"Do you think we're still inside the hill?" Lucy whispered as she craned her neck to gaze up one of the long, thin alabaster pillars that supported a ceiling obscured by shadows. Around them, a forest of such columns stretched to all sides to, what seemed, forever. The air was cool and exotically scented by incense-burning braziers dangling from the ceiling. Small, star-like candles broke the vast dimness around them, seeming to float freely amongst the pillars. The light that had initially blinded them emanated from another door, far away down an avenue of pillars, and cast long shadows behind them, like the sun at dawn.

"No, my queen," said Reepicheep in awe, his tiny claws scratching against the smooth marble floor, "In fact, I think we have left the realm of Narnia completely."

The boots of the travelers tapped noisily as they turned in circles, examining their surroundings.

"But where do you suppose we are?" said Caspian with a touch of irritation.

"Under the spell of some witch or enchantress?" Edmund suggested, remembering only too well the effect the White Witch's palace had had upon him when he had been imprisoned there.

"I sense no immediate threat here," Reepicheep said with a twitch of his whiskers, "though these braziers seem to have dulled my nose a bit." He scowled and laid a paw on the hilt of his rapier.

"Nonetheless, I don't like it," said Armin. "My Queen, I would feel better if you would stay out of those shadows and came closer to us," he barked in Susan's direction, for she had wandered away from the group.

Susan stood about ten meters away, out of the beam of light, her eyes and hands poring over the carvings she had discovered in one of the pillars. Intricate friezes wound their way up into oblivion, visually conveying the story of a noblewoman from birth to death, all the major stepping-stones of life separated by the seemingly mundane. At eye-level, the maiden was having her hair combed by a serving woman; in the next scene, she sat at a great banquet--the man on her left held her hand like a lover might. A few scenes up, Susan saw all the lady's servants at work sewing her trousseau.

Susan ignored Armin's request and shifted her eyes to the next pillar in wonder. This one seemed to be the life of a wheelwright; in one frieze he was at his workbench while five young children knelt in wood shavings, at play. As she roved the seemingly endless hall with her eyes, she felt her knees give slightly. How many lives were lovingly recorded here? Might she know some of them?

She started to make her way to another pillar when a warm hand was suddenly at her elbow. Susan glanced over her shoulder to see that Caspian had come to fetch her, eyes dark and solemn in the flickering candlelight.

"I feel as if I have stepped into a hall of dreams," Susan said quietly, her eyes alight and frightened.

"Perhaps we have," he said, low voice urgent, "But I wouldn't want to get lost in it. Come," he steered her back gently to the narrow band of golden light and the worried eyes of her siblings.

"Your Majesties, Captain," Reepicheep said when they were all reunited, "I believe the best course of action would be to pass through that door and see what lies beyond."

"I agree, Reep," said Edmund warily, "but, obviously, I'd hate to find something unfriendly behind it."

The diminutive soldier puffed his furry chest, "If there is, it will certainly be met by something equally as unfriendly!"

But as they debated amongst themselves, a shadow fell across the band of light and partially blocked it. A deep, smooth voice--like the resonant hum of a double bass--called to them, "Abandon fear, my friends, and step into the light." And just as quickly as it had appeared, the shadow vanished.

The silence after the voice was almost deafening. Around them the candles flickered like so many distant stars, and the story-pillars watched with ancient stone eyes. A tiny figure casting a long, thin shadow led five humans towards the door at the end of the hall. Upon reaching the doorway Reepicheep paused, then stepped through. The humans following him found themselves inside a much more familiar setting.

A wide, but certainly not cavernous, hall bore a long banquet table surrounded by high-backed chairs. A huge hearth with a dancing fire proved to be the source of the light, and over which was roasting what looking like a suckling pig. Tall, mullioned windows flanked the room, outside a deep gray fog pressed against the glass. Immediately at their left a narrow stone staircase wound up out of sight. The ceiling of the hall was domed, and was painted a midnight blue. Susan could just make out constellations illustrated in silver, shining faintly in the flickering firelight.

"What has brought you here, O searching ones?" the deep voice said from behind them. Susan turned with the others to view the strangest person she had ever seen.

It was a man, or looked enough like one, with smooth, copper-colored skin and long white hair. His face was clean-shaven, and wide and friendly, with a large forehead and narrow, twinkling, clear brown eyes--like looking into the eyes of a deer. He was clothed in flowing robes of unbleached linen, flashes of green, red, and black silk beneath it. He looked at each one of them in turn, and Susan drew a quick breath when his eyes fell upon her. In the brief instant when their eyes connected, she felt seared to her soul, all of her memories and hopes, darkest desires, most evil thoughts, spilled open to be seen.

"I have come seeking what was taken from me by the usurper Miraz, and my friends have come with me to see it returned," Caspian answered bravely, taking a small step towards the man.

"Let them speak for themselves, my son," the man chided softly, but did not press his question. "You will all learn in time why each of you have come." He inclined his head, "But, I believe you are all wondering most eagerly who I am."

They waited, eyes unblinking.

The man spread his arms and lifted his chin, voice settling into the deep tones of a storyteller. He spoke:

"Long ago Aslan sang Narnia into existence, creating the talking beasts, dwarves, fauns, the tree spirits and water spirits, breathing life into them, to wake and sleep with the sun and the moon. He created the fields with soft waving grasses to feed them, deep rivers to drink from, wide waters for them to swim in. He placed the stars in the heavens to light their way in the dark, and made rains fall on the earth to replenish it.

"But, He made these things with impermanence, and they fell into the earth, and it folded over them, and used their bodies to make new life. Their souls were free, but had nothing to anchor them, for they could not enter into new bodies. Aslan brought their spirits to live in His country, across the sea and over the eastern edge of the world.

"However, the Great Lion did not wish for their lives, gifts from him, to go unrecorded. He entrusted me to keep His records here, in these halls below the earth, in a time and place apart from all others, and to serve Him until the world is ended. I am Abramelin, the caretaker of memories, story-teller, keeper of the world's sorrows."

His voice faded into the ceiling above, hanging in the air like perfume long after its wearer has passed.

It seemed no one dared to blink, to breathe. The air around them did indeed stir with something ancient and yet timeless. It moved in and out about them, as if the walls were inhaling and exhaling, alive. In the shadows that trembled from the firelight about them, they could see shapes in the corners of their eyes. Did a satyr stare at them with flashing eyes in that corner? Did the lithe form of a tree maiden slip around the trunk of a column?

"But why has Aslan brought us to you?" a small voice said after the long silence. All eyes turned to Lucy, the most unperturbed by their surroundings.

"Ah, my daughter, that," the story-keeper said, the corners of his eyes crinkling into a smile, "is a question I would have to answer differently for each of you." He shifted his gaze to the rest of them. "A more appropriate question might be: what has Aslan commanded me to ask of you?" He drew a small breath, not waiting for any interjection.

"Aslan has asked me to show each of you one of the lives I have inscribed in the Hall of Memories. You may share what you see with one another if you chose, however, it is perfectly understandable if you decide to say nothing, and should not be frowned upon." He cast a slight glance Susan's way, as if knowing that she would be the most likely to try and coax something out of her brother or sister.

"I do not understand," Caspian rasped with a frown, recovering his voice. "I have come seeking what was taken from me, only to find Aslan has another errand for me?"

"Not an errand," the curve of Abramelin's mouth twitched disapprovingly, "but something vastly more important that The Lion deemed you should learn. You will find what you seek in Aslan's good time."

"My lord," Armin spoke reverently, removing his helmet, "this place astonishes me. Where are we?"

"Do not reserve such titles of respect for me, my son. I am far too lowly a servant for them." He cast the captain a kind expression, and then gestured casually in the air about him.

"This is my home. The Hall you have just passed through is a place where time knows no such boundaries as hours, minutes, or seconds. Nor does is understand location in terms of meters, or leagues, or cardinal directions. I might say it is north of North and south of East. It is millennia old and newer than spring grass. If you were to enter it again, you would no longer find the door from which you passed into it. It simply is."

Armin inhaled dryly, "And your home?"

Abramelin's eyes twinkled. "It is forever attached to the Hall, but is not quite as elusive. You might say I live several leagues beneath what you call your burial mounds."

He watched their various expressions of fear and awe before the spoke again.

"Come," he said with a small clap of soft brown hands, "you are more weary than your faces betray. I have food, wine, beds. You may forget your troubles here, because such things are mine to keep."

Susan felt her body give an involuntary jolt, awakened from her reverie. Abramelin strode across the hall to the great hearth and the roasting pig. Plates and silverware suddenly appeared and clattered invitingly onto the long table. Goblets were filling themselves with a delicious-looking white wine and all sorts of breads, cheeses, and fruits were soaring from hidden cupboards and onto golden platters. She watched dumfounded until an invisible hand pushed her gently from behind, urging her forward.

As she sank into the chair that pulled itself out for her, Susan was abruptly, acutely aware of how weary she was from days of sleeping on hard ground. The cushion on the high-backed chair was softer than a bed pillow, and the aroma of the food wafting up to her nose produced hunger pains that rumbled in her belly. As she and her traveling companions settled themselves, their host trotted from the fire with the roasted meat steaming deliciously on a platter. He placed generous slices before them, encouraged them to try the wine, and then disappeared through an arched doorway so that they might dine in peace.

For a time all that could be heard in the high, quiet hall was the sound of chewing, the occasional slurp of the fruity, full-bodied wine, and the scrape of knives against plates. Eventually they sighed in turn and set down their forks, eyes moving lazily from one to another. Reepicheep was the first to speak. He had been given a special little chair set up high so that he might dine at eye level with his companions, as well as interestingly shaped flatware, made for mouse's paws, so that he would not have to dig his nose into his plate like a common rat.

"My friends," he said, "this is most peculiar a place, and I do not wish to undermine the hospitality of our host, but I will admit I am most curious as to why Aslan would have us here."

"I think we're all thinking that, Reep," said Edmund, "but from what I've learned about Aslan, he shows rather than tells." He gave a small shiver, "This place is sure spooky, though."

"I think it's lovely," said Lucy, eyes shining. "It's like when I first stepped through the wardrobe into Narnia, and saw all the snow, and the lamppost, and odd Mr. Tumnus with his umbrella and scarf."

Caspian tilted his head back, looking up into the domed, blue, star-spangled observatory in the ceiling. It revolved ever so slightly, and with a he realized that it was indeed the sky he was seeing, but as if from the inside of a glass sphere. He looked down and caught Susan's eyes.

She was staring at him with a peculiar mixture of expressions. He started, not deciphering the way her brows had pulled slightly together, eyes wide; her lips edged back in something like a grimace of pain.

For Susan had been watching the way the tendons in the king's neck stood out when he tilted his head back, how is hair fell away from his face, his eyes rolled back as he gazed above him. His body was relaxed in its comfortable chair, but his fingers clenched his fork tightly, still wary. The air in this place had reminded her of her lonely days over the summer in England, not quite the young girl, not quite the queen of a mythical land. Caspian was looking at his surroundings with the expression she had had when she herself had first set foot in Narnia: complete wonder. And Lucy had just spoken of it. Susan questioned when she had lost hers, and why she ached for it so.

But, before Caspian could move from his chair to her side, Abramelin reappeared in the hall, and the thought was wiped from his mind.

"I have prepared rooms for each of you, so that you may recover your strength. The stairway is just behind you." He disappeared through the doorway again.

They all turned to see a wide, curving well of stairs wind up from another archway. Ornate brackets held torches that lit the stairs in more of the golden, shimmering light. Each of them looked at the other for a moment, and then simultaneously rose from their seats. Lucy was the first to tap quietly up the stairwell; before she was out of sight, the others followed. At the top of the landing, a long corridor stretched on either side. The right hand side was lit warmly, and halted at a great mirror a long way down it. The left hand side was wreathed in darkness, and they could not see where it ended, nor to what it led.

There were no names on the doors, but each of them seemed to know which room was theirs. After Lucy passed into a room that was bathed in warm light and covered with bright tapestries, Susan found herself drawn to the next door. She pressed her hand down on the latch and passed into the room with hardly a thought.

As torches and the grate flickered to life, Susan took in her breath sharply. The most prominent feature of the room was the bed, which was wide enough for about five people. Around it midnight blue curtains embroidered with silver vines swept up to meet an impossibly high ceiling. Turning to her left, she saw that over the marble mantle a vast tapestry depicting a grove of dryads and a fountain had been hung. The flagstone floor was almost completely covered with a soft woven rug of white wool. A lovely ornate mirror and vanity held various items for a lady's toilette--silver-backed hairbrush, a basin and pitcher, powder, scented oils and soaps, a jewelry box, a glistening vial of perfume--all things Susan doubted she would need, but the gesture was kind, and it all reminded her forcefully of her old bedroom at Cair Paravel. She mused that if she pushed open the curtained window she might just see the cliffs and the beach lit by the big Narnian moon.

But she had little time for these thoughts, for as soon as her tired feet tread on the soft carpet she could feel her eyelids droop, and after she had changed into one of the silken night gowns laid out on the bureau, she fell into the big bed (which had wonderfully squashy down pillows and duvet) and let sleep claim her.