I shouldn't be here.
Those words have not let me rest since the moment I quietly slipped away from my parents' home, hoping for a few hours of solitude away from the tense atmosphere within my tribe.
They will know where to look for me, because I always come to this forest glade where the most ancient treasure of Narnia rests.
Since childhood I have come here, sometimes alone, other times with my mother or grandmother as they told me stories of Narnia from before the time of Jadis.
I loved the tales of autumn, of the great harvest festivals and the glorious displays of color the dryads would enjoy showing to all who passed their trees.
I would often wish for those times to return, for I could only imagine the wonders which the other three seasons held, because I knew only the frozen beauty and long dark days of endless winter.
This tree reminds me of the past glories of my nation. Just to sit beneath its warm golden light restores a hope I have long thought dead, and the strength to keep that small flame alive amidst adversity.
But on this day things are different, because I walk willingly into a situation from which I know only Aslan will be able to extricate me.
Since my tenth summer I knew this day would come, because of the gift of foresight many consider a blessing. Blessing? More often I have thought of it as a curse, because it does not show visions at the command of the prophetess, or guarantee a favorable outcome if acted upon immediately.
No my visions are always of death, of suffering and struggle and the cruelty of which Jadis our false queen is capable.
I should never have come, and yet I am drawn here in spite of knowing that her warriors are near, eager for a Narnian creature to capture and take to her fortress. .
The sound of swords being drawn reaches my ears, and I tense knowing what is about to happen. Yet beneath my terror there still remains a spark of my fiery spirit, enough that I toss my head in contempt at her warriors' lamentable attempts at stealth.
I am hardly the most skilled of my tribe in the arts of war, but even I know how to draw a sword swiftly and silently when the need is great.
Long did I practice with my father, commander of our tribe, and my young brother Oreius who soon surpassed me in any contest of swordplay.
I smile as I wonder what he would say about these soldiers' attempts to move through the forest quietly, and come upon their prey unawares.
The first creature emerges from the trees, and I force myself to rise and stand tall. I will not show fear before these warriors who have killed in the name of Jadis.
This is the first thought which dominates my mind as her soldiers attempt to drag me from the clearing where the strange tree of metal stands.
I resist with all the strength of my body.
For as long as I can remember, it has brought me comfort and the fleeting allusion of safety amidst these dark Narnian times. Even now I still cling desperately to its iron trunk, in the hope that somehow this ancient relic will shelter me from my fate.
In vain do I wrap both arms around the ancient metal, take comfort in the cool strength beneath my fingers as a wolf's jaws snap inches from my face.
. For nothing will help me now.
I do not make it easy for them. Stubbornly I cling to the iron trunk of the tree, reluctant to let go of my symbol of hope amidst these dark times.
It takes three of her creatures to drag me away, as I lash out with teeth and hooves in a futile attempt to escape.
It is instinct which guides my actions, for in my heart I know that this was destined to happen long before my birth. And none, not even great Aslan can ignore the call of destiny once she has chosen you for a specific role.
Still I resist, keeping my eyes firmly fixed upon my Narnian treasure as a wolf urges me forward with a snap of his jaws.
How I will miss that tree crowned with light. To me it has always signified stability, the one thing which holds our world together by its existence and indestructibility.
It is even older than the sacred tree of protection, and because of that it has always held a special place in the hearts of all loyal Narnians.
It has meant so many things to my people since the birth of our nation.
It is a tree of hope, a constant reminder of the reality of Aslan's presence and the song of creation he sung at Narnia's birth.
It has no jewel bright leaves to adorn it, and yet I know that every dryad reverences it as a holy relic, a representation of the strength of the forest.
It is a symbol of death, for its trunk is the color of blood. The blood of all those slain by the false queen has marked this living tree of iron forever.
It is a tree of war, forged from the metal the dwarves use to craft their weapons of exquisite beauty and grace.
And yet it is also a tree of life, of the awe and wondrous power of rebirth. For by the word of Aslan was it commanded to grow.
It is a tree of knowledge, for one cannot look upon it without recalling the history of our nation, tales of King Frank and Queen Helen, and the first lord and lady of Narnia who planted the sacred tree of protection.
It offered no shade during the scorching days of summer, and yet many often came to sit at its base in quiet contemplation.
It offered no fruit for the great harvest at autumn, and yet many came to remember and feast on the tales to which it has born silent witness. .
It is a tree of beauty, crowned with a golden light which has never faded.
All this gives me strength as I follow my captors, and the courage to leave some indication of my abduction for any seeking me.
You trees, who sense my turmoil, please remember my name. Tell my mother that her daughter Cassandra did not abandon Aslan, but was taken to face the false queen knowing that death awaited her at the end of the crystal wand of our tormenter.
I look back once at the ancient forest clearing and take courage in the steady radiance which burns atop this tree forged of metal.
The light from the iron tree shows me something else as my hands are cruelly bound.
Concealed within the undergrowth, the face of my brother Oreius looks out at me, exasperation and helpless fury upon his strong countenance.
Silently I urge him to do nothing, to remember that I am but a young centaur hardly the greatest warrior of our tribe.
My last sight as the trees move to conceal him is a quick nod of reassurance, and a soft encouraging smile.
At least my family will know what has happened.
For what seems like hours I am marched across Narnia, until at last the fortress of Jadis is before my eyes.
As I pass through the courtyard, I glimpse many statues of talking animals, dryads and dwarves, and shudder as I realize that I will soon join them.
She sits upon a throne of ice, dressed in a gown of purest white adorned with glittering crystals. Her crown is a thing of frozen perfection, a delicate circlet of silver set with tiny diamonds formed into the semblance of snowflakes.
For a moment I gaze at her in wonder. Truly she is a creature of winter, a queen of snow and ice, who delights in quenching the life of spring and corrupting the glorious riches of autumn.
She forces me to kneel, and I shudder at the dark magic which commands my obedience.
Her voice is filled with cold mockery as she addresses my bent head.
"Have you a final request, Cassandra, daughter of Nestor?"
For a moment confusion fills me. She's actually allowing me this small mercy?
A quiet smile illuminates my pale features as I draw myself up proud and dignified, once more my parent's firstborn daughter and a child of the lion.
My eyes are drawn to an object on a nearby table, and I know what I will request.
"Yes. That oil lamp there. I would like to hold it."
She gestures to a dwarf, and he plucks it from its resting place, thrusting it into my outstretched hands with a cold smile of mockery.
I look into the golden flames, so much like the light atop the post of iron, and feel a great inexplicable peace fill my soul as I surrender to their hypnotic power.
The witch begins her spell, but I am scarcely aware of the words she is speaking.
The bright golden flames part like a curtain, and I once again feel ancient whispers of knowledge beyond mortal sight flood my spirit; showing me a glorious future for my beloved nation. Joy unspeakable fills me as I glimpse what is to come. All hope is not lost, for Aslan will soon come to break this false queen's power, and restore Narnia.
How glad I am that I asked for an oil lamp as my final request. I raise it high even as my fingers stiffen into stone, and the bright flame is extinguished.
Words have never been something I was very gifted with, but as the transformation continues I send up a prayer to the great lion in the hopes that he will not forget me.
"Aslan, here am I, ready and eager for your coming.
See I hold up to you the symbol of your presence, your nation's hope and proof of your almighty power.
Let me not be found lacking when you return.
Come soon, great Aslan, beloved son of the Emperor and my only Lord."
So absorbed am I in my thoughts that I scarcely notice Jadis's contemptuous sneer as she strides from the throne room tossing the final words of her incantation over her shoulder with casual indifference..
She speaks the words, but they are nothing but meaningless syllables, because a stronger word has filled my thoughts as the magic begins its work.
I know now what this tree of iron, called a lamppost in the tongue of Adam's children must be called. No other name could ever capture so completely the countless things it embodies for every Narnian creature.
I use the last of my strength to glare at Jadis's retreating form, and as her magic overcomes me I whisper my chosen name.
"Yggdrasil."
How can I describe the utter loneliness of my existence, the absence of all light and sensation and the crushing weight of despair which sought to steal my hope.
No bard no matter how gifted could hope to express the torment of being trapped in stone, aware but helpless to interact with the world around you.
For how long I stood there amidst others who had dared to defy Jadis I cannot say.
I only know that there came a moment when the air seemed to tremble, shaken by a force so powerful that it caused the souls of all trapped in stone to awake and listen. It was as if something ancient formed of the same substance as all of us had suddenly been broken in two. Yet curiously with this knowledge comes the feeling of great joy, as if whatever this object is, it has fulfilled its purpose, and is at last being used in the way it was destined for since the dawn of Narnia.
And across the land the message is whispered, to the hearts of all turned to stone by the false queen.
"Aslan, our true king has returned."
What seems like hours pass before I hear the voice of my creator, speaking words meant for my ears alone as his breath gives me life.
Words of glory, words of power and of a joy I thought never to feel again. They shatter Jadis's magic effortlessly, return life and strength to my body, and give me the courage to raise my head in response to their unutterable sweetness.
"Rise up my beloved, my fair one and come away with me." Eagerly I trot forward to join the crowd of other creatures set free by the lion's breath.
And it is then I realize I am still holding the oil lamp. Its flame dances upon the golden mane of Aslan, and I know that he heard my prayer as Jadis's magic took hold, and that he rejoices in my quiet act of faith.
I recall my childish thoughts, when my mother first took me to view Yggdrasil, that the light atop the tree was a reflection of Aslan's glory.
Now as I gaze upon Aslan, so real, bright and strong I am overcome with awe. Nothing crafted by the hands of men, centaurs or dwarves could ever capture even the smallest portion of the great lion's presence, for it is too vast and glorious to be contained by any earthly vessel.
Determinedly I set the lamp down upon a nearby table. No longer do I need it, or the strength of Yggdrasil, though it will always hold a place of honor in my heart.
For the true king of Narnia has come at last, and his presence and power is far stronger than any tree forged a world away.
Note from the authoress: This story is written in response to a challenge posted by Breeze on the NFFR web site. The challenge requirements were that the story mention the lamppost, and emphasize autumn.
For those who have read my story Remember The Four, you'll recall that in Chapter ten I tackled the perspective of the lamppost, so at first I was tempted to just submit that as my response to the challenge.
Then I started thinking about the lamppost's history and significance, and the idea for this fic popped into my head.
To be honest this piece is based on so many ideas and sources, I hope it makes sense.
I can't explain how they all came together, how I went from the lamppost to Yggdrasil, to remembering Cassandra clinging to Athena's statue during the Aeneid.
From there I branched out into a few biblical ideas, and just had to toss in that beautiful quote from The Song of Songs as that's what I've been studying lately.
I hope you enjoyed the story, and would as always welcome feedback.
Thanks for reading.