I Know a Tale, or, The Lost King (2/3) - for wingedflight21
Title: I Know a Tale, or, The Lost King
Author: pencildragon11/OldfashionedGirl95
Recipient: wingedflight21
Rating: T to be safe.
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: Familiarity with LWW, parts of PC, and one element in MN is assumed. Supporting character defoliation, and someone whose mother probably didn't have soap with which to wash out his mouth when he was a kid.
Summary: "Great Lion, grant me a son," prayed Queen Althea in the days before the winter, “I will teach him to give magnanimously, to love tenderly, to judge wisely, and to fight courageously; that he may restore your peace to Narnia."
I Know a Tale, or, The Lost King, part 2
She left the web, she left the loom.
She made three paces through the room.
“The curse is come upon me!” cried
The Lady of Shalott.
~ Tennyson
"A child can ask questions that a wise man cannot answer."
~ Anonymous
IX.
Narnia
The Eleventh Year of King Drake
It was a day and a night before the King came to see his heirs, and then he had little to say. “Twins, eh? Seems thou'lt ever be a stubborn Archen wench. Well, well, an heir and withal a spare. Thankee, lass, though wast an uncommon long time about it.”
Queen Althea had been reclining on a pile of pillows, but now she pushed herself up and gazed straight at the King. “No wench am I, but your own true wife: an Archen princess by birth, indeed, but a very Narnian Queen this half-score years.”
At that, the King scowled his way out of the room, muttering. But, now provided with an heir, he visited infrequently, and Queen Althea was left to raise her sons as she saw fit, the King in all likelihood considering them too young to be affected by their mother's old-fashioned beliefs.
Queen Althea was a wise woman, though, and she quietly made use of her freedom. When her sons were a week old, she smuggled them out of the castle to be blessed by a Centaur, one called a seer among Centaurs, as was the custom of old in Archenland and Narnia. A long time did the prophet hold each Prince in his arms, then he spoke.
“Through your elder son, Narnia shall be restored, though he will live in obscurity all his days. And when, in future days, Narnia faceth great sorrow, the children of your younger son will preserve the land from crisis, for Aslan's breath lieth heavy upon these twain.”
The Queen thanked him and said, “Narnia sorrows, and the Men fear the Beasts. Noble Centaur, will you teach my sons when they grow older, and will you assist me in finding noble Animals who will come to Ravenswood, that my sons may grow accustomed to and learn to respect them?”
The prophet bowed gravely to her and gave his word to assist her. Then, wrapping herself and her twin sons again in her cloak, she went swiftly into the night, back to the castle, where the guards stood their deaf, dumb watch.
Soon the Queen had gathered to herself a small number of Talking Beasts: Sootquill the Owl, Mrs. Twinkletacks the widowed Hedgehog, Clearscry the Eagle, Nightshadow the Panther, and a two-year-old Hound, Quicktrack, who was willing, if necessary, to play dumb. These Narnian Animals did not believe the words of Milophylax the Dragon, but pledged their allegiance to Queen Althea and to the infant Princes, vowing to teach them the proper respect and love for Aslan and His creatures.
For a single year, Queen Althea lived quietly with the court she had formed. Outside, Milophylax stirred up the Narnians against their King and against all Men, and in his Ravenswood court the King feasted and drank and grew fatter; but in her apartments the Queen filled her days with her growing sons. She sang old Narnian songs to them; she recited Archen poetry; she taught them the clapping games children had played when she was young; and when Khesa, one of Drake's mistress's young daughters, asked to join, she welcomed her into the games.
Outside, bands of restless Narnians roamed the countryside, stealing whatever caught their eyes, but in the castle garden, protected by thick stone walls and loyal guardians who could see, hear, and smell as well as any attacker; the Princes could play, gurgling, on the grass. And so they grew, happy and healthy and strong. By the time they were ten months old, Glen, determined to explore every inch available, could walk unaided and could make his wishes loudly known. Frank was quieter. Though he could take a few steps and speak when he needed to, he preferred to play near his mother by the hour as she sewed and talked to him of old Narnia.
X.
England
The Fifth Year of King Edward VII
The little boy went with Mr. Man back down the yawning tunnel, out the door and down the steps; then across the field he had seen earlier until they came to another thing that wasn't a burrow or a cave. It stood up tall from the ground, and Frank thought maybe it was a castle. There were more stairs to climb before they could go in, but it was warm inside.
“Susie!” called the Man. “Three for tea tonight.”
The Man's mate came out of another room, and the boy looked at her carefully. The bad woman had black hair and red lips. Mrs. Man's hair was dark, but her lips were normal lip-color. Pink. He bowed politely to her, and he bowed to the orange Cat that had followed her out of the other room.
“Gweeting, Mrs. Man,” said he. “Gweeting, good Tat. What's your name?”
Mrs. Man laughed. “Why don't you call me Aunt Susie,” she said. “Most of the children do. The cat hasn't a name. He's just a stray staying with us for awhile.”
Frank looked at the orange Cat and his stripes. “Stwipetail,” he said. “Him's Stwipetail. Gweeting, Stwipetail.”
The newly-christened Stripetail rubbed against Frank's leg. The boy placed his hand respectfully on the Cat's head, then knelt and whispered in his ear, “Bwessings on you, good tuzzin.”
Stripetail purred.
“And he never likes strangers, either!” said Mrs. Man-Aunt Susie.
Frank stood up, Yi under his arm, and looked carefully at her again. He decided that her hair was brown, like his.
“Well, teakettle's on,” said Aunt Susie, “so come on in and make yourself comfortable.”
With Stripetail at his side, he followed the Mans into the other room, where it smelled like tea and honey and warm bread. Mr. Man pulled up a chair, one of those stools-with-a-back, and sat down while Aunt Susie sliced the bread.
“Go ahead and sit down, Frank,” she said, but he had already crawled under the red-and-white tablecloth.
Under the table was darker, and the checked cloth hung protectively close. Frank squatted on his haunches and placed Yi in front of him, beside Stripetail, who slid in and sat with his stripy tail curled around his toes. Yi's one eye didn't look straight at Frank, but glanced off to the side as a polite Nanimal's ought to. Looking straight at someone meant you were trying to catch them, like the bad woman was trying to catch Frank.
“Skin as pale as Swanwhite in silver days of old
Heart of frozen winter snow, powdery and cold
Lips as red as traitor blood, hair like darkest night-
Deliver us, Great Lion, from her cruel wand's chill bite.
Trees stand bare and broken, the River's sheathed in ice
Loyal Beasts and little Frank must hide like little mice.”
He said it quietly to Yi and Stripetail, counting the lines on his fingers until he had six . Uncle Soot'will had made it up one night, and insisted on teaching Frank to say it. Aunt 'Ears'ry had laughed screechily and pointed out that he'd used “little” twice in the last line, but Uncle Soot'will hooted at her and asked if she knew how difficult it was to write poetry.
Overhead, Frank could hear Mr. Man saying to his mate, “He's rather an odd boy, I know, insisting he can see the spirits of trees and talking about a Lion who made him.”
“Doesn't he have any parents?” said Aunt Susie-whose hair was brown with white in it.
“He said not. Says he's been living in a badger sett.”
“A badger sett. With the Borrowers, I daresay?”
“Now, Susie-”
“Now, Colin. You know that just because he followed you home doesn't mean you can keep him. I'm sure he has people somewhere looking for him.”
The corner of the tablecloth lifted and Aunt Susie's face peered in. “Want a glass of milk, Frank?”
He nodded, reaching for Yi again.
“Want to come and drink it out here? We don't bite.”
Frank thought he would rather drink his milk where he was, but he also thought Mrs. 'Winklewacks would say it was more polite to come out if Aunt Susie wanted him to. He crawled out and squatted with his back against a wall to drink his milk, peeking through the glass at the Mans, who watched him. He looked away. Stripetail wanted some milk, so Frank held it out and let the Cat lap what he wanted, then finished what was left himself.
Something whistled shrilly. Frank jumped and nearly spilt the milk, but Aunt Susie took the teakettle off the stove and the whistle went away. She pulled a third chair up to the table and put a thick book on the seat.
“Will you join us for tea, Frank?” She was smiling at him. He liked sitting where he was very well, but he got up and climbed awfully high onto the chair. Aunt Susie tied a napkin around his neck. Then she sat down next to Mr. Man and both of them folded their hands on the table.
“Fold your hands, dear, and close your eyes,” she told him. He folded his hands, and he closed his eyes, but as soon as Mr. Man started talking to someone called “A'mighty Father” he opened his eyes to see who was there. Frank couldn't see anyone else in the room, but Mr. Man talked to A'mighty Father for a long time.
Then they had toast and honey and tea with lots of milk in it. Aunt Susie asked him more questions about where his parents were and where he lived, and she made him wipe his hands on the napkin 'round his neck, instead of on his buckskin breeches.
XI.
Narnia
It was the last day of the tenth month that the fire-breath of the Dragon brought the bubbling unrest to a rolling boil. “Do you know what else that King keeps in his castle? Beasts! Our cousins! Oh, certainly, they are not like us-they are dumb beasts. Yes, he bought them from Calormen-so he says. What's there to say that they weren't once good Narnians like you and like me, Narnian creatures whom by his wizardry he has made speechless and dumb, and whom he now keeps locked in those cruel cages for his visitors' amusement? Imagine a gilded cage, good Nightingale, enclosing you. Imagine being hung in a dark, stuffy castle chamber, far from the air, far from the flowers, far from the sky and the star-song. And you, canny Monkey, think how it would be no longer to climb the trees and swing through the sky, but to spend your days scratching yourself for the amusement of oiled Calormene Humans.”
His red eyes roved over the growing crowd. “You there! Loyal Bear! How would you like sitting in a cage, fa from sticky honey and sun-sweet berries?”
The Bear scratched his head, wondering why he would be in a cage, but the rest of the creatures were listening, too, and muttering. At the edge of the crowd, a white-streaked Badger cried,
“How do you know about this zoo, Dragon? I’m a good Badger, I am, and I know that not all Humans are wicked. What about our Queen?”
Milophylax fixed the Badger with a fiery eye. “What about her? Does anyone ever see her? Well? She’s scared of us, just like the King. Why else would she hide in that castle with him? She sits behind her stone walls, filling the ears of her sons with lurid tales of the bloodthirsty beasts outside, does she not? Prove me wrong!
“As for the reliability of my information, there is a clear-headed Beast in Ravenswood whose nose is on straight and who has seen this zoo, these cages, these bars, with his own eyes. Now tell me, who has seen the Panther Nightshadow last? Can any of you tell me where he is? Was he not last seen at the New Year Dance, and did not my trusted follower Darksqueak hear him grumbling against the King?
“Good Narnians, my source in Ravenswood tells me there is a speechless panther chained in Drake’s castle.”
The crowd growled.
“Cousins, that Human has spies everywhere-even here among us now. That is why I have not told you the name of my informant, lest I risk his neck. Shall we wander away in apathy and wait for Drake’s magicians to hunt us down, to drag us off, to magick away our speech and lock us in his infernal zoo, away from our sweet Narnian grass and clear Narnian air, that we may be the laughingstock of all his visiting royalty? Shall we?
“As long as that Tree with the silver apples, the very one under which I have spoken before, as long as it stands, so does Drake. When it falls, so does he. I, for one, shall not wait to be stopped, shall not wait to be put in my proper place as a dumb beast.”
Yelling, cawing, barking, screeching, the crowd surged northward. The great Oak-God of the West led a forest of Dryads and Hamadryads; Pan himself piped at the head of a band of Fauns and Satyrs; the Dwarfs marched with drums beating and axes crooked over their shoulders; and a great rabble of Narnians of every race and species followed after. Milophylax’s words had so permeated Narnia that at least one creature from every flock, gaggle, confusion, pack, murder, skein, den, parliament, pride, and clan was there-even several young, foolish Centaurs and an ugly, lumbering Giant.
They came to the place where the sacred Tree, the Tree of Protection, stood. Egged on by the mob, the Squirrels, the Birds, and the Monkey swarmed over it, stripping off the silver fruits and piling them in shining heaps. The Tree stood mute and unresisting, for she had no Hamadryad to protect her-no spirit but the magic planted within her for the protection of others-and she stood motionless as the hordes crawled over her passing the shining apples from hand to paw to greedily sucking maw, at least one piece for every creature. Then, giddy with rebellion, the Dwarfs rushed at the nine-hundred-year girth of the trunk. Shouting, chanting dirty choruses, yelling with wordless anarchy, every creature who could grip an ax took a turn and those who couldn't darted in and out and pecked and gnawed and shoved. And no one noticed the lone Eagle circling high overhead.
At last the ancient Tree groaned, like a living thing, and everyone scrambled out of the way. The great crown swayed, shorn of her glory; she arced, slowly gathering speed; she crashed with a thunder that made the earth shudder and was heard for three leagues.
Queen Althea heard the distant report as she sat by her window. She, too, shuddered, as an old woman shivers and says, “A bat flies over my grave.” Quicktrack the Hound raised his head from his paws and growled faintly; the Queen laid down her knitting and crossed to where her sons lay sleeping in their cradles. She gathered them in her arms and sat a long time by the eastern casement, trembling with some unknown dread, until Clearscry came to tell what had been done.
XII.
Telmar
The sandy-haired young man-Peridan, Chief Belisan had called him-watched as Peter untied their prisoner, who jumped away from Chrysophylax the minute he was able, only to have Peter stop him with a hand on the front of his shirt.
“Beware, Boanzir,” he said, as he had said to Nothan.”This time we release you, for our anger hath been assuaged. But step not foot in Narnia again.”
“Or I will hunt you down,” growled Loneruff.
“And I will help,” hissed Chrysophylax. “Don't kill Narnian Bunnies.”
“Aye-aye, sir,” stammered Boanzir.
“Beware. And be off.”
Peter let go of his shirt and the man hurried off into the gathering twilight.
“Well,” said Peter, turning to Peridan and Lucy. “Now that all that unpleasantness is settled, did I hear the Chief say something about a cabin?”
Peridan shifted uncertainly, then seemed to make up his mind. “Aye, sir. Right this way.”
He led them south of the village to the grasslands where the livestock were pastured. “If your flying horses want to graze, they're welcome here. There is a stream not far from here where they may drink. Will the Wolves need meat?”
“No,” said Loneruff. “We ate well this morning of last night's kill, and will not hunt until the morrow. We will stay here and guard the Winged Horses.”
One of the Winged Horses pulled up a mouthful of grass. “Chewy, but not bad,” he said, and whinnied to the rest.
Peridan looked at the Dragon and swallowed. “What does your dragon eat?”
“Chrysophylax eats bread and milk,” said Lucy, patting his scaly shoulder. “What about you, Clearscry?”
The Eagle clicked her beak. “It's too dark to go hunting.”
“Right,” said Peridan. “This way, then.”
Peridan stopped before a cabin that stood slightly apart, on the western side of town. There were wool curtains in the window, smoke curling up from the window, and the door opened as they approached.
“Ahoy, Mother,” called Peridan to the tiny woman in the doorway. She barely came up to his shoulder, and though Peridan looked barely older than Peter, she was wrinkled like an old woman-from the sun, Lucy thought.
Peter glanced at Lucy, then nodded respectfully to the woman. “Greetings.”
Lucy curtsied.
The woman looked from Peridan to the visitors on her doorstep, her glance lingering on the Dragon.
“This is High King Peter of Narnia, Mother,” said Peridan, “with his sister Queen Lucy of Narnia. They have flown all day and are weary.”
“Oh!” She bobbed a curtsy. “I am Gree. Welcome to Telmar, sir and ma'am. Come right in and be at home.”
Chrysophylax curled up next to the door, put his head down, and closed his eyes. Clearscry hopped down from Peter's wrist; she preferred to sleep in the open. Lucy and Peter followed Peridan into the cabin.
Inside was warm and cozy. A pot of stew was simmering over the fire, three-legged stools waited around a table that jutted out of the wall and carried tallow candles, and a bedstead was made neatly with a patched quilt. In the corner was a ladder, and a dark hole in the ceiling-the attic.
“Our cabin is small, King Peter,” said Peridan, “but there is love here and Aslan's protection. Chief Belisan, King of the Mountains, ordered no place prepared for you, and the only empty cabin in town-it is a larger place, and better furnished, but it belonged to Uvilas's brother and the cabin has been lonely for over ten years.”
“We would not wish to turn you out of your own home,” said Lucy.
“You do not want to stay in the other place,” said Gree. “You are welcome here. Sit.”
“Thankee,” said Peter, pulling up one of the three-legged stools. “You speak of Aslan. Are you Narnian?”
“My family has lived here for a hundred summers and winters,” said Lady Gree, “and we remember only the name of Aslan as one who protects.”
“Who is Uvilas?” said Lucy, taking a seat. “Chief Belisan mentioned him.”
“He was King of the Mountains before Chief Belisan,” said Peridan. “When Chief Belisan was a young man, he killed Uvilas and took the cutlass for himself.”
“Hush, dears,” said Gree, placing a wooden bowl of stew before each of them and handing them drinking horns of water. “No doubt there is much you do not know about Telmar, and there is much I yearn to hear of Narnia, but you are weary now. Eat-and drink, for you must drink plenty in the mountains-and we shall talk story tomorrow.”
XIII.
Narnia
After that, the Queen no longer went out of the castle, for the tide of revolt flooded the country, and those who resisted were drowned. The fall of the Tree was only the beginning. Milophylax flew from one end of Narnia to the other, trailing vultures and wolves and discontented Animals, as well as animals not before seen in the land-foul women with skin like scales, man-wolves, and giants larger and uglier than those of Narnia. Together they called themselves the Freed Narnians, and they terrorized families of Narnian Humans who had lived in their homes for centuries. What Milophylax wanted, whether shiny heirlooms or family livestock, he took, blasting with fire those who stood in his way. After two weeks, King Drake finally could no longer ignore it, and sent a band of thirteen to kill the Dragon. None returned. But the Dragon stayed away from Ravenswood itself, and so King Drake did not overly concern himself.
It was only due to his Queen's wisdom that his palace still stood, though he did not know it, for she, remembering something her mother had once told her, sent a servant to gather what remained of the silver apples the night the Tree was cut down; when she set them in windows on every side of the castle, none who had eaten of the apples that night dared come near. The Narnian Humans saw that Ravenswood stood untouched, and the King's court swelled larger than ever before.
It was a little over a fortnight after that dreadful day that the Centaur who had blessed the Princes received a new message from Aslan especially for the Queen. This is what it said:
With winter comes the pallid Queen
And your good grace no more is seen
For dark and clouded is the sun.
Then many from this land shall flee
For Men harassed by Beasts shall be
As cowards swagger and strong men run.
But when Adam's flesh and Adam's bone
Sits at Cair Paravel in throne
The evil time will be over and done.
Thrice did the Queen read the parchment on which the Centaur wrote the message, first in the ancient Centaur runes and then in looping Human script. Then she laid it down and looked at her young sons where they toddled, shrieking with laughter, after Quicktrack, and in her heart she pondered what course to take.
The next afternoon one of the Queen's maidens came to speak with her. Melina was a young woman with honey-brown hair, the eldest daughter of Althea's good friend Lady Celia, of a family descended from Prince Thomas, the sixth son of King Frank the First.
“Madam,” she said, twisting her hands nervously, “Papa and Mama talked low after bed every night this week, and now Papa says we're to leave Narnia. Mama says we're just as Narnian as the Talking Animals, but she's sure she doesn't feel safe around here any longer, what with the Freed Narnians burning down Harthorn and the Weland family just barely getting out. Papa says times change, and maybe 'tis better that Narnia be for the Beasts and Archenland for the Men. Bram-that's my elder brother, Your Majesty-he's always been rather keen to visit Telmar someday, and I reckon we're moving south.”
Queen Althea listened. Many from this land shall flee. “I shall be sorry to lose thee from among my maidens, Melina,” said she. “Aslan bless thee and thy family in Archenland and the South. Wouldst kindly ask thy mother to visit me ere ye go?”
XIV.
England
By the time tea was over, the windows were all dark. Aunt 'Ears'ry and Uncle Pewiwig slept at night, but Frank usually slept all day, like Mrs. 'Winklewacks and the Badgers. Now he felt wide-awake and ready to play. He wanted Aunt 'Ears'ry to come and tell him a story before she went to bed. He wanted to play with Ruffle'nout and Scufflebrock. He wanted gruff old Uncle Pewiwig to take him down in the mines, where they could look for more pretty rocks.
Instead, there was Aunt Susie, who gave him a bath, dressed him in new and itchy clothes, and then wanted him to go to bed. In the middle of the evening! Bed! But it had been almost dawn, almost bedtime, back in the sett, before the wolves came . . . and that was a long time ago. “ 'M not tired,” he said, but a great big yawn interrupted him, and Aunt Susie laughed again. He liked her, even if she made him wear itchy clothes and even if she looked at his eyes too much, because she also smiled at him and laughed a lot, like Mrs. 'Winklewacks, and gave him extra honey on his toast. So he followed her into what she called the “guest room”
“You may sleep here,” said she, “and you may stay as long as you need.”
“Thankee,” he said. It was almost like he could hear Mrs. 'Winklewacks and Mrs. 'Nuffleroot in his head, reminding him of his manners.
Stripetail leaped up on the foot of the bed, turned around twice, and lay down. Frank set Yi next to Stripetail and started to climb up after them, but-
“Aren't you going to say your prayers, Frank?”
He stopped and looked up at her. “Why?”
“Haven't you been taught to say your prayers before bed?”
He thought about that. Sometimes if someone-maybe his Centaur uncle who visited now and then-wanted to ask for something in a special, fancy way, he could say “I pray thee.” A prayer was when you asked for something. They called it a prayer if the bad woman and her wolves were chasing you and you called on Aslan for help. He could hear you, even if he was far away, across the sea. Frank had never seen the sea, but he knew Aslan lived over it in his own country, with his father the Emperor-over-the-Sea. But prayer. How could a prayer belong to someone? How could there be Frank's Prayers?
He shook his head.
“Well.” Aunt Susie's voice wasn't laughy anymore. “Someone's been filling your head with a lot of nonsense. Kneel down by your bed, like so.” She knelt, a little stiffly, at the bedside. He mimicked her.
“Close your eyes and fold your hands.”
There was that again.
“Then, you say-oh, repeat after me: Now I lay me down to sleep.”
“Now I way me down to sweep.” He was, even if it was the wrong time of day.
“I pray the Lord my soul to keep.”
“I pway the Word my soul to teep.” I ask the Lord . . . a lord was a Man who lived in a castle. There weren't many lords left in Narnia, because all the Mans had left, but he had heard stories, and Aunt Susie and Mr. Man lived in a castle, so maybe Mr. Man was a lord.
“If I should die before I wake,”
“If I should die before I wate,” Would the bad woman and her wolves come while he was sleeping?
“I pray the Lord my soul to take.”
“I pway the Word my soul to tate. Why?” He opened his eyes and looked at Aunt Susie.
“Well-” she said. “You'd have to ask . . . Uncle Colin, about that. Time for bed, dear.”
Why? Why did Mans sleep at night and not during the day? Why was Mr. Man-Uncle Colin, was he now?-why was he going to take Frank's soul? “What's a soul, Aunt Thuthie?”
“Your soul is your spirit.”
“My 'pirit?” Frank hadn't known he had a spirit.
“Yes. And no, you can't see it.”
“Why?”
“I don't know. Hop in bed, now, that's a good boy.”
He climbed onto the bed. It would make a lot more sense to sleep under the bed, but there were lots of burrowy bedclothes on the bed, so he and Yi burrowed down among them. Together they thought about Aunt 'Ears'ry and Uncle Pewiwig and-
“Good night, Frank.”
-And Mrs. 'Winklewacks and Mr. and Mrs. 'Nuffleroot and Ruffle'nout and Tusslebrock, and Aslan, and that green place, where everything was so quiet and sleepy. . . .
XV.
Narnia
When Melina departed, Queen Althea took her younger son, with Nightshadow the Panther to guard them, and came to the Centaur prophet, leaving her elder son in the care of his guardians. She told him of Melina and begged his counsel. Plainly and earnestly did he speak with her, and when darkness fell and the danger grew greater, he laid his hands on young Prince Glen and blessed him. Then the Queen returned with her son and her guard.
All that night, she kept watch at her eastern window, and at the darkest hour, when the night was chill and silent, Aslan came to her and comforted her. When the clouded sky lightened, she rose, washed herself, and put away her cares to play in the southern garden with the Princes and six-year-old Khesa, their half-sister. Quicktrack the Hound was away, visiting his family, Sootquill and Mrs. Twinketacks were asleep, and Clearscry stood guard, but Nightshadow the Panther played a fine game of Tig with the Humans, stalking and leaping and tickling with his tail until they all were laughing.
The Queen had just caught Prince Glen and was tickling him when a patch of ground by the wall seemed to swell, and then two Talking Moles burst out of the ground, blinking and squinting in the sunshine.
“Greetings, cousins!” called the Queen, setting Prince Glen down and motioning for Clearscry and Nightshadow to remain where they were. “What brings ye to Castle Ravenswood?”
The Moles jumped. “Now look what you've done, Moldywarp!” said the second Mole to the first one. “Beg pardon, beg pardon, ma'am. I shouldn'ta let my brother lead. Ruddy chap can't dig straight.” He pushed Moldywarp back down the hole and prepared to follow, but the Queen, her face still flushed from exercise, cried,
“Wait! Please, wait.”
He turned back, “Yes, ma'am?”
“Good cousin Mole, I am Queen Althea. Might I know thy name?”
“Oh!” said the Mole, bowing several times. “ Grubbledelve, and right sorry for disturbin' Your Majesty. My brother, he don't tell direction so well, but he's a good digger and sometimes I let him go first. Beg pardon for disturbin' you.”
“Nay,” said the Queen. “Hast disturbed me not. Might I ask whither this tunnel leads?”
Grubbledelve rubbed the dirt off his hands. “Under the wall and away west, it did, but we filled it behind us as we came. You see, ma'am-Your Majesty, that is-begging your pardon, but a lot of Beasts are spouting a lot of poppycock about driving Humans from Narnia and making it a land only of Beasts, but we-my brother and me-we don't hold with that rot, and we thought mebbe if we went east we could live in a little peace.”
“I fear there is little peace to be found in Narnia, good cousin. Yet it seems you might be loyal to Aslan. Mayhap you are willing to do a deed for me.”
He said nothing, and she went on.
“Good Mole, couldst thou and thy brother dig a tunnel from this very spot, under yonder wall, and away to the south and east, and couldst thou dig it large enough for a loyal Hedgehog and for one of my young sons to pass through?”
Grubbledelve blinked once or twice. Then he bowed again, awkwardly. “That we could, ma'am. That we could.” He turned to his brother, who had slid back up to listen while they were talking. “This time, I go first, hear?”
Moldywarp mumbled something and shuffled around behind Grubbledelve; then they plunged into the earth and dirt flew out behind them.
Althea watched them for a moment, her face suddenly careworn and sad, but she roused at Khesa's touch on her arm.
“A lady is here to speak with you, madam.”
XVI.
Telmar
Lady Gree wanted to give her bed to Peter and Lucy, but Peter declined and climbed the ladder to the attic, where Peridan slept. Lucy would have followed him, but Gree insisted and Lucy insisted back and they shared the bed. Next morning they carried water from the well for the lady and ate bowls of buckwheat porridge while she told them about Telmar-the knife they had seen, the Cutlass, was the symbol of the Chief, as were the great antlers. “But the Cutlass more,” said the lady. “Many chiefs have been killed with it by those who wanted their power, their cattle, their women.” The log structure the chief lived in was called Kahuna Lodge. She did not know whence the Telmarines had come. “We-they-have lived here always, I suppose, but no one knows. Telmarines do not value their past. They do not care who your grandfather was, who your grandmother was. If there is game to eat and beer to drink, some of them, if they hold the Cutlass, that is all they care. It is different in Narnia, no?”
“Yes,” said Lucy. “In Narnia we tell stories to remind us who we are. But you wish to hear of Narnia?”
Lady Gree took their empty bowls and handed them a loaf of bread. “For your dragon. Now is not the time. Go, and Peridan will show you the livestock and the fields. The Chief may see you again today.”
So they went and saw the women milking the cows.
“Remarkable cows,” said Peter, and they were really far better than the few scrawny animals Narnia had. A woman with long black hair and a bright red skirt told them how they pastured the cows in the summer and fed them alfalfa hay in the winter. When they had finished, she gave them a bucket of milk for Chrysophylax.
They looked at the horses next, and the contrast was impressive. It was a small herd, and where Narnia had tall, glossy horses, these were small, rough-coated, and stocky. “There's never very far to go,” said Peridan, “and ponies aren't much good for hunting in the mountains, but I've heard of some young men stealing better and faster horses from Archenland.” Indeed, King Lune had complained to Susan of that very thing.
The Winged Horses said they had passed a fine night, but would not wish to stay more than a week away from Narnian grass. The Wolves and Clearscry had gone hunting again, and Chrysophylax settled down to sun himself in the pasture, promising to stay away from the sheep, which were “too fluffy, anyhow.” The sheep were kept mainly for their wool, which was acceptable, but Lucy thought of the fine Felimathian wool and said nothing.
Long-legged jackrabbits bounded past where the grass was tall, and gophers and prairie dogs scurried away into holes in the the ground.
Peter looked at the fields with interest. “This is as good as Archen wheat, as far as I can tell, and I haven't seen buckwheat before.”
The short plant was alfalfa, Lucy learned. “I think they might have some alfalfa in Archenland,” she said. The cows certainly were thriving on it.
So they passed the morning, and Peridan stopped in at Kahuna Lodge on the way back to his mother's cabin. “The Chief will not see you today,” he said when he came back. “Queen Florima has given birth to her fourth son. He sends his apologies, and wishes to speak with you tomorrow.”
“I'm glad,” said Lucy, taking Peter's arm. “I mean, I know we ought to work out a treaty, but it's rather nice to just wander around today, don't you think?”
“Yes, I think so,” said Peridan.
They walked back through town, the men nodding to Peter, the women smiling at Lucy. “They're friendlier when Chrys isn't with us,” she whispered to Peter, and he chuckled.
Lady Gree met them at the door and ushered them inside, where the cabin was filled with the savory smell of something roasting over the fire.
“You are speaking with the Chief today?” she asked.
“No, mother,” said Peridan.
“Ah!” she said, and her face lit up with a wrinkled smile. “I have found us a suitable dinner. Let us talk story.”
XVII.
Narnia
It was Melina's mother and Althea's dear friend, Lady Celia. She was over a decade older than Althea, and had often counseled and comforted her, though there had been little time for meeting and conversation in the last year. They lunched together on wheat bread from the southern slopes of Archenland with stewed Narnian pumpkin and venison. The conversation was brittlely light, relieved only by the laughter of the Princes, playing with Celia's youngest, a girl two months older than they.
At last, as Althea poured the tea, Celia said, “Madam. What troubles you?”
The Queen's hand shook so that she spilled the tea. “Winter cometh,” said she quietly, setting the pot down, “and all Narnia in an uproar.” She lowered her voice. “They have cut down the Tree. Naught standeth between Narnia and the Northern Evil.” Even she could barely remember what that Evil was, but it loomed in the northeast of her mind, darkening like a blizzard cloud. She took a trembling sip of tea. “Ye are . . . wise, to leave. A dark day cometh, with great trials.” She paused. “When yonder princes were born, a Centaur prophet did bless them, with a prophecy that through the elder should come the restoration of this land, when that day hath passed. Yet also did he foretell that I . . . that I shall not live to see it.” Another choking swallow of tea, and Celia's hand upon hers. “Three days past, he sent me a second message, given him by Aslan for me and for the land. A 'pallid Queen' cometh with winter, and I 'no more am seen.' Celia. . . .”
The other woman squeezed her hand. “The Northern Evil-?”
“I believe 'tis so. Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve are in great danger, and shall be in greater danger yet. I placed the last apples of protection about Ravenswood, but Aslan alone knoweth how long they shall be preserved when I am-gone, or for what span of time he shall preserve the King and those related to the King.”
“Does Aslan in truth-?”
“In truth, he doth preserve those who call upon him, yet thou knowest my lord the King calleth not upon the Great Lion.”
Celia nodded, and Althea pressed on.
“Thou canst aid me, Celia. I pray thee, help me.”
“How?”
She drew a deep breath. “Take my son Glen with you to Archenland.”
Celia sat back suddenly.
“I have sought counsel from the prophet. I have petitioned Aslan the night through. Let not the last true-born son of Narnia's King fall in this overwhelming flood.”
“What of your other son?”
“As the prophet telleth me, the heir and Crown Prince may not leave the land until all is lost. Mayhap 'twill all be over quickly, and thy family can return with Prince Glen. Mayhap-I know not all the future holdeth, but I ask thee, take my son with thee and-and love him-love him as thine own.”
And when Lady Celia vowed to do so, the two women embraced and kissed and wept long together. Then Lady Celia returned to her home, and when darkness fell, the Queen with many tears and blessings bid farewell to her younger son, entrusting him to Sootquill the Owl, who bore him to the lady. Within three days, the lady and her family, with the Prince, crossed the border from Narnia into Archenland, and no more is known of them to this day.
XVIII.
Telmar
So they sat on the three-legged stools, and Gree brought out her “suitable dinner”-an oblong slab of oily, pinkish meat. “This,” said she, “is roast beaver tail, nearly as delicious as the tongue of the buffalo.”
Lucy shot Peter a look of horror. Beaver? They were going to eat Beaver? Peter, his face blank, was telling Lady Gree how wonderful it smelled, and Lucy swallowed. She had learned long, long ago the difference between Talking Animals and dumb beasts, between friends and food. There had been a time when she had abstained from meat entirely, before they went hungry their first winter in Narnia, before the little grain that sprouted that first spring and survived until harvest ran out. When a friendly Wolf brought a haunch of venison to Paravel, she took a long look at it and found her mouth watering. But she had never eaten beaver.
She took a long look at the beaver tail. Lady Gree had gone to a good deal of trouble to procure this delicacy for her honored guests, and now Lucy put a determined smile on her face and asked, “How do you prepare it, Lady Gree?”
Peridan carved the-the meat-while Lady Gree described how beavers were trapped in the western mountains for their thick, feltable fur. This beaver had been trapped and brought to her by her younger son, Casp. The tail had to be blistered an open flame until the skin came off, and then roasted carefully, and it all was a long (and Lucy thought, smelly) process.
“But this is not talk of Narnia,” said the lady.
Peter smiled. “No, indeed, and we did promise. But tell us first, you said your family is not Telmarine. Who are you?”
“I am Gree,” said the lady, placing food before each of them. “As the Telmarines would say if they remembered their generations, Gria Arla, Arlia Olvin, Olvinian Glen, Glenian Drake.”
The names rang through the small room, and there was silence for a moment.
“What does that mean?” said Lucy.
“I am Gree, daughter of Arla, Arla daughter of Olvin, Olvin son of Glen, Glen son of Drake.”
Part 1
Part 3
Author: pencildragon11/OldfashionedGirl95
Recipient: wingedflight21
Rating: T to be safe.
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: Familiarity with LWW, parts of PC, and one element in MN is assumed. Supporting character defoliation, and someone whose mother probably didn't have soap with which to wash out his mouth when he was a kid.
Summary: "Great Lion, grant me a son," prayed Queen Althea in the days before the winter, “I will teach him to give magnanimously, to love tenderly, to judge wisely, and to fight courageously; that he may restore your peace to Narnia."
I Know a Tale, or, The Lost King, part 2
She left the web, she left the loom.
She made three paces through the room.
“The curse is come upon me!” cried
The Lady of Shalott.
~ Tennyson
"A child can ask questions that a wise man cannot answer."
~ Anonymous
IX.
Narnia
The Eleventh Year of King Drake
It was a day and a night before the King came to see his heirs, and then he had little to say. “Twins, eh? Seems thou'lt ever be a stubborn Archen wench. Well, well, an heir and withal a spare. Thankee, lass, though wast an uncommon long time about it.”
Queen Althea had been reclining on a pile of pillows, but now she pushed herself up and gazed straight at the King. “No wench am I, but your own true wife: an Archen princess by birth, indeed, but a very Narnian Queen this half-score years.”
At that, the King scowled his way out of the room, muttering. But, now provided with an heir, he visited infrequently, and Queen Althea was left to raise her sons as she saw fit, the King in all likelihood considering them too young to be affected by their mother's old-fashioned beliefs.
Queen Althea was a wise woman, though, and she quietly made use of her freedom. When her sons were a week old, she smuggled them out of the castle to be blessed by a Centaur, one called a seer among Centaurs, as was the custom of old in Archenland and Narnia. A long time did the prophet hold each Prince in his arms, then he spoke.
“Through your elder son, Narnia shall be restored, though he will live in obscurity all his days. And when, in future days, Narnia faceth great sorrow, the children of your younger son will preserve the land from crisis, for Aslan's breath lieth heavy upon these twain.”
The Queen thanked him and said, “Narnia sorrows, and the Men fear the Beasts. Noble Centaur, will you teach my sons when they grow older, and will you assist me in finding noble Animals who will come to Ravenswood, that my sons may grow accustomed to and learn to respect them?”
The prophet bowed gravely to her and gave his word to assist her. Then, wrapping herself and her twin sons again in her cloak, she went swiftly into the night, back to the castle, where the guards stood their deaf, dumb watch.
Soon the Queen had gathered to herself a small number of Talking Beasts: Sootquill the Owl, Mrs. Twinkletacks the widowed Hedgehog, Clearscry the Eagle, Nightshadow the Panther, and a two-year-old Hound, Quicktrack, who was willing, if necessary, to play dumb. These Narnian Animals did not believe the words of Milophylax the Dragon, but pledged their allegiance to Queen Althea and to the infant Princes, vowing to teach them the proper respect and love for Aslan and His creatures.
For a single year, Queen Althea lived quietly with the court she had formed. Outside, Milophylax stirred up the Narnians against their King and against all Men, and in his Ravenswood court the King feasted and drank and grew fatter; but in her apartments the Queen filled her days with her growing sons. She sang old Narnian songs to them; she recited Archen poetry; she taught them the clapping games children had played when she was young; and when Khesa, one of Drake's mistress's young daughters, asked to join, she welcomed her into the games.
Outside, bands of restless Narnians roamed the countryside, stealing whatever caught their eyes, but in the castle garden, protected by thick stone walls and loyal guardians who could see, hear, and smell as well as any attacker; the Princes could play, gurgling, on the grass. And so they grew, happy and healthy and strong. By the time they were ten months old, Glen, determined to explore every inch available, could walk unaided and could make his wishes loudly known. Frank was quieter. Though he could take a few steps and speak when he needed to, he preferred to play near his mother by the hour as she sewed and talked to him of old Narnia.
X.
England
The Fifth Year of King Edward VII
The little boy went with Mr. Man back down the yawning tunnel, out the door and down the steps; then across the field he had seen earlier until they came to another thing that wasn't a burrow or a cave. It stood up tall from the ground, and Frank thought maybe it was a castle. There were more stairs to climb before they could go in, but it was warm inside.
“Susie!” called the Man. “Three for tea tonight.”
The Man's mate came out of another room, and the boy looked at her carefully. The bad woman had black hair and red lips. Mrs. Man's hair was dark, but her lips were normal lip-color. Pink. He bowed politely to her, and he bowed to the orange Cat that had followed her out of the other room.
“Gweeting, Mrs. Man,” said he. “Gweeting, good Tat. What's your name?”
Mrs. Man laughed. “Why don't you call me Aunt Susie,” she said. “Most of the children do. The cat hasn't a name. He's just a stray staying with us for awhile.”
Frank looked at the orange Cat and his stripes. “Stwipetail,” he said. “Him's Stwipetail. Gweeting, Stwipetail.”
The newly-christened Stripetail rubbed against Frank's leg. The boy placed his hand respectfully on the Cat's head, then knelt and whispered in his ear, “Bwessings on you, good tuzzin.”
Stripetail purred.
“And he never likes strangers, either!” said Mrs. Man-Aunt Susie.
Frank stood up, Yi under his arm, and looked carefully at her again. He decided that her hair was brown, like his.
“Well, teakettle's on,” said Aunt Susie, “so come on in and make yourself comfortable.”
With Stripetail at his side, he followed the Mans into the other room, where it smelled like tea and honey and warm bread. Mr. Man pulled up a chair, one of those stools-with-a-back, and sat down while Aunt Susie sliced the bread.
“Go ahead and sit down, Frank,” she said, but he had already crawled under the red-and-white tablecloth.
Under the table was darker, and the checked cloth hung protectively close. Frank squatted on his haunches and placed Yi in front of him, beside Stripetail, who slid in and sat with his stripy tail curled around his toes. Yi's one eye didn't look straight at Frank, but glanced off to the side as a polite Nanimal's ought to. Looking straight at someone meant you were trying to catch them, like the bad woman was trying to catch Frank.
“Skin as pale as Swanwhite in silver days of old
Heart of frozen winter snow, powdery and cold
Lips as red as traitor blood, hair like darkest night-
Deliver us, Great Lion, from her cruel wand's chill bite.
Trees stand bare and broken, the River's sheathed in ice
Loyal Beasts and little Frank must hide like little mice.”
He said it quietly to Yi and Stripetail, counting the lines on his fingers until he had six . Uncle Soot'will had made it up one night, and insisted on teaching Frank to say it. Aunt 'Ears'ry had laughed screechily and pointed out that he'd used “little” twice in the last line, but Uncle Soot'will hooted at her and asked if she knew how difficult it was to write poetry.
Overhead, Frank could hear Mr. Man saying to his mate, “He's rather an odd boy, I know, insisting he can see the spirits of trees and talking about a Lion who made him.”
“Doesn't he have any parents?” said Aunt Susie-whose hair was brown with white in it.
“He said not. Says he's been living in a badger sett.”
“A badger sett. With the Borrowers, I daresay?”
“Now, Susie-”
“Now, Colin. You know that just because he followed you home doesn't mean you can keep him. I'm sure he has people somewhere looking for him.”
The corner of the tablecloth lifted and Aunt Susie's face peered in. “Want a glass of milk, Frank?”
He nodded, reaching for Yi again.
“Want to come and drink it out here? We don't bite.”
Frank thought he would rather drink his milk where he was, but he also thought Mrs. 'Winklewacks would say it was more polite to come out if Aunt Susie wanted him to. He crawled out and squatted with his back against a wall to drink his milk, peeking through the glass at the Mans, who watched him. He looked away. Stripetail wanted some milk, so Frank held it out and let the Cat lap what he wanted, then finished what was left himself.
Something whistled shrilly. Frank jumped and nearly spilt the milk, but Aunt Susie took the teakettle off the stove and the whistle went away. She pulled a third chair up to the table and put a thick book on the seat.
“Will you join us for tea, Frank?” She was smiling at him. He liked sitting where he was very well, but he got up and climbed awfully high onto the chair. Aunt Susie tied a napkin around his neck. Then she sat down next to Mr. Man and both of them folded their hands on the table.
“Fold your hands, dear, and close your eyes,” she told him. He folded his hands, and he closed his eyes, but as soon as Mr. Man started talking to someone called “A'mighty Father” he opened his eyes to see who was there. Frank couldn't see anyone else in the room, but Mr. Man talked to A'mighty Father for a long time.
Then they had toast and honey and tea with lots of milk in it. Aunt Susie asked him more questions about where his parents were and where he lived, and she made him wipe his hands on the napkin 'round his neck, instead of on his buckskin breeches.
XI.
Narnia
It was the last day of the tenth month that the fire-breath of the Dragon brought the bubbling unrest to a rolling boil. “Do you know what else that King keeps in his castle? Beasts! Our cousins! Oh, certainly, they are not like us-they are dumb beasts. Yes, he bought them from Calormen-so he says. What's there to say that they weren't once good Narnians like you and like me, Narnian creatures whom by his wizardry he has made speechless and dumb, and whom he now keeps locked in those cruel cages for his visitors' amusement? Imagine a gilded cage, good Nightingale, enclosing you. Imagine being hung in a dark, stuffy castle chamber, far from the air, far from the flowers, far from the sky and the star-song. And you, canny Monkey, think how it would be no longer to climb the trees and swing through the sky, but to spend your days scratching yourself for the amusement of oiled Calormene Humans.”
His red eyes roved over the growing crowd. “You there! Loyal Bear! How would you like sitting in a cage, fa from sticky honey and sun-sweet berries?”
The Bear scratched his head, wondering why he would be in a cage, but the rest of the creatures were listening, too, and muttering. At the edge of the crowd, a white-streaked Badger cried,
“How do you know about this zoo, Dragon? I’m a good Badger, I am, and I know that not all Humans are wicked. What about our Queen?”
Milophylax fixed the Badger with a fiery eye. “What about her? Does anyone ever see her? Well? She’s scared of us, just like the King. Why else would she hide in that castle with him? She sits behind her stone walls, filling the ears of her sons with lurid tales of the bloodthirsty beasts outside, does she not? Prove me wrong!
“As for the reliability of my information, there is a clear-headed Beast in Ravenswood whose nose is on straight and who has seen this zoo, these cages, these bars, with his own eyes. Now tell me, who has seen the Panther Nightshadow last? Can any of you tell me where he is? Was he not last seen at the New Year Dance, and did not my trusted follower Darksqueak hear him grumbling against the King?
“Good Narnians, my source in Ravenswood tells me there is a speechless panther chained in Drake’s castle.”
The crowd growled.
“Cousins, that Human has spies everywhere-even here among us now. That is why I have not told you the name of my informant, lest I risk his neck. Shall we wander away in apathy and wait for Drake’s magicians to hunt us down, to drag us off, to magick away our speech and lock us in his infernal zoo, away from our sweet Narnian grass and clear Narnian air, that we may be the laughingstock of all his visiting royalty? Shall we?
“As long as that Tree with the silver apples, the very one under which I have spoken before, as long as it stands, so does Drake. When it falls, so does he. I, for one, shall not wait to be stopped, shall not wait to be put in my proper place as a dumb beast.”
Yelling, cawing, barking, screeching, the crowd surged northward. The great Oak-God of the West led a forest of Dryads and Hamadryads; Pan himself piped at the head of a band of Fauns and Satyrs; the Dwarfs marched with drums beating and axes crooked over their shoulders; and a great rabble of Narnians of every race and species followed after. Milophylax’s words had so permeated Narnia that at least one creature from every flock, gaggle, confusion, pack, murder, skein, den, parliament, pride, and clan was there-even several young, foolish Centaurs and an ugly, lumbering Giant.
They came to the place where the sacred Tree, the Tree of Protection, stood. Egged on by the mob, the Squirrels, the Birds, and the Monkey swarmed over it, stripping off the silver fruits and piling them in shining heaps. The Tree stood mute and unresisting, for she had no Hamadryad to protect her-no spirit but the magic planted within her for the protection of others-and she stood motionless as the hordes crawled over her passing the shining apples from hand to paw to greedily sucking maw, at least one piece for every creature. Then, giddy with rebellion, the Dwarfs rushed at the nine-hundred-year girth of the trunk. Shouting, chanting dirty choruses, yelling with wordless anarchy, every creature who could grip an ax took a turn and those who couldn't darted in and out and pecked and gnawed and shoved. And no one noticed the lone Eagle circling high overhead.
At last the ancient Tree groaned, like a living thing, and everyone scrambled out of the way. The great crown swayed, shorn of her glory; she arced, slowly gathering speed; she crashed with a thunder that made the earth shudder and was heard for three leagues.
Queen Althea heard the distant report as she sat by her window. She, too, shuddered, as an old woman shivers and says, “A bat flies over my grave.” Quicktrack the Hound raised his head from his paws and growled faintly; the Queen laid down her knitting and crossed to where her sons lay sleeping in their cradles. She gathered them in her arms and sat a long time by the eastern casement, trembling with some unknown dread, until Clearscry came to tell what had been done.
XII.
Telmar
The sandy-haired young man-Peridan, Chief Belisan had called him-watched as Peter untied their prisoner, who jumped away from Chrysophylax the minute he was able, only to have Peter stop him with a hand on the front of his shirt.
“Beware, Boanzir,” he said, as he had said to Nothan.”This time we release you, for our anger hath been assuaged. But step not foot in Narnia again.”
“Or I will hunt you down,” growled Loneruff.
“And I will help,” hissed Chrysophylax. “Don't kill Narnian Bunnies.”
“Aye-aye, sir,” stammered Boanzir.
“Beware. And be off.”
Peter let go of his shirt and the man hurried off into the gathering twilight.
“Well,” said Peter, turning to Peridan and Lucy. “Now that all that unpleasantness is settled, did I hear the Chief say something about a cabin?”
Peridan shifted uncertainly, then seemed to make up his mind. “Aye, sir. Right this way.”
He led them south of the village to the grasslands where the livestock were pastured. “If your flying horses want to graze, they're welcome here. There is a stream not far from here where they may drink. Will the Wolves need meat?”
“No,” said Loneruff. “We ate well this morning of last night's kill, and will not hunt until the morrow. We will stay here and guard the Winged Horses.”
One of the Winged Horses pulled up a mouthful of grass. “Chewy, but not bad,” he said, and whinnied to the rest.
Peridan looked at the Dragon and swallowed. “What does your dragon eat?”
“Chrysophylax eats bread and milk,” said Lucy, patting his scaly shoulder. “What about you, Clearscry?”
The Eagle clicked her beak. “It's too dark to go hunting.”
“Right,” said Peridan. “This way, then.”
Peridan stopped before a cabin that stood slightly apart, on the western side of town. There were wool curtains in the window, smoke curling up from the window, and the door opened as they approached.
“Ahoy, Mother,” called Peridan to the tiny woman in the doorway. She barely came up to his shoulder, and though Peridan looked barely older than Peter, she was wrinkled like an old woman-from the sun, Lucy thought.
Peter glanced at Lucy, then nodded respectfully to the woman. “Greetings.”
Lucy curtsied.
The woman looked from Peridan to the visitors on her doorstep, her glance lingering on the Dragon.
“This is High King Peter of Narnia, Mother,” said Peridan, “with his sister Queen Lucy of Narnia. They have flown all day and are weary.”
“Oh!” She bobbed a curtsy. “I am Gree. Welcome to Telmar, sir and ma'am. Come right in and be at home.”
Chrysophylax curled up next to the door, put his head down, and closed his eyes. Clearscry hopped down from Peter's wrist; she preferred to sleep in the open. Lucy and Peter followed Peridan into the cabin.
Inside was warm and cozy. A pot of stew was simmering over the fire, three-legged stools waited around a table that jutted out of the wall and carried tallow candles, and a bedstead was made neatly with a patched quilt. In the corner was a ladder, and a dark hole in the ceiling-the attic.
“Our cabin is small, King Peter,” said Peridan, “but there is love here and Aslan's protection. Chief Belisan, King of the Mountains, ordered no place prepared for you, and the only empty cabin in town-it is a larger place, and better furnished, but it belonged to Uvilas's brother and the cabin has been lonely for over ten years.”
“We would not wish to turn you out of your own home,” said Lucy.
“You do not want to stay in the other place,” said Gree. “You are welcome here. Sit.”
“Thankee,” said Peter, pulling up one of the three-legged stools. “You speak of Aslan. Are you Narnian?”
“My family has lived here for a hundred summers and winters,” said Lady Gree, “and we remember only the name of Aslan as one who protects.”
“Who is Uvilas?” said Lucy, taking a seat. “Chief Belisan mentioned him.”
“He was King of the Mountains before Chief Belisan,” said Peridan. “When Chief Belisan was a young man, he killed Uvilas and took the cutlass for himself.”
“Hush, dears,” said Gree, placing a wooden bowl of stew before each of them and handing them drinking horns of water. “No doubt there is much you do not know about Telmar, and there is much I yearn to hear of Narnia, but you are weary now. Eat-and drink, for you must drink plenty in the mountains-and we shall talk story tomorrow.”
XIII.
Narnia
After that, the Queen no longer went out of the castle, for the tide of revolt flooded the country, and those who resisted were drowned. The fall of the Tree was only the beginning. Milophylax flew from one end of Narnia to the other, trailing vultures and wolves and discontented Animals, as well as animals not before seen in the land-foul women with skin like scales, man-wolves, and giants larger and uglier than those of Narnia. Together they called themselves the Freed Narnians, and they terrorized families of Narnian Humans who had lived in their homes for centuries. What Milophylax wanted, whether shiny heirlooms or family livestock, he took, blasting with fire those who stood in his way. After two weeks, King Drake finally could no longer ignore it, and sent a band of thirteen to kill the Dragon. None returned. But the Dragon stayed away from Ravenswood itself, and so King Drake did not overly concern himself.
It was only due to his Queen's wisdom that his palace still stood, though he did not know it, for she, remembering something her mother had once told her, sent a servant to gather what remained of the silver apples the night the Tree was cut down; when she set them in windows on every side of the castle, none who had eaten of the apples that night dared come near. The Narnian Humans saw that Ravenswood stood untouched, and the King's court swelled larger than ever before.
It was a little over a fortnight after that dreadful day that the Centaur who had blessed the Princes received a new message from Aslan especially for the Queen. This is what it said:
With winter comes the pallid Queen
And your good grace no more is seen
For dark and clouded is the sun.
Then many from this land shall flee
For Men harassed by Beasts shall be
As cowards swagger and strong men run.
But when Adam's flesh and Adam's bone
Sits at Cair Paravel in throne
The evil time will be over and done.
Thrice did the Queen read the parchment on which the Centaur wrote the message, first in the ancient Centaur runes and then in looping Human script. Then she laid it down and looked at her young sons where they toddled, shrieking with laughter, after Quicktrack, and in her heart she pondered what course to take.
The next afternoon one of the Queen's maidens came to speak with her. Melina was a young woman with honey-brown hair, the eldest daughter of Althea's good friend Lady Celia, of a family descended from Prince Thomas, the sixth son of King Frank the First.
“Madam,” she said, twisting her hands nervously, “Papa and Mama talked low after bed every night this week, and now Papa says we're to leave Narnia. Mama says we're just as Narnian as the Talking Animals, but she's sure she doesn't feel safe around here any longer, what with the Freed Narnians burning down Harthorn and the Weland family just barely getting out. Papa says times change, and maybe 'tis better that Narnia be for the Beasts and Archenland for the Men. Bram-that's my elder brother, Your Majesty-he's always been rather keen to visit Telmar someday, and I reckon we're moving south.”
Queen Althea listened. Many from this land shall flee. “I shall be sorry to lose thee from among my maidens, Melina,” said she. “Aslan bless thee and thy family in Archenland and the South. Wouldst kindly ask thy mother to visit me ere ye go?”
XIV.
England
By the time tea was over, the windows were all dark. Aunt 'Ears'ry and Uncle Pewiwig slept at night, but Frank usually slept all day, like Mrs. 'Winklewacks and the Badgers. Now he felt wide-awake and ready to play. He wanted Aunt 'Ears'ry to come and tell him a story before she went to bed. He wanted to play with Ruffle'nout and Scufflebrock. He wanted gruff old Uncle Pewiwig to take him down in the mines, where they could look for more pretty rocks.
Instead, there was Aunt Susie, who gave him a bath, dressed him in new and itchy clothes, and then wanted him to go to bed. In the middle of the evening! Bed! But it had been almost dawn, almost bedtime, back in the sett, before the wolves came . . . and that was a long time ago. “ 'M not tired,” he said, but a great big yawn interrupted him, and Aunt Susie laughed again. He liked her, even if she made him wear itchy clothes and even if she looked at his eyes too much, because she also smiled at him and laughed a lot, like Mrs. 'Winklewacks, and gave him extra honey on his toast. So he followed her into what she called the “guest room”
“You may sleep here,” said she, “and you may stay as long as you need.”
“Thankee,” he said. It was almost like he could hear Mrs. 'Winklewacks and Mrs. 'Nuffleroot in his head, reminding him of his manners.
Stripetail leaped up on the foot of the bed, turned around twice, and lay down. Frank set Yi next to Stripetail and started to climb up after them, but-
“Aren't you going to say your prayers, Frank?”
He stopped and looked up at her. “Why?”
“Haven't you been taught to say your prayers before bed?”
He thought about that. Sometimes if someone-maybe his Centaur uncle who visited now and then-wanted to ask for something in a special, fancy way, he could say “I pray thee.” A prayer was when you asked for something. They called it a prayer if the bad woman and her wolves were chasing you and you called on Aslan for help. He could hear you, even if he was far away, across the sea. Frank had never seen the sea, but he knew Aslan lived over it in his own country, with his father the Emperor-over-the-Sea. But prayer. How could a prayer belong to someone? How could there be Frank's Prayers?
He shook his head.
“Well.” Aunt Susie's voice wasn't laughy anymore. “Someone's been filling your head with a lot of nonsense. Kneel down by your bed, like so.” She knelt, a little stiffly, at the bedside. He mimicked her.
“Close your eyes and fold your hands.”
There was that again.
“Then, you say-oh, repeat after me: Now I lay me down to sleep.”
“Now I way me down to sweep.” He was, even if it was the wrong time of day.
“I pray the Lord my soul to keep.”
“I pway the Word my soul to teep.” I ask the Lord . . . a lord was a Man who lived in a castle. There weren't many lords left in Narnia, because all the Mans had left, but he had heard stories, and Aunt Susie and Mr. Man lived in a castle, so maybe Mr. Man was a lord.
“If I should die before I wake,”
“If I should die before I wate,” Would the bad woman and her wolves come while he was sleeping?
“I pray the Lord my soul to take.”
“I pway the Word my soul to tate. Why?” He opened his eyes and looked at Aunt Susie.
“Well-” she said. “You'd have to ask . . . Uncle Colin, about that. Time for bed, dear.”
Why? Why did Mans sleep at night and not during the day? Why was Mr. Man-Uncle Colin, was he now?-why was he going to take Frank's soul? “What's a soul, Aunt Thuthie?”
“Your soul is your spirit.”
“My 'pirit?” Frank hadn't known he had a spirit.
“Yes. And no, you can't see it.”
“Why?”
“I don't know. Hop in bed, now, that's a good boy.”
He climbed onto the bed. It would make a lot more sense to sleep under the bed, but there were lots of burrowy bedclothes on the bed, so he and Yi burrowed down among them. Together they thought about Aunt 'Ears'ry and Uncle Pewiwig and-
“Good night, Frank.”
-And Mrs. 'Winklewacks and Mr. and Mrs. 'Nuffleroot and Ruffle'nout and Tusslebrock, and Aslan, and that green place, where everything was so quiet and sleepy. . . .
XV.
Narnia
When Melina departed, Queen Althea took her younger son, with Nightshadow the Panther to guard them, and came to the Centaur prophet, leaving her elder son in the care of his guardians. She told him of Melina and begged his counsel. Plainly and earnestly did he speak with her, and when darkness fell and the danger grew greater, he laid his hands on young Prince Glen and blessed him. Then the Queen returned with her son and her guard.
All that night, she kept watch at her eastern window, and at the darkest hour, when the night was chill and silent, Aslan came to her and comforted her. When the clouded sky lightened, she rose, washed herself, and put away her cares to play in the southern garden with the Princes and six-year-old Khesa, their half-sister. Quicktrack the Hound was away, visiting his family, Sootquill and Mrs. Twinketacks were asleep, and Clearscry stood guard, but Nightshadow the Panther played a fine game of Tig with the Humans, stalking and leaping and tickling with his tail until they all were laughing.
The Queen had just caught Prince Glen and was tickling him when a patch of ground by the wall seemed to swell, and then two Talking Moles burst out of the ground, blinking and squinting in the sunshine.
“Greetings, cousins!” called the Queen, setting Prince Glen down and motioning for Clearscry and Nightshadow to remain where they were. “What brings ye to Castle Ravenswood?”
The Moles jumped. “Now look what you've done, Moldywarp!” said the second Mole to the first one. “Beg pardon, beg pardon, ma'am. I shouldn'ta let my brother lead. Ruddy chap can't dig straight.” He pushed Moldywarp back down the hole and prepared to follow, but the Queen, her face still flushed from exercise, cried,
“Wait! Please, wait.”
He turned back, “Yes, ma'am?”
“Good cousin Mole, I am Queen Althea. Might I know thy name?”
“Oh!” said the Mole, bowing several times. “ Grubbledelve, and right sorry for disturbin' Your Majesty. My brother, he don't tell direction so well, but he's a good digger and sometimes I let him go first. Beg pardon for disturbin' you.”
“Nay,” said the Queen. “Hast disturbed me not. Might I ask whither this tunnel leads?”
Grubbledelve rubbed the dirt off his hands. “Under the wall and away west, it did, but we filled it behind us as we came. You see, ma'am-Your Majesty, that is-begging your pardon, but a lot of Beasts are spouting a lot of poppycock about driving Humans from Narnia and making it a land only of Beasts, but we-my brother and me-we don't hold with that rot, and we thought mebbe if we went east we could live in a little peace.”
“I fear there is little peace to be found in Narnia, good cousin. Yet it seems you might be loyal to Aslan. Mayhap you are willing to do a deed for me.”
He said nothing, and she went on.
“Good Mole, couldst thou and thy brother dig a tunnel from this very spot, under yonder wall, and away to the south and east, and couldst thou dig it large enough for a loyal Hedgehog and for one of my young sons to pass through?”
Grubbledelve blinked once or twice. Then he bowed again, awkwardly. “That we could, ma'am. That we could.” He turned to his brother, who had slid back up to listen while they were talking. “This time, I go first, hear?”
Moldywarp mumbled something and shuffled around behind Grubbledelve; then they plunged into the earth and dirt flew out behind them.
Althea watched them for a moment, her face suddenly careworn and sad, but she roused at Khesa's touch on her arm.
“A lady is here to speak with you, madam.”
XVI.
Telmar
Lady Gree wanted to give her bed to Peter and Lucy, but Peter declined and climbed the ladder to the attic, where Peridan slept. Lucy would have followed him, but Gree insisted and Lucy insisted back and they shared the bed. Next morning they carried water from the well for the lady and ate bowls of buckwheat porridge while she told them about Telmar-the knife they had seen, the Cutlass, was the symbol of the Chief, as were the great antlers. “But the Cutlass more,” said the lady. “Many chiefs have been killed with it by those who wanted their power, their cattle, their women.” The log structure the chief lived in was called Kahuna Lodge. She did not know whence the Telmarines had come. “We-they-have lived here always, I suppose, but no one knows. Telmarines do not value their past. They do not care who your grandfather was, who your grandmother was. If there is game to eat and beer to drink, some of them, if they hold the Cutlass, that is all they care. It is different in Narnia, no?”
“Yes,” said Lucy. “In Narnia we tell stories to remind us who we are. But you wish to hear of Narnia?”
Lady Gree took their empty bowls and handed them a loaf of bread. “For your dragon. Now is not the time. Go, and Peridan will show you the livestock and the fields. The Chief may see you again today.”
So they went and saw the women milking the cows.
“Remarkable cows,” said Peter, and they were really far better than the few scrawny animals Narnia had. A woman with long black hair and a bright red skirt told them how they pastured the cows in the summer and fed them alfalfa hay in the winter. When they had finished, she gave them a bucket of milk for Chrysophylax.
They looked at the horses next, and the contrast was impressive. It was a small herd, and where Narnia had tall, glossy horses, these were small, rough-coated, and stocky. “There's never very far to go,” said Peridan, “and ponies aren't much good for hunting in the mountains, but I've heard of some young men stealing better and faster horses from Archenland.” Indeed, King Lune had complained to Susan of that very thing.
The Winged Horses said they had passed a fine night, but would not wish to stay more than a week away from Narnian grass. The Wolves and Clearscry had gone hunting again, and Chrysophylax settled down to sun himself in the pasture, promising to stay away from the sheep, which were “too fluffy, anyhow.” The sheep were kept mainly for their wool, which was acceptable, but Lucy thought of the fine Felimathian wool and said nothing.
Long-legged jackrabbits bounded past where the grass was tall, and gophers and prairie dogs scurried away into holes in the the ground.
Peter looked at the fields with interest. “This is as good as Archen wheat, as far as I can tell, and I haven't seen buckwheat before.”
The short plant was alfalfa, Lucy learned. “I think they might have some alfalfa in Archenland,” she said. The cows certainly were thriving on it.
So they passed the morning, and Peridan stopped in at Kahuna Lodge on the way back to his mother's cabin. “The Chief will not see you today,” he said when he came back. “Queen Florima has given birth to her fourth son. He sends his apologies, and wishes to speak with you tomorrow.”
“I'm glad,” said Lucy, taking Peter's arm. “I mean, I know we ought to work out a treaty, but it's rather nice to just wander around today, don't you think?”
“Yes, I think so,” said Peridan.
They walked back through town, the men nodding to Peter, the women smiling at Lucy. “They're friendlier when Chrys isn't with us,” she whispered to Peter, and he chuckled.
Lady Gree met them at the door and ushered them inside, where the cabin was filled with the savory smell of something roasting over the fire.
“You are speaking with the Chief today?” she asked.
“No, mother,” said Peridan.
“Ah!” she said, and her face lit up with a wrinkled smile. “I have found us a suitable dinner. Let us talk story.”
XVII.
Narnia
It was Melina's mother and Althea's dear friend, Lady Celia. She was over a decade older than Althea, and had often counseled and comforted her, though there had been little time for meeting and conversation in the last year. They lunched together on wheat bread from the southern slopes of Archenland with stewed Narnian pumpkin and venison. The conversation was brittlely light, relieved only by the laughter of the Princes, playing with Celia's youngest, a girl two months older than they.
At last, as Althea poured the tea, Celia said, “Madam. What troubles you?”
The Queen's hand shook so that she spilled the tea. “Winter cometh,” said she quietly, setting the pot down, “and all Narnia in an uproar.” She lowered her voice. “They have cut down the Tree. Naught standeth between Narnia and the Northern Evil.” Even she could barely remember what that Evil was, but it loomed in the northeast of her mind, darkening like a blizzard cloud. She took a trembling sip of tea. “Ye are . . . wise, to leave. A dark day cometh, with great trials.” She paused. “When yonder princes were born, a Centaur prophet did bless them, with a prophecy that through the elder should come the restoration of this land, when that day hath passed. Yet also did he foretell that I . . . that I shall not live to see it.” Another choking swallow of tea, and Celia's hand upon hers. “Three days past, he sent me a second message, given him by Aslan for me and for the land. A 'pallid Queen' cometh with winter, and I 'no more am seen.' Celia. . . .”
The other woman squeezed her hand. “The Northern Evil-?”
“I believe 'tis so. Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve are in great danger, and shall be in greater danger yet. I placed the last apples of protection about Ravenswood, but Aslan alone knoweth how long they shall be preserved when I am-gone, or for what span of time he shall preserve the King and those related to the King.”
“Does Aslan in truth-?”
“In truth, he doth preserve those who call upon him, yet thou knowest my lord the King calleth not upon the Great Lion.”
Celia nodded, and Althea pressed on.
“Thou canst aid me, Celia. I pray thee, help me.”
“How?”
She drew a deep breath. “Take my son Glen with you to Archenland.”
Celia sat back suddenly.
“I have sought counsel from the prophet. I have petitioned Aslan the night through. Let not the last true-born son of Narnia's King fall in this overwhelming flood.”
“What of your other son?”
“As the prophet telleth me, the heir and Crown Prince may not leave the land until all is lost. Mayhap 'twill all be over quickly, and thy family can return with Prince Glen. Mayhap-I know not all the future holdeth, but I ask thee, take my son with thee and-and love him-love him as thine own.”
And when Lady Celia vowed to do so, the two women embraced and kissed and wept long together. Then Lady Celia returned to her home, and when darkness fell, the Queen with many tears and blessings bid farewell to her younger son, entrusting him to Sootquill the Owl, who bore him to the lady. Within three days, the lady and her family, with the Prince, crossed the border from Narnia into Archenland, and no more is known of them to this day.
XVIII.
Telmar
So they sat on the three-legged stools, and Gree brought out her “suitable dinner”-an oblong slab of oily, pinkish meat. “This,” said she, “is roast beaver tail, nearly as delicious as the tongue of the buffalo.”
Lucy shot Peter a look of horror. Beaver? They were going to eat Beaver? Peter, his face blank, was telling Lady Gree how wonderful it smelled, and Lucy swallowed. She had learned long, long ago the difference between Talking Animals and dumb beasts, between friends and food. There had been a time when she had abstained from meat entirely, before they went hungry their first winter in Narnia, before the little grain that sprouted that first spring and survived until harvest ran out. When a friendly Wolf brought a haunch of venison to Paravel, she took a long look at it and found her mouth watering. But she had never eaten beaver.
She took a long look at the beaver tail. Lady Gree had gone to a good deal of trouble to procure this delicacy for her honored guests, and now Lucy put a determined smile on her face and asked, “How do you prepare it, Lady Gree?”
Peridan carved the-the meat-while Lady Gree described how beavers were trapped in the western mountains for their thick, feltable fur. This beaver had been trapped and brought to her by her younger son, Casp. The tail had to be blistered an open flame until the skin came off, and then roasted carefully, and it all was a long (and Lucy thought, smelly) process.
“But this is not talk of Narnia,” said the lady.
Peter smiled. “No, indeed, and we did promise. But tell us first, you said your family is not Telmarine. Who are you?”
“I am Gree,” said the lady, placing food before each of them. “As the Telmarines would say if they remembered their generations, Gria Arla, Arlia Olvin, Olvinian Glen, Glenian Drake.”
The names rang through the small room, and there was silence for a moment.
“What does that mean?” said Lucy.
“I am Gree, daughter of Arla, Arla daughter of Olvin, Olvin son of Glen, Glen son of Drake.”
Part 1
Part 3