The old centaur's withered hands shakily grasped the ancient piece of parchment. After half a lifetime of searching, he finally found it. The prophesy that had been nearly destroyed during the tyrant Queen's reign. She had been overthrown a few years ago.
Now that he was able to use every source available, and could continue his search openly, he had finally found the hidden library of Starchest the Traveler. The famous Centaur was rumored to be one of the few Narnians to frequently travel far west. And he was one of the few Centaurs to be concerned with discovering the lands beyond their borders. One summer he left to live in lands far west. He never returned to Narnia. No one knows his fate.
"Thanks be to the King, I found it," he whispered. Queen Jadis had discreetly stationed outposts on the far western edge of Narnia, where the wild lands began. Her followers spread stories and tales of horrors within the unkempt forests. He knew she hid something critical. One of the reasons he had begun his search.
Now he held a piece of writing that no other Narnian had seen in hundreds of years. A poem. A prophesy. A piece of the puzzle.
Hear me now the stars have told
Fate of the future will now unfold
On Lands watchful peace will veil
Meanwhile evil shall not grow stale
When His roar echoes across the lands
From East to West a journey stands
In foreign lands perils lie
The Line of Durin stands and dies
When long forgotten friends form and fight
When darkness returns so does the light
Fate be changed etched in stone
In Western lands Aslan's face is shown
The king of gold the king of stone
To whom death's cold face is shown
Fate be changed and kingdoms come
Echoes of war ride of beats of a drum
When all hope for West seems lost
Gold and red banners fly acrost
Lands bear journeys long and bold
All to stand before Mountain of gold
A tribe guards the hemisphere borders
Sent to ride under Aslan's orders
The Just and the Valiant royals two
Sent to aid friendships made anew
Kings meet and things are learned
Ancient powers and magic returned
Gentle stars smile down
Footsteps of armies shake the ground
Five of the White Ones journey far
Two rings of power one like a star
Two staffs of magic one that shall break
The Grey one knows darkness is awake
Fate be changed battles will be won
Some deaths shall be undone
East and West make a stand
Aslan moves across the land
Grimstorm reverently lowered the parchment onto the dusty table next to a wooden box where he found it. He picked up a leather-bound journal that was also kept inside. Dust particles flew as he let out a few puffs of air over the book. His eyes skimmed its opened contents. His breath became unsteady.
"No, this can't be," he said. No other stargazers had seen any of this in the Dance of the Stars. No other prophesy of such an event has been told. How could he see a war like this when others could not?
Starchest himself answers in his musings in his journal.
Behold, I gaze upon stars from a different place than ever before. The positions of such celestial orbs tell a secret tale of the wider world, not simply the fate of our homeland. In the middle of the earth I see what no Narnian has seen, my eyes overwhelmed with revelations anew. Dancing across the sky are predictions of a war spanning from East to West. Evil shall make allies of Evil. Good shall join with Good.
Death shall breathe the same air as the living. Mothers shall morn the deaths of their sons, and sons shall weep over their father's slain body. One fortunate army ever wins a battle, but nay, none shall truly win this one.
Grimstorm looked up, body tensing. He heard something outside the cave that had long ago been converted to a dwelling place. The centaur hastily placed his findings back in the chest and closed it, stowing it away in a hidden crevice in the stone.
More growling outside.
He could hear gruff and throaty speech but could not make out what was being said. As quietly as possible, Grimstorm started to sneak out of the cave, its large double doors rotted away maybe a century ago. He had to keep the location secret from raiders.
His hooves quietly clopped against the bare stone, his hands slowly unsheathed the sword strapped to his horse trunk. He had found a tunnel leading out of the cave, but without using the front door. The tunnel was dark compared to the torchlight in the main chambers.
Light blinded him for a moment as he stepped outside in the daylight.
He blinked a few times, his pointed ears straining for noise.
Nothing.
Everything had suddenly gone silent.
It's a trap.
A misshapen humanoid barreled through the bushes in front of him. It swung its crude sword.
Grimstorm deflected the blade, slitting its throat with a swift stroke.
Another creature appeared from the greenery. Then another. Then another.
He was surrounded. Twenty against one.
Even with all his scholarly knowledge, he could not identify the species of his assailants. Their skin was grey, their teeth yellow and pointed, their weapons and armor crude, and many had deformities.
"You shouldn't be here, easterner," one of the creatures said. Its voice was throaty and coarse.
"Who are you to stop me?" The centaur replied. He spun his large sword.
They erupted in a chorus of raspy chuckles.
"Your death."
All twenty attacked at once. Grimstorm defended himself with the prowess of an experienced warrior. However, he could not anticipate the chaotic movements of the brutes surrounding him. His elderly mind was not as sharp as it used to be.
They slashed at his horse's legs, dug their fingers into his flank, swung their swords towards his chest.
He did what any sensible person would do.
He retreated.
He galloped.
His legs stung and burned, his flank and back protesting with every hoofbeat. He could almost feel the many drops of blood leaving his body.
Grimstorm only made a few strides before his shoulder exploded in pain. He staggered and dropped his longsword. An arrow stuck out from his shoulder plate. He breathed, then straightened and lunged forward to keep galloping.
Another arrow struck its target, this time his flank. His leg seized up as the muscle stopped working.
Another arrow.
Another arrow.
They were upon him, beating and slashing at him with their clubs and swords.
He was never seen again in the Kingdom of Narnia.
/A.N./ I kept telling myself I wouldn't write a prologue. I ended up accidentally writing a prologue. Sorry. But it will tie in fairly directly to the main story. Take careful note of the poem. I tried to separate it into stanzas, but it won't let me.
Updates will be on Mondays. To clarify, this is a rewrite of my first big story on this website, East to West. Hope you enjoy! Please review and tell me what you think!
Sincerely,
N.T.N.
