A/N - first fanfic etc, be harsh as you like. Set during Golden Age of Narnia.
Disclaimer: I damn well wish I owned Narnia, but I don't, and we all know it. In fact, I own pretty much zip of this story so far; it's a Narnian adaptation of a Russian folk tale.
The Calormenes built themselves a vast empire through conquests and battles. In their quest for supremacy, they conquered a great many noble peoples such as; the Lithosans, who are descendants of Sarah, the youngest granddaughter of King Frank and Queen Helen; the Mylti tribe, who are prophets and philosophers; and the Sileancians, who are fierce and valiant warriors. Because of this, the edges of their great empire are dotted with annexed provinces in an attempt to keep the conquered peoples in line.
In a province at the North-Western edge of Calormene, there ruled a Tarkaan named Kuddish, who had a face as ugly as a donkey's hindquarters and a disposition to match. His own daughter ran away as soon as she was able, and so he was alone for many years, sitting in a room counting all his money. People called him The Troll.
One day, as Kuddish walked by the creek that flowed by his great house, he came across a little girl. She was fair skinned, for she was Lithosan by blood, and she was weeping. "Girl," said the Tarkaan, in what he imagined was a kindly voice. "Why do you weep?" The little girl jumped up and attempted a curtsy. "My lord," she replied in her sweet voice. "I weep because my parents were killed in a raid, and now I have no one, and no where." The Tarkaan's eyes glinted evilly. The child would make an excellent slave girl. "Then you must come with me, girl," Kuddish said, reaching out for her hand. Anya – for that was the child's name – was fearful, but she could not disobey the Tarkaan, so she took his hand and followed him into his house.
Ten years later, Anya was still living in the house of the Tarkaan. In fact, she had never been outside the walls, which surrounded it. She scrubbed floors, she dusted, she counted roomfuls of gold coins, anything that her master asked. It was difficult work, to be sure, but not impossible. Until, that fateful day, when, just as she had finally scrubbed the dishes clean, she heard the Tarkaan's voice. "Girl! Come here!"
When at last Anya had found him, she found him sneezing uncontrollably in a room filled with feathers. "The merchants made a mistake," Kuddish explained between sneezes. "They sent one tonne of goose feathers, instead of two hundred goose feather pillows. Stuff the feathers into pillow cases by tonight." He turned to go. Anya just stared at the feathers in disbelief. "Oh," Kuddish added as an after thought. "If I find one stray feather, girl, the punishment will be severe!" With that, he left.
Two hours later, poor Anya had hardly stuffed two pillow cases. It was as if the feathers had conspired to leap out of the pillow case as soon as she had stuffed them in. Finally, she cried out "oh it is useless!" and burst into tears. Suddenly a bright light appeared, and a most delicious smell, and there was a lion, there in the room! He was huge, and golden and shining, and he reminded Anya of her childhood, before her parents died. "Why do you cry, my daughter?" the lion asked in a deep, rich, wild voice. "My Lord, I cry because my Master has ordered me to stuff two hundred pillow cases with these feathers by nightfall, and I can barely even fill two." "Come, dear child," the Lion said, his voice making Anya feel completely safe. "You are tired. You must sleep, and then perhaps you shall be able to complete the task when you wake." "But I daren't," Anya cried. "If my Master should return and find me sleeping –" "Sleep, daughter," the lion said again, quietly, gently. And Anya's eyes grew heavy and she thought "perhaps a quick nap would do me good." So she lay down and fell asleep.
She was awoken by the Tarkaan, who kicked her awake. "Get up, girl," he said harshly. Anya started to stand. "My Lord –" she began, about to try to explain why she had not completed her task. But there, stacked neatly against the wall, were two hundred goose feather pillows, newly stuffed.
"What did you do, girl?" Kuddish demanded, gripping Anya's shoulders. "I stuffed the pillows, my Lord, like you asked," Anya replied. "You cheated, didn't you?" Kuddish was turning red in the face. Poor Anya did not get a chance to reply. He threw her to the ground, and began beating her harshly, crying "cheating, lying girl!"
The next day, Anya's back was black and blue from the beating. But Kuddish asked no more impossible tasks of her. For a while, at least. One day, about three months after the feathers incident, Anya had just finished scrubbing the floors, when she heard the Tarkaan cry out "Girl! Come here!" When at last she found him, Kuddish was standing by the pond. "I'm going out," he announced. "I will be back by sundown. When I get back, I want this pond drained. I want it drier than last weeks soup bone." "But…why?" Anya asked. "Don't question my judgement," Kuddish replied, hautily, and marched off.
Anya searched high and low for something to drain the pond with. But the buckets were all broken. All she could find was a soup ladle. But when at last Anya got down to the pond again, she cried out with horror. "Oh no! This ladle is full of holes!" Presently, Anya felt she was being watch, and so she turned around and there – oh joy! The lion was standing there once again, his eyes reflecting all her sorrow. Anya plucked up her courage. " Please, my Lord," she asked hesitantly. "Who are you?" Anya asked, trembling slightly. "Myself," the great lion replied calmly. "But, what do people call you?" Anya pressed. "I am known by a great many names, daughter, but you would not recognise most. I am the one whose heart broke when your parents died, and I am the one who bore your stripes thrice over every time Kuddish beat you."
Anya was stumped by this riddle, and yet, at the same time, it somehow made perfect sense to her. But while she was pondering this, the Lion spoke again. "Anya, you are tired. Lie yourself down, and sleep. Put all your worries out of your head." "But my Lord," Anya protested. "I must drain this entire pond by nightfall, or my Master will beat me again." "Sleep, daughter," the Lion said, and he breathed on her, and once again Anya felt her eyelids become heavy, and so she lay down and fell asleep.
As before, she was awoken by the Tarkaan kicking her. "Get up, girl!" he ordered. Anya immediately stood, and looked about herself. The pond was drained, it was bone dry. "You filthy, cheating girl!" Kuddish cried. "No, my Master," Anya cried, putting up her hand in an attempt to shield herself from the onslaught of Kuddish's fists. "I didn't!" But he did not hear her. Still his fists rained down upon her.
Anya's back was black and blue from the Tarkaan's beatings. But she now took comfort in the Lion's words that he bore her stripes three times over. And she thought long and hard, trying to remember why this lion seemed to be at the edge of all her thoughts, a flash at the beginning and end of every good memory. And the months passed, and Kuddish grew older, fatter, and greedier. And some people say that he began to have a sickness in his mind, for he began ordering Anya to complete all sorts of strange chores, such as planting boiled potatoes, and dusting beneath cabinets.
The chores grew increasingly more peculiar, until one day, Anya heard Kuddish's harsh voice calling "Girl! Come here!" She found him, at last, standing outside the great house, seemingly in deep thought. "Yes, my Master?" she asked with a curtsy. "I am going out of town on business. I will return tomorrow. By then I want you to knock down this unsightly little dwelling and build me a palace, filled with riches enough to live a thousand lifetimes of luxury." Anya was stunned. Such an impossible task! Even if she worked all day and all night, she could never do it! But still, Anya curtsied, and Kuddish left.
When she was quite alone, Anya looked about herself. She looked at her poor, over-worked hands. And the enormity of her situation overwhelmed her, and so she flung herself on the ground to have a good cry. But before she was quite finished, she felt something gently nuzzling her back. When she looked up, she saw it was the Lion. And in her joy, she flung her arms around his neck and comforted herself in his warmth. At last, she heard his rich, powerful voice ask "why are you crying, daughter?" Anya sat up and wiped her tears away. "My Master wants me to build a palace, with riches to fill a thousand lifetimes," she said in a small voice. "Dear Lion, even you cannot help me this time." The Lion growled. "Can I not?" his voice was low, but it shook the earth.
And then Anya became terribly afraid, and she shrunk away from the Lion. "Anya," the Lion said in a much gentler voice. "You were made for so much more than this." He breathed on her, and all Anya's fear left her, and for the moment she forgot her troubles. "What is your name, my Lord?" she asked tentatively. "My name," the Lion said quietly. "Is Aslan." "The God of the Northern lands!" Anya exclaimed in disbelief. "I thought Tash was the only true god." "Nay," Aslan said, in a tone that could almost be a laugh. "Tash is no god at all, but a powerful being gone bad. I am the God of your people, and a great many others." "If you are the true God," Anya said presently. "Then why did you suffer my people, who followed your commands for centuries, to be overpowered by the Calormenes, who clearly do not?" "Anya," Aslan said in a somewhat stern voice. "that is not your story. No one is every told anyone's story other than their own. But come," here, his tone lightened. "You are exhausted. Sleep, dear one." The impossible task came flooding back to Anya. "But, Aslan, Kuddish will –" "Sleep," Aslan said again softly, and so Anya lay down and fell asleep.
As before, Anya did not wake until Kuddish kicked her. "Get up, girl." This time, he said nothing. He took a firm grip of Anya's long blonde hair, and dragged her inside the huge palace which now stood in the place of the Tarkaan's house. The rooms were filled with enough riches to last a thousand lifetimes. "Aslan" Anya thought to herself. "How!" the Tarkaan shrieked. "How did you do it? You cheated again, didn't you?" Anya tried to protest, but Kuddish would have none of it.
"Into the dungeon you shall go!" he shrieked, and marched up to the dungeon door. But it wouldn't open. He let go of Anya's hair to try with both hands, and, as if the door was merely waiting for this small gesture, the door opened with ease. But instead of steps leading to the dungeons, a huge black chasm yawned at the doorway, and Kuddish Tarkaan, known as the Troll behind his back, somehow lost his footing and fell inside. And for all I know, he is still falling, for Anya never heard him hit the ground.
Anya turned around, and realised that, for the first time in ten years, she was free. But what should she do? Where would she go? As she was wondering this, a golden statue of a lion, which had been sitting inconspicuously in the corner of the room, came to life and became the golden lion himself, Aslan. "Aslan!" Anya cried, and began to run to him with her arms stretched out. But suddenly she stopped short. "I…I am sorry, Aslan," she said in a small voice. "I did not believe you as I should have." The Great Lion drew her to him with his eyes. "It has been forgotten, dear one," he said. "And now, all this is yours."
Anya's eyes widened. "Mine? But, Aslan…surely…" "What?" the Lion asked, his eyes smiling. "Did you really think I built all this for Kuddish to enjoy?" Anya smiled, and looked around the room. But when she looked back at Aslan he was gone.