(I draw inspiration for my stories from The Chronicles of Narnia in all it's manifestations, both canon and non-canon.)
Disclaimer: The Chronicles of Narnia are the intellectual property of Clive Staples Lewis and his legally appointed representatives. We come here just to play in his garden.
a/n. I have for your convenience divided up these chapters using numbered page brakes so if you wish, you can pick up the story later. I close here nurturing the hope you find my story immersive.
~~~ 1 ~~~
Overture
God said, "Let us make mankind in our image and likeness and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, the birds of the air, the cattle, over all the wild animals and every creature that crawls on the earth." Genesis 2. 26-27.
"Rise up King and Queen of Narnia. Father and mother of many things that shall be in Narnia and in the Isles and in Archenland. Be just and merciful and brave. The blessing is upon you." From the coronation of King Frank the 1st, and Queen Helen. 2nd day, Narnian year 1
~~~ II ~~~
The Cusp of Winter
With in sight of slumbering Cair Paravel on the ice choked shores of the Bight of Calormen, westward from Glasswater Creek to the Archen river. Round the Shuddering wood, over the river Telmar and through the Western woods, at a place in the Lantern Waste where a western thoroughfare makes a turn to the north. There, stands a child dressed in clothing ill suited to the winter weather. A female child of an age when most Narnian daughters are putting up their dolls in anticipation of their forthcoming passage into adulthood. A very special child this one is, a kind not seen in the land for near a hundred years.
Pushing her way pass the snow laden branches of some yew trees, the child is met by a most unexpected sight. On the far side of the path stands an antique streetlight. Its architecture quite similar to the derelict examples one might still find dotting older parts of London. It's cheery flame busily dispels the wintry gloom. This all seems oddly appropriate to the child, like an illustration gleaned from a book of fairy tales. 'I must fetch the others here to play.' She thinks. Pondering what to do next, the child is shocked to find she is not alone!
~~~ III ~~~
Further to the north but still insanely close for a Daughter of Eve, there stand two tormented hills that flank an icy plain. Issuing forth from this expanse is a brook who's name, by the grace of the creator has been lost in the mist of time. The waters of this tributary will meander their way south finally to weep their shame into the Great River. Back to the north, that desolate reach of ice and snow is dominated by a fortress that bears a striking resemblance to needle ice, those tiny strands of frost you occasionally find blooming along country lanes on chilly mornings.
Standing taller then a floor clock, the melancholy enchantress who rules the land from this keep is no daughter of eve. This White Witch sits upon her frost covered throne, upholstered for her comfort with the skin of some unfortunate narnian. Slouching forward, she rests her elbows on the arms of the seat and folds her hands together. Nesting her chin on waiting thumbs, she touches steepled finger tips to her nose in contemplation. Earlier, She had dismissed that tedious fool Tumnus with his weekly stipend of food wrapped as christmas gifts. She trusted the delicious irony of this presentation wouldn't be lost on the sniveling lackey. A shiver running between her shoulderblades all at once unsettles her. 'Something is not right,' she thinks. 'I shall have to go out myself and check the Waste and the Wood come the morning.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
page 1
~~~ Chapter 1 ~~~
The Narnians
The Lion, the Witch, the Wardrobe and beyond
Death on the Mountain
Once upon a time long ago, or maybe in days yet to come, there was a land called Narnia. A magical kingdom locked in the throes of a frozen curse. Every tale must have a beginning, so let ours start here...
A small band of smugglers battled their way up a boulder strewn ravine with another consignment of aid for Narnia. Wind driven ice crystals stung like tiny daggers and tugged at the threadbare cloth wrappings they wore to ward off frostbite. Archenland's warm, green fertile region left behind, ahead to the north buried deep in the mountains, the Inn at Midway village beckened with the promise of a hot meal and an opportunity to sleep out of the weather for a change.
The wind abating left in its wake a haze of miniscule snowflakes drifting lazily back to the ground. The sled's abrupt halt caught Fain off guard, forcing him to stand up straight so he might better see what was happening. Peering over the canvas cover, first to his father Tem, then beyond to the two snow blurred silhouettes blockading the head of the pass. Fain smiled as he recognized the large one as oath breaker Kinoe, one of the two minotaur who called Midway village home, the other being his beloved mate Helria. The figure standing beside the minotaur, comically small by comparison, had to be a red dwarf. A descendant of the people who built Midway village back in the early days of what turned out to be the endless winter. Their survival being assured when that dirty, vile smelling and life sustaining black rock coal, was discovered there.
Tem motioned his people forward with a wave of the hand. Turning slightly, Fain planted his right hoof firmly in the snow and shoved against the load. The fauns, one on ether side of him, took up the cause and bumped the hauler forward. The bear and badger up front leaned into the doubletree of the sleigh as they crept sluggishly up the hill.
Left hand resting on the hilt of the cutlass sheathed at his side, cloak bellowing in the breeze, Tem's progress through the ankle deep snow was occasionally hindered by soft spots in the otherwise hard packed crust. Reaching the committee of two, he turned to watch over his band until they stopped a few meters down the ravine. His attention turned back to his hosts the smuggler captain transferred his longbow to his left hand, gripping the bracer bound wrist of his minotaur ally with his free hand.
"By the horns of your ancestors,' Tem tossed out the minotaur challenge in jest. 'Is it just me or has late winter hung on too long into early spring this year?"
Kinoe taunted back in his basso buffo voice. "And your father's beard too. It's true, winter's still heavy in the air. You can feel the Witch's hand in it."
Tem gave the dwarf a slap on the shoulder of his leather tunic, in return the dwarf faked a jab aimed at Tem's midsection causing the satyr to flinch.
"Aye, it be her au right. Wonder what's put a bug up her...' The dwarf paused to jam his unlit pipe between his teeth. 'butt, this time. Somethings up that's uh sure."
The smuggler captain gathered up the edge of his worn out travel cloak in his right hand drawing it across his chest. Making a flourish with his weapon laden left hand, Tem bowed in a show of mock supplication.
"Pray tell Grunram, what brings the esteemed elder of Midway village away from his warm lodgings to meet with a bunch of snow blind outlaws?" He asked, trying to keep the mood light.
"We'd been expecting yea,' He said. 'so I sent our wolfs out to scout yea up." Grunram's disposition grew a shade darker. Lowering his voice he looked about furtively and then continued. "They found ye right anuf but they also cut trail on the false queen's lackeys."
Tem pressed the dwarf for more information. "Have they found the village, do you know?"
"Scoutsar' still out coursing but the weather's wiped away any sign." Grunram volunteered.
"A moment if you please," Tem begged.
Bending his arm up at his side, The satyr pointed an index finger towards the cloudy sky.
...
The fauns, Mosus and Asuls, leapt into the air almost simultaneously as the sledge drew to a stop. Bringing their full weight down on the back edge of the sled runners forced the rear skids of the conveyance to dig into the snow checking it's backward slide. The successful completion of this task seemed to greatly please the fauns. Enjoying their antics, Fain was reminded of how much the two had come to feel like brothers to him. They all settled in for a well deserved respite while the leaders held council a short way off. The fauns were going on about what a splendid adventure they were having. Fain in the mean time searched the pass behind them hoping to catch sight of their main scout Merbos the fox. Fain's chest swelled a little with pride. Merbos was a legend in these parts and everybody knew he chose to work with only the best.
Tobruck, the addle headed bear rested against the sleigh tucked up in a ball. Looking at him, one would think you were gazing at the biggest hedgehog in all Narnia. Azron the kindhearted badger, Tobruk's friend and mentor, sat in the snow on the other side of the sledge's tongue. Knees tucked up almost to his chest, Azron rested his chin on two balled up paws, his side of the doubletree nestled in his lap.
Hopping up onto the sleigh's dirt stained white canvas tarp, Fain sprawled on his stomach, propping his chin on folded arms. Marveling at the way his father commanded the trust and respect of his peers, the old feelings of doubt again welled up inside the youth.
He wondered if he would ever achieve his father's level of self-confidence or fathom the depth and breath of Tem's convictions. He had difficulty reconciling his own newly cultivated skepticism with his father's oft repeated liturgy about some magical lion, 'who would rescue them all and usher in Narnia's next golden age.' A belief he found difficult to balance against the sight of sunken eyes and empty bellies of the mothers and babes he encountered everywhere they went.
Tem gestured with his hand in a way just then that caused his son immediate concern. This was a signal he and father had worked out as a way of silently telling Fain he was needed as a scout on their flank. Father would not have used the signal unless something was amiss.
page 2
Rolling onto his back, Fain vaulted off the sleigh to the snowy ground. Shedding his bow case and falcata, Fain undid his travel cloak stuffing the garment in a gap between a lashing rope and the tarp. A spare quiver of arrows he carried on his sash belt was re positioned to hang over his right hip. Retrieving his weapons from the sleigh, Fain tied them together in a neat bundle.
This area required no special trail craft as Fain had traveled through here many times before, so he knew well the lay of the land. A shelf of rock about four meters up the western wall of the ravine ran parallel to their course north into Midway valley. It would make an excellent vantage point from which to scout until it turned west still clinging to the cliff face that encircled much of the valley.
The cloak left behind, Fain gathered up his weapons bundle, saying to no one in particular. "Think I'll have a look around."
Asuls and Mosus, looking like a pair of bookends, sat on their respective sled runners, reclining against the canvas covered load. Hands clasped behind their heads, each with a right leg crossed over a left knee. Their eyes twinkled with mirth.
"Why de yea not take yea rest while yea can friend satyr." Mosus instigated with his best dwarf idiom.
Taking a stab at imitating the nonchalant manner of Azron the badger, Asuls chimed in. "I'd say old fuzzy face here is trying to make us look like a couple of slugabeds in front of the captain."
Grunting noncommittally, Fain strode off looking for the best place from which to make his jump. Satisfied with the place he had chosen, Fain calculated he'd need two or three steps back before making his leap.
A flash of motion to his left caught Fain's attention. A reddish gray blur low to the ground weaved around and behind the stones that littered the base of the western wall. Merbos trotting past on short fox legs bought a smile to Fain's face.
"All is well Master Merbos," He inquired.
The fox without breaking stride barked between labored breaths. "All is – well young satyr – Fain." Before he had gone beyond conversational range.
Bundled up weapons in hand, Fain returned to his starting point. Taking a deep breath he made one last guesstimate before exhaling slowly to clear his thoughts. Using two long strides to build up speed, Fain launched himself into the air, aiming not for the stone shelf itself but it's fringe instead. Painful experience had taught him that leaping directly onto frozen ledges usually led to a bloody nose and bruised stifles.
His leap's momentum terminated just short of the granite mantle. Hanging in midair he flicked the weapons bundle on top of the rock overhang and grabbed the seemingly proffered ledge of stone. Drawing himself against the cliff, his hooves found easy purchase. Swinging his left leg up onto the lip of the out cropping, Fain pulled himself the rest of the way up.
Rolling up on one knee Fain retrieved the weapons bundle and broke it down. first, he passed his head and left hand through the scabbard's strap, resting it on his right shoulder. Reaching around behind his back with practiced hands, Fain twisted his sash belt through a split ring attached to the scabbard's chape.
"Hey, son of Tem, ya missed!" Mosus taunted.
Asuls chuckled. "Yes-yes. You should never send a satyr when a faun will do."
Their taunts were answered with a well aimed barrage of snowballs.
Pausing a moment to dust snow from his coat, Fain set about undoing the leather cord that held the sack-like top of the bow case closed. He extracted an ancient centaur crafted horn bow, the only material possession Fain truly considered to be his own. He took the time, after stringing the weapon, to sight down its length looking for any sign of warpage. Fain knew there would be none though because this family heirloom had learned its shape years before he was even born. Reverently the young satyr ran a hand over this inheritance feeling a since of oneness with his progenitors.
The bow laid aside, Fain collapsed the case-top inward with his hand converting it back into his primary quiver. He next ducked his head and left arm through the loop formed by the case's strap, letting the quiver fall flat across the sword's scabbard. He checked one last time to make sure the falcata's grip wasn't fouled. Standing, he rolled his shoulders a few times to help redistribute the load.
Fain's left ear flatten back against the side of his head as something touched it. Looking quickly left and right then up, a snowflake kissed the lashes of his right eye. He became aware of a cold breeze rustling the hair of his coat.
'Its starting to snow again and the winds picking up too,' He thought sourly.
Nocking an arrow to bowstring, Fain decided it would be best if he backed his way along the shelf to better scan the trail behind them for possible danger. Stopping every few steps he'd glance over his shoulder to check his relationship to the drop off.
Passing above his father's group, two things caught Fain's eye. First, father had shifted position to better keep an eye on his son. Secondly, Kinoe, instead of sporting his favored battle-ax, carried a miners pick stuffed behind a sash belt that closely matched his natural color.
The head of the ravine having been reached, Fain slowly wheeled right to left surveying through the sight window of his bow the valley below. Finishing the sweep, he was looking west along the high trail and right into the face of a very large wolf! He hesitated unsure if it was a friend or foe, before he could react the wolf attacked sending them both over the ledge.
page 3
He tried to yell a warning to the others but to his dismay it came out sounding like a scream of terror. The cry was cut short as he slammed onto the frozen snow below. His back burned as if he lay in a hot skillet, the back of his head felt like a smashed egg shell.
The final blow came an instant later when the wolf crashed down, shoulder first onto the young satyr's thorax.
Staggered, the wolf rolled off and out of his sight. Fain struggled to draw breath as his vision filled with billowing translucent clouds that spread out and dissipated to be followed by another wave of clouds and another, and another. Cloaked in pain, Fain became aware of the wolf's warm moist breath on the right side of his face. "You die now - scum." Came the guttural decree. Fain braced himself for the esophagus crushing deathblow that was about to come.
His father's voice boomed, the words amplified by the ravine behind him. "Try Me - you mangy cur!"
"With Pleasure - Meat!" Came the growled reply.
Fain felt the wolf's hot breath sweep across his face as it turned away, a second gray blur sailed across his failing vision. An anguished canine howl soon followed and a few seconds later came his father's battle cry of, "For Narnia!"
Pandemonium broke out as the sounds of a battle joined reached his ears. 'Fain son of Tem would not be left out of this fight,' He told himself.
Raising up on an elbow, pain like a thousand-thousand static electric shocks radiated through his chest. Dropping back to the ground, panic washed over him with the realization he could not feel his hips and legs. He knew now the feeling of utter helplessness a pray animal must experience while being held in the jaws of a hungry predator.
Overwhelming sorrow crushed his spirit like a bolder as death's bony fingers began tightening around his throat cutting off his breath. The lack of air clouding his vision, Fain riling against the injustice of it all was shaken by a voice, an alien voice inside his head, saying...
'You are nothing special.' Inexplicably Fain drew comfort from this revelation.
The thought touched him again and with it came great understanding. "Everyone, who ever lived or ever will live be they high born or low, will stand in this place one day." It softly said.
This spark of an idea grew into a flame that warmed him, driving out the fears and doubts. Fain understood now what it was the voice was trying to tell him. Whatever lay beyond the veil, be it paradise or total nothingness his time had come and there was no use in struggling. What would be, would be.
The darkness parted in those last few seconds revealing to him the cloudy skies of the endless winter. Fain lying there tried to reach to the sky, to touch it, to tell it that in time... It to would pass. His family, his friends all they had to do was just hang on.
His strength all but gone his hand fell back to the snowy earth coming to rest across the grip of his beloved horn bow...
"for-Narnia."