BLOOD MOON
I always had a thing for history. I especially love medieval history. Lately, I've been digging into the history of Joan of Arc. Reading about the Siege of Orléans, and watching the 1999 "Joan of Arc" TV miniseries with Leelee Sobieski, really inspired me; before I knew it, this story came to mind, and I knew I had to write it down. I just couldn't let it slip away from me. Here, the Calormenes are portrayed in a much more unpleasant light. I know they're typically wicked in C.S. Lewis's series, but in this story, they are pure evil. (Or, rather, the villain, who is a Calormene, is pure evil.) As this is a story about war, there will be some intense scenes; maybe some blood here and there. But I will try to not overdo it. And this is one of my more serious stories, without much humor, so brace yourselves, mates. There will definitely be some spirituality scattered about here and there as well, so keep your eyes peeled for that, too.
Cookies for those who take time to review this story! If you don't mind, give me more than simple one-word reviews, such as "cool" or "awesome". I want to know WHAT is so awesome about the story, WHY you think the story is so cool, WHY I should bother to finish it. As always, sheer flames are forbidden. If you don't like the story, no one says you had to read it in the first place, and no one says you have to stick around.
Oh, and I know this chapter is notoriously short, but the next one will be notoriously longer; I guarantee it. I'm going to try to train myself to write my stories with longer, thicker chapters.
Characters (with exceptions) © C.S. Lewis and Disney/Walden Media
Story © unicorn-skydancer08
All rights reserved.
"But the wicked are like the troubled sea, when it cannot rest, whose waters cast up mire and dirt. There is no peace, saith my God, to the wicked."
~ Isaiah 57:20—21 (KJV)
Chapter 1
"Men of Calormen," Lord Sanjeet proclaimed to his people assembled in his court, "the time has come! The time has come for us to take action against our enemies! Here and now, we strike against those savage Narnians! Together, we shall destroy every last one of the filthy heathens; we shall drench the earth with their blood, and a great cry of death shall ring throughout the land—such as never has been heard or ever will be heard again!"
A great torrent of jubilant shouting met with this vigorous speech.
"I ask you, men," Sanjeet continued, when the noise had died down to some extent, "what are those Narnians, truly?" Without waiting for anyone in the crowd to give voice to his opinion, the Calormene lord stormed on, "Just a bunch of beasts and half-beasts, who spend all their time deifying some imaginary lion, and who are led by mere children! Children, I tell you! It is all an outrage, a downright scandal! Are we Calormenes not so much better than those Narnian wretches? Our intelligence, our power, our overall superiority, far outstrips theirs! We are a proud and noble race; therefore, we must prove who is the greatest, who the true people of this nation are! We must drive out such vermin from the land, and we must show no mercy to those who oppose us!" The clamor began to build up once more as Sanjeet all but bellowed, "I hereby declare war upon Narnia! Who is with me?"
Nearly every man in the throng gave forth a tremendous shout, and they pumped the air with their right fists, announcing their agreement to this proposition and proclaiming their allegiance to Sanjeet. Amidst all this commotion, a few words and phrases could be fairly distinguished, such as "curse Aslan" and "death to the Narnians", along with "long live Lord Sanjeet". Sanjeet smiled broadly and held his head high, immensely pleased with his people's reaction.
His little oration had proven to be the necessary spark for the flame.
Shortly thereafter, when Sanjeet returned to his private quarters, the Calormene lord strode up to a vast map mounted on the wall, where details of the whole Narnian empire, from the Western Mountains to the Great Eastern Ocean, were displayed prominently. Sanjeet chuckled sinisterly to himself as he indulged in glorious fantasies about what lay ahead.
Soon, he gloated inwardly, those foolish, superstitious Narnians would get just what they deserved.
If he kept this up, if he played his cards right, every wood, every city, every region would ultimately belong to him.
Sanjeet was the sort of man that always got what he wanted, when he wanted it—no matter the cost. Anyone could tell, from his raven eyes to his powerful physique to his cruel, stony countenance, that he was not the sort of person to be trifled with. He was a man of high position, and often used that position to his own advantage. He reveled in inflicting great suffering upon those he considered beneath him—which, aside from the Narnians, was essentially everybody. Killing and massacring was but a mere hobby to him. And when he had his heart set on something, nothing and nobody could stop him or get in his way.
Presently, footsteps sounded from behind. Sanjeet knew, without turning his head, that it was his comrade, Quirino.
"Hello, Quirino," he said conversationally, still keeping his eyes fixed on the map.
Within moments, Quirino appeared beside his lord.
"May I say, sir, that was truly a most powerful speech you presented today," he declared. "I could have uttered those same words myself, but not in the same manner; and I could certainly never have aroused those men to such a degree."
"Talk is trivial, Quirino," Sanjeet countered. "It is action that makes all the difference."
"From the way the men responded to your words," said Quirino, "I imagine the entire Narnian population will be completely obliterated within a week's time, a month's time at most."
"A quick death is too good for a Narnian, my friend, let alone for any living creature. I wish to savor it as much as I possibly can. I want to taste my enemies' blood, see the life fade from their very eyes. I want my victories to be as rich and sweet as they can be." Sanjeet was quiet for a moment before picking up a large knife from a nearby table and saying, "I think we'll start this off with a little surprise attack. We'll give Narnia's so-called High King a nice kick in the teeth, provide him and the rest of his citizens with a sign of just what they are up against." He started a few paces in the other direction. Then, quite abruptly, he whirled around and hurled the knife at the map with all his might.
Quirino barely made it out of the way, and the deadly blade scored a direct hit on Castle Cair Paravel.
Dreaded day, that day of ire,
When the world shall melt in fire,
Told by Sybil and David's Lyre
Fright men's hearts shall rudely shift,
As the judge through gleaming rift
Comes each soul to closely sift
~ "Dies Irae", attributed to Thomas of Celano
Disciple of St. Francis of Assisi
(13th century)
TO BE CONTINUED…