Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia or Peter. I wouldn't want to end up responsible for what I put them through…

VIII. A Stranger Among Us

It was a hot, stuffy afternoon, although very little sunlight actually filtered down through the mighty branches, leaves, and needles of the great trees crowding one another on the forest floor. No refreshing breeze made it off of the sea into the interior, and the air was thick with the smell of pine resin and dry wood. A few birds sang, and one or two squirrels scampered about, playing, but silence otherwise reigned supreme.

Sighing, Carvaca drew a tired hand across her sticky forehead and adjusted the scarf holding back her curly brown hair. She straightened, stretching, and looked down sadly at the paltry collection of stunted raspberries and blackberries she had collected in her basket. Hardly even enough for a pie if she threw both kinds together, but she would work with what she had. There was still some time left to pick more before she had to return to the village.

She looked around, wondering where her two little troublemakers had gone. They had been brought along to help, but it hadn't been long before they were edging farther and farther from the berry bushes where she had put them to work. Their forgotten baskets sat with only a berry or two between them. Carvaca frowned. Exploring was well and good, but they were too close to the beach for unbridled wandering. Unfortunately, she knew Robin would not be content to stay within the trees. He was extremely curious, but the forest was not forgiving of such a trait.

Just as this thought crossed her mind, high-pitched, childish screams came to her ears, and her heart jumped into her throat. "Oh, no," she groaned, gathering her skirts and taking off through the undergrowth towards the river. "Oh, please, no…" Her slippers tangled in grasping vines, and she fell heavily, cursing, nearly weeping. Her children's voices had fallen ominously quiet. Frantically, Carvaca struggled to her feet and ran on, her breath coming in heaves. She pressed through a stand of ferns and small pine trees and nearly plunged over the steep riverbank. There she saw Robin and his sister Muriel, standing motionless and staring towards the opposite shore, and when she raised her eyes to see what had frightened them so, she gasped with shock and covered her mouth with both hands.

A young man stood there, someone she had never seen before in her life. He was dressed in rags like the beggars she remembered from her childhood, but she knew instinctively that he was no vagrant. He stood too straight and looked entirely too healthy, and while he appeared relaxed, his presence was watchful and alert. Carvaca noticed that he held a water skin in one hand and surmised he had been filling it with the fresh water when her children had come upon him. She went to them hastily. Muriel turned and clung to her, and she put a comforting hand on her daughter's head and began smoothing her hair. Robin refused to take her other hand, but her presence must have emboldened him, for he spoke, defiance in his tone.

"Who are you?" he asked, folding his arms like his father and frowning. "What are you doing here?"

The stranger blinked, and a slow smile crossed his face. "Only a humble knight," he said, his voice a pleasant baritone, "I have lost my way."

"On this island?" Robin asked incredulously, but his mother grasped his shoulder firmly and pinched. He shut his mouth with a snap and regarded the young man with narrowed green eyes.

"How did you get here?" Carvaca questioned, finding her voice at last. This was the true question, and she found herself strangely excited and eager to hear the answer. No one from outside had been to the island since before the Change, for just as the inhabitants could not leave, others, it seemed, could not arrive. Or at least, they hadn't, not until now.

"I was…shipwrecked," the knight replied. "If you please, madam, where is 'here'? What place is this?"

At this, Carvaca hesitated. She wanted to be honest, as it was certain the stranger would never again see whatever land from which he hailed, and she felt he should know from the start what he was facing. On the other hand, she was not at all sure he would take the news well, and even clothed in rags, he did not look like the type of man one wanted to cross. "Fortune has played you a poor hand, I'm afraid," she said apologetically, "You have come to an accursed place. This is the island of Murano."

An eyebrow twitched, and a flicker of surprise danced across the knight's face before it was replaced again with that steady neutrality. "I am afraid I must beg your pardon, madam," he said, "I am unfamiliar with the name."

"Indeed, sir, I would be most surprised if you'd heard of it," she said, "Those of us who live here cannot leave. We haven't had any contact with the outside world for many, many years. Not since I was a small child. You shouldn't have been able to get here, either, by rights."

This time, both eyebrows shot up in astonishment and stayed there. He clearly had not expected this.

"Sweet Lion," he exclaimed softly, and while Carvaca tried to figure out what that meant, he bent, placed the water skin in a bundle at his feet, and tied the bundle closed. He then straightened and looked at her, the directness of his gaze slightly disconcerting.

"Madam," he said, "It appears we have much to say to one another – or at least you have much to tell me. Would you be so kind as to correct my ignorance?"

Carvaca was unused to being spoken to in such a courtly manner, and she blushed a little and flustered a bit before nodding. Robin fidgeted beneath her hand, and she gave him a little push in the direction of the berry bushes. "Go on now and finish filling your basket," she ordered, "Since I see you have done so much already."

He gave her a guilty smirk, but he turned to leave.

"Wait," came the knight's voice, "Have I interrupted your work?"

"We were only picking berries, sir," Carvaca said, "It's nothing."

The stranger picked up his bundle and hoisted it onto his back. "I do not wish to take you from such a worthy pursuit," he said, "Let me join you. Is there a better place than this to cross the river?"

"Down a bit further you'll find several trees that have fallen across," she gestured vaguely to her right, "but be mindful of the moss on the bark. It can be a bit slippery."

He grinned, and the transformation of his face was startling. "Stand by then," he said, "I'll either be over soon, or you'll have to fish me out of the water." He turned and cut back into the thickets, making his way upstream as close to the bank as he could. He moved with confidence and some measure of woodcraft, Carvaca saw, and as she followed his progress, she suddenly felt afraid. What had she done? He certainly seemed personable enough and not as though he had robbery – or worse – on his mind, but the very fact that he was there, that he had come to this invisible, accursed island at all, was disturbing. Her husband often chided her for being too trusting, and she hoped fervently that this instance would not turn out for the worst.

Muriel tugged at her skirts, and Carvaca looked down to see her youngest wide-eyed.

"Mumma," she said, "Who's that man?"

"You heard him," Carvaca answered, running her fingers through the child's curls, "A lost knight. Like in the stories Grandma Gemma tells you."

The little girl brightened. "Oh," she breathed, "Like the ones rescuing princesses! And fighting dragons!"

"Oh, come," Robin scoffed, "Those are nothing but fairy tales! He may be a knight, but he's never killed a dragon."

"You don't know, Robin!" Muriel cried angrily, "You don't know that!"

"Sure I do," her brother said smugly, "Dragons don't exist. Anyone knows that, silly girl."

"Enough!" Carvaca said firmly, "Robin, the world is a lot bigger than this island. Dragons did exist, once upon a time, and they may still, for all we know. Run along now and start working on your basket. I want to see it half full by the time I come back."

The young boy glowered, and while he did as instructed, he went as slowly as he possibly could, rebellion evident in every movement.

"Step lively now," his mother called sharply, and he picked up the pace a bit. But only a bit, and Carvaca sighed. They stood, waiting, and she began to wonder again if she had done the right thing in talking with the stranger instead of running back to the village, screaming her head off for help.

"Mumma," Muriel said eventually, tugging again.

"What?" Carvaca asked, trying to keep the weariness from her voice.

"Do you think the knight has killed a dragon?"

"I really couldn't say, dear one. Why don't you ask him yourself?"

"Ask me what?"

Carvaca and Muriel jumped, startled, as the stranger came around the huge trunk of a sweeping, ancient pine, stepping carefully. Up close, he was much taller than Carvaca had thought, but then, she had been standing roughly a foot above him on the higher bank. Now he towered over her by at least a head, and he was actually much dirtier and ragged than she had seen from afar in the dim forest light. Alarm seized her afresh, and her hand sought Muriel's head, which had quickly been buried in her skirts once more.

The knight must have sensed her nervousness, for he stopped several paces away. "You have nothing to fear from me," he said gently, "I wish you no harm, although I imagine I do look rather frightening." He reached up with his free hand and scratched comically at the clearly unintended beginnings of a beard.

"Being shipwrecked does nothing for one's looks," Carvaca responded, reassured somewhat. "Though I have never tried it, myself."

"I pray you never do," he said, serious, and she caught a flash of something unbearably sad in his clear blue eyes.

"Was your loss great?" she asked without meaning to do so, and she cursed herself for being so careless as he turned his head away, a frown creasing his forehead.

"Oh, yes," he said quietly after a moment, looking back at her, "I am now bereft of my friends, my home, and my family forever, if what you say is true. Yes, madam, my loss is indeed great."

Carvaca was silent, and although she knew him not, she felt her heart break – for him and for those he loved who would never see him again.