"Please Doctor," said Caspian one day, "who lived in Narnia before we all came here out of Telmar?"
"No men—or very few—lived in Narnia before the Telmarines took it," said Doctor Cornelius.
"Then who did my great-great-grandcesters conquer?"
"I said there were very few men in Narnia."
1
Cornelius slung his pack over his shoulder and began walking down the narrow path that led from his home. He looked back only once, hoping to catch a glimpse of his mother, perhaps waving to him in a tearful good-bye. There was no one there, however, and although it stung Cornelius' heart to admit it, he hadn't really expected it anyway. His mother had made it known full well her thoughts on his journey, and the pledge he had made to himself when his father had died.
"I am sorry, Mother," he said to himself. "I know it is against your wishes to go on this journey. But I must do what I can." He hoped that somehow this thought reached her even now. He did not look back; indeed, he never saw the little house, or his mother, again.
2
The evening was unusually chilly, and Cornelius crouched down in front of his little fire. The breeze ruffled his cloak around him. He strained his ears, trying to hear some sound, some clue that he was going in the right direction. Yet as always, the forest remained completely, and stubbornly, silent.
"Where are you?" he whispered. He leaned against an ash tree, setting his pack beside him, and gazed up through the branches to the darkening sky above. The leaves were just starting to sprout, little specks of green that danced in the breeze. He closed his eyes and imagined what the dryad who lived in this tree would have looked like. A young man, perhaps, with thin arms and legs, and curly hair that stood on end? Or a woman, with long bushy hair and delicate fingers?
It had been a month since he left home, and had nothing as of yet to show for his travels. Signs of Old Narnia, if they even existed, eluded him. He walked every day, examining tracks in the ground and markings on trees, looking for anything that may have been made by something other than an animal. Unfortunately for Cornelius, he had no idea what he was looking for at all. How could one find a trace of a Faun, if one had not been seen in a thousand years? How could one identify the track of a Talking Animal, if they were all dead, as the Telmarines believed?
But Cornelius did not believe this to be so. His own father was a Dwarf, a creature that was supposedly legend. He was tall enough to pass as a Man, and he did successfully for most of his life. Yet he still bore many of the traits of the Dwarfs: a long, wild beard; a stout, strong build; an uncanny ability with the hammer and iron. And his secret, which he had kept hidden from everyone, he revealed to his son on his deathbed.
"Old Narnia is alive," the Dwarf had whispered as Cornelius wiped his brow. He shivered with the fever, but his eyes were clear. In this way, Cornelius knew that he was speaking the truth, and not a phantom brought on by the sickness. "It is alive. Your kinsfolk are out there, my son: in the forests, and the mountains, hiding, secret, remembering the old ways. Listen for the drums. Watch for the lights. You will find them, and so find the hope for Narnia."
Cornelius closed his eyes. When he had told his mother of this, she gripped his arm so tightly that the marks from her fingers could be seen for days. "Forget all this," she had warned him. "There is nothing out there but trees and rocks. Forget what he told you. There is nothing."
The words of his father had stayed with him, and Cornelius had spent many hours studying, reading, learning everything he could, searching for any word or line that would confirm or deny. What he found was the repression of the Telmarines. The history of Narnia began with Caspian I. No other truth existed. Yet Caspian I was named Caspian the Conqueror. Who was it that he overthrew for the right to rule the land?
There was one choice left: for Cornelius to follow his heart, and his heart told him to go into the forest.
3
On the fortieth day of his travels, Cornelius happened upon a little clearing, and in the middle was a giant bush. Cornelius walked around it, and was nearly to the other side of the clearing, when there came a clattering noise from behind. He whipped around at the sound and hurried towards it. Only when he was upon the bush did he realize that it was, in fact, a little hut. There was an entrance, hidden among the vines, no more than a small hole. Luckily Cornelius was smaller than a regular Man, and managed to squeeze his way inside.
There was a figure on the floor, curled into a ball, and at first glanced it seemed to be nothing more than a pile of rags. But then it moaned, and Cornelius was at its side in an instant. Once it was stood upright, he saw that it was a woman. A woman, yes: but the oldest woman he had ever seen. Her skin was so gnarled and wrinkled that her eyes were nothing more than mere slits; her hair was gray and stringy and grew in tufts on her head; her hands were curled and covered in spots. He wrenched his eyes away from the horrible sight of her and quickly said, "Are you all right?"
Her voice scratched as though it would slice her own throat. "Who are you? What do you want?"
Cornelius took a step backwards. "I heard a noise, and discovered your hut—I'm very sorry—" At a loss for words, he turned to go.
"Are you a Telmarine?" she croaked. "You are dressed like one, that's for certain. But there is something else—something I haven't seen—" She hobbled forward and pulled on Cornelius' beard, pulling his face on level with her own. They stood like this for a moment before her lips pulled back in a sneer. "Dwarf!" she spat at him. "Filthy dwarf! I told you never to come here!"
Cornelius pulled back, and winced when she did not let go. "You must have me mistaken, madam. I've never been here before."
"I told you Dwarfs never to come here!" She let go of him suddenly, causing him to stumble, and with a speed he would have thought her incapable she had a twisted knife at his throat. "We had an agreement. You cannot steal my secrets!"
He backed away slowly, knocking over a stool. "How—how did you know?" he stuttered. Afraid, Cornelius went to leave. But as he turned, she was on him in an instant, clawing and scratching and screeching. He screamed at her to let go, and there was a terrible struggle as he tried to pry her off.
Her fingernails dug into his skin, and Cornelius cried out with the burning pain. He clawed at her wildly, desperately trying to pull her fingers away. Finally he threw her to the ground. There was a crunching sound, and the woman lay still.
Cornelius leaned against the table, breathing heavily. Then, to his horror, the woman's body began to smoke, and within seconds was nothing but a charred mark on the floor.
"What sorcery is this!" he exclaimed. He continued watching the spot, trying to control his breathing. When his pulse returned to normal, he crept closer. "She must have been some kind of ghoul, or a hag. How terrible!" He shuddered at the thought.
Then another thought struck him. If this thing was such a creature—one right out of story—then surely he must be on the right path! But his thoughts were cut short as he realized he was bleeding from the scratches on his shoulders and chest. He began to search the hut, being careful not to touch the mark on the floor, looking for something he could use to clean himself. Everything was covered in a thick coating of dirt and grime, and he found it difficult to see in the dim light.
He finally came across a chest, and when he opened it, there was a beautiful silk cloth inside. He picked it up slowly. A book fell out and hit the floor. Cornelius quickly gathered it up and left the hut. He thought that he might set fire to it, and therefore burn away whatever evil she may have been brewing, but was afraid of attracting anymore unpleasantness to himself. Instead, he ran as quickly as he could back into the forest. He did not want to make camp for the night anywhere near the place.
4
Still unnerved from his encounter, Cornelius built up the fire especially high that night. Then he sat as close as he possibly could and brought out the book.
It was bound in leather, and had marks burned into the cover. He ran his hand over them, wondering what they meant. Then he opened it.
"Why, it's a spell book!" he exclaimed. A spell book it was. It contained instructions for conjuring spirits, speaking to the dead, night vision, calling forth rain, finding lost items. It went on and on, in no discernible order, each incantation more incredible than the last.
Cornelius closed the book and thought for a long moment. He dared not try any of the spells at night. Best to wait until daylight. He slipped it back into his pack and lay down, staring into the fire. For the first time, he felt that he may succeed in his task.
5
As Cornelius walked, he heard voices nearby. He crept closer and peered through the brush. There were three soldiers standing together, passing around a flask. Their helms and swords showed that they were part of the king's army. Cornelius crouched behind a tree to listen.
"Did you hear something?" one hissed. Cornelius kept himself very still.
"You are imagining things!" laughed another. "It was just a squirrel, or a rabbit."
"I hate these woods," moaned the first. "They are filled with ghosts and spirits, and all manner of unnatural creatures."
"Unnatural creatures?" said the third.
"Yes," the soldier whispered. "Animals that can talk, and men who have the body of horses. There are evil things as well, beasts with horns and witches that can kill you with a glance."
The other two laughed. "Those are stories that mothers tell their children to make them behave. You shouldn't believe such things! And you a soldier in service to King Miraz! If the king ever heard that you spoke of them—"
"It is not Miraz that I fear," he insisted. "It is the spirits of the old Narnian kings." He looked around with wide eyes, as if he expected the kings to appear any moment. "It is said they live here, among the trees. The trees were their subjects, did you know that? They could walk freely among the land, and would strike fear in the hearts of their enemies. The kings ruled the trees, and the animals, and drove the evil witches from the world."
More laughter. "Do not laugh! It's true. My grandfather told me all about it. And do you know what else?" He leaned in close. "They worshipped a great Cat, who had fur the shade of the sun and claws that could rend stone and iron. They called it a Lion."
"A lion!" the third huffed. "There en't any lions in the world. Never have been, never will. Enough of this nonsense. We need to get back to the squad." The others grumbled, but they began to move on. Cornelius remained still next to the tree, hardly daring to breathe.
6
Cornelius sat bolt upright, wide awake. He had been dreaming of the Dwarfs, and their drums. The sound had terrified him, enthralled him, made him want to weep in fear and joy. His mind was clear despite the late hour and the deep slumber from which he had just awoken. He looked over at the fire, now dying, and threw a few branches on top.
Then, in the distance, came a thud. Cornelius held his breath. He waited in absolute silence, listening. Just when he thought it must have been only an echo from his dream, it came again. And again.
It was the drums, the drums from his dream! The sound seemed to grip his very heart. He leapt up at once and quickly muttered a few words. Instantly a small light appeared ahead of him, illuminating the forest. In the two weeks since he had found the book, Cornelius had been practicing many of the spells. He could now conjure light, and turn water boiling without flame, and move small rocks and twigs through the air.
Grabbing his pack, he took off in the direction of the sounds, the magic light keeping him from stumbling and falling. Soon he was sweating, his heart pounding, as he ran faster than he ever had before. Occasionally he would pause to listen again, and when the thud of the drum would sound, he would adjust his direction and continue on.
The drums grew louder, until Cornelius was certain they were just over the next hill. He whispered another word and the light went out. Silently, carefully, he crept along the forest, feeling his way in the darkness. Yes! There they were, the drums, the source of the sound. Had he finally found them? Had he found the Dwarfs, whom he had been searching for all these weeks?
Closer and closer he drew. There were no other sounds, no footsteps, no voices, only the thud of the drums.
When he was finally only a few steps away, the drums stopped. Cornelius froze, waiting to hear the sound again, the sound of anything. A minute slipped by. Then another. Silence.
"No!" he cried, and crashed through the trees. There was nothing there. No Dwarfs, no drums, not even a footprint.
