The Passing of Infinity
"Do not drink the water. We are not meant to sup from eternity."
"Is that your words or those of another?"
"Words of wisdom." My companion pauses. "But of another , yes."
In silence we remain, drowned out by the silence of the woods around us. Tree after tree, pool after pool, aligned in perfect symmetry. The Wood Between the Worlds, is what some call it. So few understand that it is a world of its own. One of two that will never end in the fabric of all Creation.
"I shall not drink," I say. "But I shall look."
"You might not like what you see."
"To see the end of all things. Who else will bear witness besides those within the world itself?"
My companion is silent now. And so through the depths I peer. The pool is receding from the edge of the hole it occupies. Yet it remains as deep as ever.
I see people rise and fall, as do their cities. The moon rises, the sun sets, and stars carry out the celestial dance of near eternity. There are always suns and stars in the worlds these pools lead to. Usually, there is a moon as well. But each star, each sun, is unique.
I see mountains rise and fall, as do cities deep below them. I see time's cruel touch ravage the land. I hear its cackle echo along the breeze, only to fall silent, as eternity consumes it. Time is left alone. Time itself shall end. For a moment, I glance at the woods. More trees. More water. But no animals, I reflect. No blood either. Even the sky is bereft of stars.
I see a door through the one I peer through. I see the denizens of this world escape, or be damned. Fire burns within me, even as the world burns around them. One cannot argue with His judgement. Yet resent it still I must. Must judgement last until the end? Perhaps so, for what will change that which was established before the Dawn of Time? Magic deeper than any pool? Wisdom wider than any forest. The way to the country that this nexus can never lead.
I keep watching. The door closes. And there is nothing. I cannot see through the door, and the pool is dark.
"Is it done?"
I glance at my companion before returning my gaze. The pool is gone, and a tree is in its place. As if the world never existed.
"Well?"
Still in silence, I behold eternity. There are far more trees than pools, I reflect. Creation lasts a lifetime. But destruction lays waste eternal.
"It's done," I say.
He nods, and draws out a scroll. One more world gone. One more blip on the face of Creation. To be forgotten or remembered, as long as our memories last. And maybe those of Him as well. For not all worlds end at His hand. Most, I reflect, thinking of another world. One where its inhabitants destroyed themselves, even before their would-be goddess gave them the formality of final death. Most, but not all.
"So," he says. "What name to the departed?"
I know the name. Few shall utter it. A few more shall read it. But it is all that we can hope for. Hope springs eternal, even in balmy, static summer of the Wood.
"Its name," he repeats.
And so, in mortal breath, I answer. In mortal breath, I give voice to the passing of infinity. And the final march of time.
"Narnia," I say. "Its name was Narnia."