This is a short story about Emeth´s childhood. For those who don't remember, Emeth is the calormene from The Last Battle. This guy is one of my favorite characters…
Warning: English is not my first language. I tried to avoid grammar/spelling mistakes, but I don't know if I succeed. . I always use the spellchecker, but he's crazy, so I don't know.
Disclaimer: They belong to C.S. Lewis, of course.
Fear
He was still a child, on the day it happened.
It was little before dinner, and he was out on the garden. He had little time to play and he would never dare to be late for dinner – that would mean disrespect to his father and he knew the punishment would come quickly and devastating.
So he was playing but he wasn't happy, he was never happy, because it was fear what took him outside from home and it was fear what drove him back, and it was always fear that seemed to imprint dark colors to everything that happened. Everybody seemed to fear his father. His harsh words, his heavy hands, his dark and looming figure, everyone was scared and intimidated and Emeth was no exception. That was why he wanted to get away. He dreamed of the day he would join the Tisroc army, may he live forever, and leave the house for good.
Meanwhile he could hide in the garden, and so that's where we was and he saw the shadow. He stopped, curiosity making him forget for an instant the gloomy thoughts. It was already dark and the shadow seemed distorted and very, very big, and he gave one or two steps in that direction before he stopped dead in his track
There, taking a walk in the garden like he owned it, casual ands majestic, was the biggest Lion he had ever seen.
His heart accelerated, just like it happened when he saw his father's dark eyes when the man raised his whip, but at the same time it was different, a kind of fear so intense as he had never felt and so familiar, so very familiar… and the lion stopped and looked at him, honey-colored eyes, serious and as neutral as mirrors, and Emeth stared at those eyes and couldn't think of anything to say and then the lion turned away and seemed to vanish in the shadowy garden, and Emeth realized for the first time he was on his knees on the ground and his face was wet with tears.
And that night was the first time he heard the name Aslan, in a horrified whisper that was carved in his memories with the hateful look on his father's face, the hate/fear barely disguised in the way he almost spat the word, and in the pain of the whip in his bare back, a lingering pain that took some days to vanish. It was then that he found out that that creature was a vicious demon from the north, an abomination that the barbarians used to insult Tash's glory.
And although he learned to praise Tash and hate Aslan as well as his father, even after leaving his house, Emeth never quite succeed in leaving the fear behind. And he knew it was partially due to his deeply respect for the furious, vindictive God he worshipped and served, but compared to that, compared to the horror of the presence of the lion, fear of death and vengeance and punishment didn't seem all that bad.
end
