it, to see if there was anywhere nice and sheltered nearby. It looked like coming on for rain, not dissimilar to how it looked today, and mark me if we don't have a tidy little downpour tonight.
But I was talking about my hill. I clambered up the sides quite nimbly, for I was an agile chap in those days. I'd no sooner climbed it than I realised my mistake, though. A hat it was, and I just had time to cling for all I was worth to the band as it was swept off the ground and onto a giant's head."
Jill wasn't sure whether to giggle or not. The image of Puddleglum being swept off the ground like a stray reed was hilarious. She glanced at Eustace to see his face twitch with repressed laughter. It was too much for her and she snorted as she tried to smother a giggle. That set Eustace off and they both started laughing.
Jill was afraid Puddleglum would be offended, and glanced at him nervously as she sobered. "Sorry, Puddleglum. It's just that the image was too funny. I'm sure it was very frightening." As she said it, she thought about how she would feel if she was hoisted up, clinging desperately to a giant's hat.
"Not frightening enough. Here I am, still as flighty as ever." He sighed mournfully as he said it and Jill nearly laughed again. "But I was telling you about the giant."
Jill leaned back against her log and looked at the stars as Puddleglum told them about his adventure on the hat. Everything felt pretty perfect to her.
>>>>
Jill was dreaming, she was sure of it. It had only been a little while ago that she'd woken up with cold feet as Eustace had wormed more than his share of the blanket off her. She'd lain there, looking up at the stars and telling herself the stories of the constellations, memorising them, just as she'd done with the stars in England, the stars in France. She'd drifted off telling herself the story of the constellation Catascopia, a woman seated in the heavens with her spyglass.
When she blinked again, she was in moonlight still, but a glance told her that the moon was in the wrong quarter, and the stars were not right. She blinked again and realised that these were the stars of her own world. Looking around, she saw she was on the edge of a rough road, partly behind a tree, and dawn streaked the sky in the east.
She heard footsteps and shrank further behind the tree. Round the nearest bend, a man and woman emerged, walking briskly along in the chilly morning air. Jill gasped, the sound deafeningly loud in her own ears; it was her mother. She was wearing a rough jacket that Jill didn't recognise, and a bright yellow scarf wrapped round her hair. Jill wanted to call out, but something kept her silent. She watched her mother walk past, only a few feet away. Barely sparing a glance for the man, Jill had eyes only for her mother. She looked tired, pale, but determined.
Their footsteps fading, they disappeared around the next bend. Jill looked up into the sky, seeking understanding. Tears blurred her vision and she blinked them away as the yellow light of dawn grew stronger. A Lion's rumbling growl filled her ears as all she could see grew golden and she felt the shadow of Aslan's breath on her face.
Jill woke up in camp, breathing hard and sitting up sharply, dislodging the blanket from Eustace. He grumbled sleepily and tugged it back up. Jill rubbed her eyes. She was definitely back in Narnia. Puddleglum was tending to the fire and the sun was almost completely up.
Wrapping her arms around her knees, Jill stared at the horizon and the way the dark purple or the night sky was peeling back into blue.
"Good morning, Jill," said Puddleglum. "That's not to say it won't take a sharp turn for the worst later." He had just put the billy on, and some leftover rabbit was waiting on sticks to be heated. Next to her, Eustace stretched and sat up.
"You're quiet this morning, Pole," he said. "Morning, Puddleglum. No sudden rainstorms or attacks of manticores that I slept through?"
"I had a dream about the Lion," said Jill, completely interrupting whatever Puddleglum might have been going to say.
"A dream of the Lion?" repeated Eustace. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up more fully. "What happened? Did he tell you more about the Signs?"
"No," said Jill, "it was about home. Or, at least, I think it was."
"You'd better tell us both from the beginning," said Puddleglum. "This water might get hot before we run out of wood, but you'd both better come and start on this rabbit."
Over cups of hot water steeped with a mint-like herb, Jill told both Puddleglum and Eustace about her dream. At the end of it, her voice trailed off into silence and she waited to hear what they had to say. She banished the thought that they might think she was imagining it, or making it up. She and Eustace had come a long way about learning to trust and rely on one another, and Puddleglum had never doubted either one of them.
"Well," said Puddleglum, "this war of yours sounds mortal wicked, but we're all between the paws of the Lion. If he sent you a vision of your mother, he meant you to have it."
"Did you recognise the place?" asked Eustace, ever practical.
"I think so," said Jill. "At least, maybe. I think it was the road leading from my grandparents' house."
"And that's where your mother was walking?" he asked. He gave a low whistle. "Pole, I think your mother might be a spy!"
Jill's heart sank; she couldn't even laugh at Eustace's sudden wild guess. It all made sense: the regular letters that all sounded the same, staying at school in the holidays, even the fact that the letters had stopped. She dimly heard Puddleglum's voice and tried to focus on him, on the cold moor around her and the taste of mint in her mouth.
"Eustace, hand Jill another mug of tea. She looks powerful pale and I wouldn't be surprised if she fainted." He sounded a little delighted at the prospect and Jill pulled herself together sharply.
Accepting the second cup of tea from Eustace, she tried to conjure up a smile. "You're probably right," said Jill. "It makes sense of everything." As she said it, she realised that it really did. Deep inside her heart, one small, frightened, rejected spot stopped hurting. She was still scared, still worried, but at least she no longer felt abandoned.
Her smile was firmer the second time she tried it. "It makes sense of everything," she repeated. "We're all of us between the paws of the Lion."
>>>>
No one heard what else the Lion said to Jill, as they stood by the stream on the top of his Mountains, their quest fulfilled. Caspian and Eustace had started talking, something about Caspian's second-best sword, as Jill drew aside to cut the switch Aslan had asked for. As she was choosing the best branch, Aslan drew near. Her hand fell away from the branch as she wondered what he had come to speak to her about.
"Daughter of Eve, no one comes to Narnia by accident, not since the first day."
"Puddleglum told me," she said.
"Believe him," said Aslan. "You were needed here. To learn the stars, learn the woods, learn yourself. To find Rilian, yes, but to find something about yourself too."
She plucked up her courage in both hands. "Please Aslan, my mother. What has happened to her?"
"I cannot tell you her story, only your own. Tell me, do you not feel your mother inside yourself?"
Jill considered it. She was able to look into the heart of herself now, and wasn't frightened to do so under the Lion's eye. He must have already seen everything that was inside her. She thought about the stars at night and finding her path. She thought about the birds and trees and woodcraft. She thought about a difficult journey, in stealth, to do her part in a quest to save a world. She thought about the mountains of Narnia and the mountains of home, or one of her homes.
"Yes," she said at last. "You showed her to me."
"My Daughter," said Aslan, "you learned to see her yourself." He bent his head to lick her face and she buried her hand in his mane. "Now come, for your companions are waiting for us."
Jill broke off a switch and it turned to a riding crop in her hand. As she looked at Eustace and saw his eagerness, she found herself smiling too. Then Aslan roared and she ran forward, over the rubble of the present and into her future.
Original Prompt that we sent you:
What I want: character studies, backstory for minor characters, incidents implied in the books but not explicitly explored, Talking Animals being people while definitely not being human, adventures in worlds other than Narnia (have any Narnians crossed into other worlds?). I would prefer gen or bob to romance or porn. I like time travel stories, but I don't see that necessarily working with Narnia. I'm just kind of throwing things out. I'm sure I'll be happy with whatever I get.
Prompt words/objects/quotes/whatever: "Broken hearts and dirty windows/Make life difficult to see/That's why last night and this mornin'/Always look the same to me."