The Granite Girl
Chapter 1
After the departure of the Kings and Queens, a nation weeps. Children are put to bed with the same stories as before, but they easily see behind their parents' grieving expressions. They see how their parents' faces sadden whenever one of the four Kings or Queens are mentioned. They hear the whispered prayers to return them home.
As a generation of children grows from kits, pups, foals, saplings and nestlings they learn the prayer quite easily. "Please, Aslan. Bring them home." By the grace of those words, a generation grows.
Deep in the Western Wilds sits a Faun. He was young when the Kings and Queens arrived to Narnia. Now he has aged. His once smooth face has lost the joy of youth. What remains is an expression of sorrow. Weathered and wrinkled; touched by melancholy. Alone and without family. What family he had, left one bright autumn afternoon and never returned. So now he spends his time sitting, looking out his window.
But one morning as a young Fox kit greets him farewell, he remembers. He is reminded of a brighter time. Of fires under an open sky. Of tomes and songs, sung by a beautiful queen. The memory stays with him for weeks. A powerful feeling fills him. He wants to create something.
It turns to a desire. One he has never before indulged. One he has never needed to. The need to create something grows stronger within him with each passing day. As the season changes into spring, he ventures out for the first time in years. Not much has changed, though a sadness lingers in the air.
He goes on a hunt. It has been ages since he has stretched his legs and a smile steals over his face. There is a smell in the air. One he remembers from a happier time. Citrus blossoms; though no citrus trees grow wild in these forests. He stops and looks around. He carefully follows the smell. It guides him like a whisper through the forest.
Only a league from the Stone Table, he stops. The smell is so thick in the air, he has to smile. In front of him stands a stone. Rough granite. It looks so out of place in the middle of the luscious clearing. Small daisies dapple the ground. He touches the stone. Touches it like he once touched his Queen. With tenderness and love. For an instant he sees her face. A permanent smile fixed upon it. He smiles wider.
He feels, for the first time in years. The aches in his fingers vanish as he, with the utmost reverence, begins to draw lines in the stone. It is roughly her size, funny as that sounds. Almost as if she is waiting to see him again. Waiting for him to etch her face into the rock so she can once again look upon him with her own eyes.
He hurries home, but only to get out a set of old tools. Ones he has not used since The Winter. As he carves the first line, he sees her again. A nose. The line of a brow. A dimple on her left cheek. The cold stone takes shape. It sings to him as he molds it into a new object. A memory.
The days slide together and become one, but he never sleeps. Creatures pass by and watch him curiously. The oldest know him by name. They wonder if he has finally gone insane with grief before they quickly pull their children along. But days turn to months. The image in the rock becomes clearer. And still he works.
He hardly ever speaks anymore. Only once or twice to thank a Badger for food. She brings him meals along with her husband. Together they sit and watch him work. They realize quite early who he is depicting. And as the image stands clearer for others to see as well, they smile. Mr. Badger hugs his wife close and gazes into the loving eyes of a young Queen. She looks as young as the first time he ever met her. Sweet and beautiful.
Unaware of his audience, the Faun works. His chisel echoes through the quiet forest. With each passing day, the stone becomes more alive. Until one day, the Faun steps back. The Animals stand behind him and all silence when they realize. All eyes are filled with love when they, for the first time, understand what kind of madness drove him to work so intently. It was not loneliness. It was not grief.
It was love.
The kits and foals grow into Great Cats and Centaurs. The prayer they once heard their parents mutter becomes a blessing. "May Aslan carry you." They still remember where it comes from, but most forget to tell their children.
Time passes and the name of the creator of their little tome slips into oblivion. For all but a few. Beneath an old Oak, just a few feet away from the stone statue, resides a little family of Badgers. Their stories are passed from daughter to granddaughter.
Even as the forests fall dark and silent, they tell the stories. By now the statue is worn. Once sharp edges have faded, but maintain their magnificence. The Badger and his wife who once knew the Faun are now long dead. Their children tell stories sometimes, to the other Animal Children. They turn them into life-lessons and fairytales, but a few think of them as more.
Not until nearly five centuries have passed, does a stranger step into the little clearing. A tall, dark Man with brown eyes. Eyes of sorrow and empathy. Eyes he will one day pass on to his great great grandson. He is in armor and weary from war. His skin is ripped in places and blood soaks his clothes. His sword leaves his weak fingers and the fight drains from him.
As he looks into the eyes of the statue, he falls in love. He does not recognize the woman. The statue means little to him. Though there is a grace about her. One he has never seen, only heard described in century old tales. She was someone treasured. Someone brave.
He kneels. He sinks to the ground as he stares into the bright eyes of the young woman. It was made with love, there is little doubt about it. And he feels that greater men than he has fallen under her spell.
All who come here kneel. He feels it in his bones.
Unseen by him, a Badger watches from close by. The Badger has lived in fear most of his life. Fear of Men has driven him into hiding. But as the old Badger watches this man, he feels hope. He feels something return to him and he smiles.
The stranger stands after nearly an hour and leaves. As he exits the forest he orders his solders to leave it be. They have claimed all they could from this land.
Eight hundred more years pass in silence. Very few now know where the Queen stands. Only one sees her regularly and he has no real knowledge of who she is. A great descendent of the Badgers, who once saw the statue made, spends his afternoons in the glow of her smile. He never tells stories. He has only a few friends.
The forests have grown quiet. The Dryads have all fallen asleep. The Centaurs have fled deeper into the Western Wild. Only little Creatures now dwell here. Only Creatures who can easily hide, linger.
One day a fire ravishes the woods. Most trees are burned down and many homes abandoned. As the smoke drifts lazily into clear, spring skies, the Badger hoists his little sack a little higher. He glances back as he is about to leave. The Queen still stands in silent glory. She still smiles. His face saddens as he turns, knowing he will likely never see her again.
What he does not know, is that the stature will not remain hidden forever. What he does not yet realize, is that a young man is growing up in a castle not far from him. A young man who one night will escape his destiny and blow a fabled horn for help.
The sound reverberates through a quiet forest and wakes all from their slumber. For those who have never heard tales of the Golden Age, the sound is still alluring. They peek out of deep caves to see who has come. They gather in groups, small at first. Like a river, they rip through the land and find others like themselves. The streams travel and converge into mighty rivers. Others out there have heard the strange call.
They find a young Prince. Most are disappointed, but a few remain hopeful.
The sun shines a little brighter this day. The Kings and Queens have returned. A Badger, whose home was once claimed by fire, pulls aside the youngest Queen. Shyly he tells her of a secret statue in the heart of the forest.
Despite every reason not to, she believes him. She smiles secretly and he realizes. He knows that smile. The statue is of her.