THE WHITE WONDER
So, you thought I gave up on this story, did ya? Well, I was kinda worried myself for a while. Hard to believe it's been over a year since I first posted this, and I'm not even half-done! Oh, well, some stories just take longer to write than others, I suppose. Some ideas simply come quicker. It took C.S. Lewis more than six years to write the Narnia series, it took Anna Sewell nearly seven years to write "Black Beauty", it took J.K. Rowling seventeen years to write "Harry Potter", and it took Bruce Coville almost twenty years to write "The Unicorn Chronicles".
Tumnus and Lucy (and Others) © C.S. Lewis and Disney/Walden Media
Terence and Story © unicorn-skydancer08
All rights reserved.
Any theft or copying of this story is prohibited. Your honesty is sincerely appreciated.
Chapter 9
Shortly after Tumnus slipped away, Oreius began to come around himself. With a slight groan, the centaur pushed himself upright. He put his hand over his bleary eyes and rubbed his unshaven face wearily. He felt like he had been asleep for hours, and yet it seemed he'd barely slept at all to begin with. Plus, he could feel a hint of a headache coming on.
Perhaps I'd had a little too much wine, the centaur thought.
When he took his hand away, he glanced around at the rest of the group. Doing a brief mental count, he realized there were too few of them present. Tumnus, for one, appeared to have vanished, and Lucy was nowhere to be seen, either. The absence of his queen was what fully snapped Oreius to his senses. Without hesitation, he turned to Peter, who lay dead to the world.
"Your Majesty!" he urged, grabbing the boy's shoulder and shaking him vigorously. "Sire, wake up!"
Peter moaned softly, but did not open his eyes.
Oreius shook the boy harder, and spoke louder. "Arise, my lord!"
"Five more minutes…" Peter muttered thickly in reply.
"PETER!" Oreius now all but bellowed into his ear.
That got him.
Peter gave such a terrific start that Edmund was jolted wide-awake, and Oreius's voice roused all of the others as well, including the horses.
"Huh—what?" one of the faun soldiers gasped, his eyes darting rapidly about, every which way. "What happened?!"
"Where's the fire?" asked one of the dwarves stupidly.
Susan sat bolt upright, her hand seizing her breast as if she were suffering a heart attack.
When everyone had a chance to settle down, when they realized there was no danger, all eyes turned accusingly to Oreius.
"Oreius—what is the meaning of this?" Edmund demanded.
"Must you always be so blasted loud?" said Peter irritably, sticking his finger into the ear Oreius had shouted into and wiggling it around slightly; he was amazed he hadn't gone totally deaf.
"And I was just in the middle of a perfect dream, too," said Susan sullenly.
"You have a voice loud enough to waken the dead, Oreius," one of the other fauns complained.
"Forgive me," Oreius apologized, speaking mainly to Peter. "I am truly sorry to wake you like this, Sire, but this is an urgent matter. Your sister has gone missing."
When everyone noticed Lucy's absence for themselves, Susan clapped a hand to her forehead in dismay and groaned, "Oh, no!"
"You don't suppose something could have happened to her?" Edmund asked, sounding alarmed.
"Either that," spoke up Phillip, from his spot among the horses, "or she must have wandered off while we were sleeping."
Inwardly, everyone berated themselves, most especially the soldiers.
How could they have been so careless? At least one of them ought to have been keeping watch!
"Let's not panic," said Peter, even though his own heart was racing rapidly, and he felt slightly sick to his stomach. "All we have to do is search the forest. Lucy can't be that far."
As the troupe set out together, and began to comb the trees, Susan could feel red-hot anger smoldering within her, in addition to worry. She would have liked nothing more at that moment than to take her sister by the ear, and drag the insolent girl all the way back to the Cair herself.
"So, Mr. Terence," said Lucy, having all but forgotten about her family and friends, "tell me about yourself. What are unicorns like?"
"Haven't you heard the stories?" Terence asked her, with amusement and a hint of genuine surprise underlying his tone. "Surely there's plenty about us in your books and legends, right?"
Lucy looked down, somewhat shyly.
"Well," she said, poking at the loamy earth with the toe of her shoe, "I just want to hear it from your point of view, that's all. I'd like to hear your side of the stories."
"Okay, then," Terence said compliantly, "I'll go along with that."
He therefore proceeded to elucidate. "You know, of course, that we unicorns are more than a bunch of horned horses, made to stand around and look pretty."
Lucy couldn't help smirking.
"We're creatures not often seen, and not easily captured. We're among the most powerful, and—if you'll forgive me—the most beautiful creatures on earth, if not the most beautiful."
"I don't blame you for that," Lucy said.
"Our main source of magic comes from our horns," Terence continued, gesturing briefly with his eyes at his own golden lance. "With these, we can cut through just about any rope or chain, we can cure almost any injury or sickness, and we can make the foulest, filthiest water in the world as pure as rain." Here, the stallion stopped by a small stream that trickled quietly by.
"Would you like to see for yourself?" he asked.
"Of course, I would!" said Lucy, eager to see the tricks of unicorns in motion.
So Terence knelt at the edge of the stream, and dipped the tip of his horn into the cool water. The water, which had a somewhat brownish cast to it, turned as blue as the bright summer sky before Lucy's eyes, and as clear as glass. When Terence stood on all fours a moment later, he said to the girl, "Try it, Lucy. I'm pretty sure it was all right before I did that, but either way, it will taste much better now." When Lucy knelt down herself, cupped some of the water in her hands, and took a sip, she was amazed at how delicious and refreshing it was.
It was, indeed, like drinking early-spring rain; or better yet, like drinking liquid diamonds. Lucy didn't hesitate to gulp down more, plunging her hands greedily into the stream.
When at last she'd had enough, she wiped her mouth on her wrist before saying, "I never would have believed that water could taste so good!"
"What did I tell you?" Terence said triumphantly.
As Lucy climbed to her feet, she asked, "What else can you do, as a unicorn?"
"Well, I'm a swift runner. Not to brag, or anything—but I have yet to meet the horse, or the unicorn, that can run faster than me. I'm a bit of a jumper, too. My heart leaps with every leap."
Well! Lucy thought. Once the stallion started talking, he certainly had a lot to say.
She could have listened to him all day…except a different voice soon cut in.
"Lucy?" the voice called out. "Lucy, where are you?"
Then, before Lucy or Terence had a chance to react, Tumnus appeared, as if out of nowhere. "Lucy!" the faun gasped, the moment he saw the girl. He swiftly rushed to her side, looking worried and enormously relieved at the same time. "Lucy, are you all right? Where have you—" The rest of his sentence died instantly on his lips when his eye caught Terence.
In a brilliant flash of white, Terence forthwith sprang into the bushes to hide himself, but it was already too late.
Tumnus's eyes widened in amazement and disbelief, and his jaw dropped.
So, Lucy had been right the whole time—there was a unicorn, after all!
Seeing that he was caught, and seeing that Tumnus didn't carry any weapons, or appear threatening in any manner, Terence tentatively stepped out of hiding. His ears were pricked forward, his eyes looking as stunned to see Tumnus as Tumnus was to see him. "It's all right," Lucy gently encouraged the unicorn, "it's only Mr. Tumnus. He's a good friend of mine."
For a time, Terence stood as still as stone, never once taking his eyes off Tumnus. Tumnus, at the same time, felt rooted to the spot. He couldn't move a muscle.
At length, Terence dared to venture a few steps closer.
Tumnus marveled at the beast's shining whiteness, his flowing, sylphlike grace.
Terence stopped within about five paces of the faun, and that was when he stopped, refusing to take one step further.
"Mr. Tumnus," said Lucy grandly, "I would like you to meet Mr. Terence. Mr. Terence, meet Mr. Tumnus."
Nothing happened, at first.
Tumnus remained where he was, looking like he'd been struck dumb.
Terence ended up being the one to break the ice. "Well?" the unicorn prompted. "Aren't you going to say something, goat boy? Or have you forgotten how to speak?"
That was when Tumnus found his tongue. "It—it's talking!" the faun stammered, his eyes wide and his ears aquiver, looking quite flabbergasted.
Terence only rolled his eyes, looking rather annoyed in contrast. "Sure, I can talk," the young stallion countered. "Or, is it the latest rumor that unicorns are mute?"
The sarcasm went by disregarded.
"I don't believe it," Tumnus breathed, unable to take his eyes off the white splendor before him. "You were right, Lucy!"
Lucy tried to not look too pleased with herself.
Tumnus noticed that Terence seemed to take especial interest in his legs and cloven hooves. "If I may be so bold to ask, just what are you supposed to be?" Terence commented at one point.
Tumnus faltered, just as he had done with Lucy when she met him for the first time. "Well, I'm a…well, I'm a faun," he said lamely. His face felt unusually warm; at first he thought it was the heat of the sun overhead, but then Tumnus realized he was blushing. Terence blew gustily through his nostrils, much the way horses did.
"You're actually friends with him?" the unicorn asked Lucy.
"Of course, I am," Lucy beamed. Moving in closer to Tumnus's side and clinging to his arm, she went on, "Mr. Tumnus is the absolute dearest friend anybody ever had."
Terence's jewel-blue eyes roved appraisingly over the young faun.
"Well," Terence said slowly, "he seems…decent."
Somehow, though, Tumnus had a feeling that wasn't quite the word the stallion was looking for.
