"... who ever heard of a witch that really died? You can always get them back." - unnamed Hag, Prince Caspian

"Just as a snake sheds its skin, we must shed our past, over and over again." - Gautama Buddha

o-o-o-o

Summoned. She staggered a little, dazed by that imperative call and still unsure of what this meant, unsure of this body, of how it should... stand? Nothing clear, nothing certain—but now the whitey-grey mists were clearing away, and she saw that she stood—stood, the word was stood—beside a stone—stone she thought, it is stone and it is real. The last of the mist cleared, and she knew herself to be standing beside a dark slab of weathered stone, staring down at the faint lichen-covered indentations on its surface. Summoned... With difficulty she pulled her gaze away from the stone, and looked across the flat surface to see who might have so called her from the mists of not-being back—back?— into this clear, bright life.

But no other stood there. There was a faint sound, as an echo of an echo, a thin wavering cry of triumph, but even as she caught it, it seemed to dissolve in the air as if it had never been. Whoever, or whatever, had called her to this had gone, withered away or consumed by the calling, by the wielding of a power over-strong. She was alone.

And therefore, she thought with satisfaction, the world was all her own, to explore and to learn and to... She raised her eyes to see what manner of dominion this world might be.

And saw loveliness. Green slopes ran down from the low hill where she found herself, down to darker wooded valleys which hid, she supposed, a river. Hill, woods, valley, river—she found she could name them all, and wondered briefly how she knew these things so well when so much was as yet unknown, wondered if perhaps... an unwelcome flickering of half-knowledge caught at the edge of her mind. No. Not that. She resolutely left the puzzle as of no moment, and turned again to take in the whole amazing green complexity of life where she stood.

Low, cushiony herbage, and tall, springing grasses, and small spiky buttons of growth, bright emerald against the duskier, softer shades, of green—so many! And then a flash in the air—an iridescent flickering of brightness, darting from one grass-spear to the next. A dragon-fly, she realised, and smiled with pleasure, and reached out to it, but it was gone. For the briefest of instants, her face was shadowed with disappointment, but then another movement caught her eye close against the earth, a cool graceful slithering which showed greener even than the fronds the creature slipped between.

"Serpent," she murmured in satisfaction, and stooped to touch it. "You are very lovely, little sister."

Quick as thought, the snake turned, looped itself about her wrist and reared up against her, valiantly, its huge eyes alert to her, its neck flattened into a broad, challenging spade-shape.

She laughed a little, and stood upright again, and brought her hand to the level of her face, the better to observe her living bracelet, to see how the colour shimmered as the sunlight glanced against smooth-lying scales, and how fathomless seemed the great dark eyes. Enraptured, she stroked, slowly, along the shining slender body, from where its head wavered above the back of her hand, down and around her wrist, and along the length of her forearm, while the laughter died from her face, giving way to pure wonder.

"How you shine, amazing creature," she whispered close against it. "You shine, and show me so much."

The snake did not cease its watchfulness, though the broadening of the neck eased back a little, as if it were beginning to sense there was no threat here. She smiled, and stooped again, and let it unwind from about her slim wrist, and slip into the grasses underfoot, green straightway lost to sight amongst green.

"Go, then, if you will; you leave me wiser now than I was. From you I will learn to live here. From you, I will learn loveliness."

Then, looking about her, she pondered where best to begin her exploring of this new world, and how best to match its fresh loveliness. The ground sloped down in every direction, but the dark places where the river might run were perhaps... But another movement caught her eye and her mind. Not flickering nor slithering this time, but straight, rapid driving, slantwise down towards her from the heavens, another creature came, as lovely as the little snake, though a creature of the blue sky and clear air, and formed so differently.

Her own form, which she had half-begun to remake, resettled into something closer to that shape she had at first, matching that which now alighted.

This newcomer moved swiftly to the stone slab, reached, and took something from its surface, swathing it in light, as it seemed, and then turned as if to go.

"Oh, don't go!" The cry broke from her on a breath.

The tall shape—like a woman, she thought, though the word felt uncomfortable to her, and she pushed it away—turned back, and looked at her with a grave, impersonal goodwill.

"I must. I must take this far from here, lest great harm follow. "

"What is it?" She peered at what was now held close against the other's chest, as if immeasurably precious. "Is it so dangerous?"

"You may say so; dangerous and worthy of all honour. And since the last of those who kept this place inviolate is gone now from Narnia, I am sent for this purpose, to take this and place it in safety, far from those who might grasp at it to foul purpose."

"I have not touched it!"

The newcomer smiled a little. "I see that well, since you stand here whole and unharmed. It has been told me that those who would so use it would surely work their own destruction, even as they willed destruction on this land."

"There is none other here to use it, well or ill. Let it be, and stay and talk with me!"

"I may not stay. He whose work it is to watch over right rule in Narnia, has charged me as his instrument in this. But—to speak of right rule,"—interest began to kindle in her eyes—"tell me that I may tell to him: has the Lion sent you here to bring again true sovereignty to Narnia? Are you human?"

Lion.. Narnia... Human. She felt again a ripple of unease, and clenched her mind to shut out a knowledge too terrible to bear.

"No. I do not... I am not that."

"Nor I! What is your name?"

"I... I think I do not have a name."

Or if she had ever had one, let it be swallowed in that nothingness from which she had lately come! She went on with growing confidence. "I am but newly born into this world, and I have no name that I know of."

The newcomer burned with sudden brilliance and her voice brimmed with laughter.

"Unnamed, and newly born? We are alike in that also! Truly we must speak further! but now I will be about this task."

"No, stay! I know so little of this place, and... you are so lovely!"

The newcomer smiled. "As are you. You are as beautiful as the Spring."

"Oh!" She flushed with pleasure, to have been found pleasing. "Then stay! Let me learn of you!"

"I may not stay. But when this task is done, I am free until the Star my father has need of me again. For two tasks, I was born, but between them, this world is mine to explore and to enjoy. Rest here then—or... No—my father has warned that ill begins to rise again in Narnia, and this place still might draw those who would do harm, though I take this from hence. Go down to that place where the river runs among the trees, and follow that river until it joins the sea, and I will find you there, by the river-mouth, near the Cair Desolate."

"I... Do not leave me, Star's daughter! Or meet here, not at that... not at where you say!"

"I must. And you are wise to mislike the sorrow of the Desolation, but go there, that I may find you safe, and I promise that when I return we will have long and long to speak and go together, far from that sad place. Farewell!"

And with that word, she was gone, springing into the air with joyful haste, and away to the East, being in a few moments sped beyond sight. The other hesitated a little longer, irresolute, and then began slowly to make her way down the hillside.

o-o-o-o