12 - A History In Stone

He had no business encouraging her. Silas walked fast, purposely forcing her to hurry in order to follow him.

Servant. Commoner. Outlander, both of time and place.

Human.

Nothing he told himself erased the way her rumpled hair and frustrated gibbering had made him smile. Aslan only knew how the girl had survived in the world until now, without a full regiment of soldiers to protect her from her own foolishness.

Foolish, yes. Careless. Awkward.

But endearing. And gritty. She'd carried his father's shield all the way to Dancing Lawn without once uttering a complaint. She'd had the nerve to bark a refusal at him when he suggested he take the burden.

His captains back home didn't even have such nerve.

And now, she was crashing doggedly through the woods along what ought to be a perfectly clear trail in pursuit of him. Miraz's troops probably heard her all the way from Starshold. "Give me back my pack," she called ferociously. "I've done my duty, and now I must go home to Anvard."

He paused, prodding his irritation with himself into anger with her. "And what do you think will soon be left of it, if Miraz's men are moving toward it as you say?"

She stumbled out onto the proper trail with twigs and pine leaves sticking to the hem of her robes. "Don't talk like that!"

He gave a foreign-feeling sneer of contempt. "You forget your place, Jaelyn."

She jerked back as if stung. Her face flushed red, and even in his put-on haughtiness, he found himself studying the way the rosy color blossomed along her cheekbones. Not wanting her to see the way he lingered on her features, he growled softly and began walking once more.

"Don't you have any interest in what's happening to Narnia? To the free countries neighboring it?" she called.

He remained silent.

"I may be a lowly scribe, Your Highness, but I intend to use what skill I have to defend my home. What will you do while we battle for our liberty?"

He flung himself around again, so fast she bumped into him. He shot forward a step, into her face. "I will go home and fix whatever you did to cause this mess!" he roared.

A flock of birds burst into the sky nearby.

Jaelyn flinched, but stood her ground, trembling and still flushed. Her throat worked as if she were struggling to swallow, and he caught a hint of tears in her eyes. She blinked fiercely to stall them before they could fall. "Give me back my pack, please," she said in a shaky voice.

He drew a long sigh. What was it about her that provoked his temper so? It was beneath him to be reduced to such bickering with anyone, and yet he couldn't keep from trading barbs with her even minutes after he'd apologized for doing so. For the love of larches, he shouldn't have to apologize. Turning back toward camp, he began walking again, faster and faster, until he was many steps ahead of her. "You were a nuisance the moment I came upon you on the forest floor."

"And you have been one to me ever since! Blasted, self-absorbed, blinded ... Why do you keep walking? Drop my pack!"

He flung it down and shifted into leaves to whoosh toward her. Shifting back to human, he glared into her face with the tip of his nose almost touching hers. "Don't you for one instant think you can order me around."

"You are not my prince. You run hot and cold again like a spitting kettle dropped in a well. You talk of honor, but you're so consumed by your own aim to return home that you don't care what's happening to the people here and now. I have a home, too. And I want my loved ones safe, too."

He froze, shocked into silence. Did she have someone at home, waiting for her?

They stood like that a few seconds. The fiery look left her eyes, but her cheeks grew redder, as if she'd realized where his thoughts had gone. Her chin trembled even as her lips firmed into a determined line.

For the first time, he truly considered what a trial this must have been for her. A scribe, unfamiliar with anything outside her library, tossed with almost no instructions into the wilderness. A wilderness full of magic, both good and evil, of which she knew nothing. He thought of the Wakesong. Had he begun something he would not be here to finish?

Humbled, he lowered his head. "You are right. Forgive me." He stepped away from her, wary of what he might do if he didn't, this near to her where he could still smell the ink and parchment on her skin. Stretching an arm out along the trail—clearly visible from this point, even for her—he allowed her to pass by.

She hesitated, with equal wariness in her eyes, but passed him by to stalk proudly ahead of him back up the trail.

- # -

Caspian had gathered around him some very strange creatures, Jaelyn decided. Centaurs, satyrs, fauns, and all manner of beasts who could speak. Not to mention, minotaurs that terrified her.

"There you are," said the Telmarine prince as she and Silas emerged from the wood into a clearing on a roundish, grassy hillock. "We feared you had taken your leave, Your Highness," he added to Silas. Even at her distance, Jaelyn noticed the apologetic look in Caspian's eyes.

"Not as yet," Silas responded. He stopped before Caspian, completely unafraid of the multitude of creatures crowded onto the hill around them. "I have my own time, Caspian, and it is not here ... but I may well be able to turn the tide in your favor." He gave the startled Telmarine prince a respectful bow. "I place my skills at your service."

Caspian appeared to stutter a moment—very un-princelike—before stepping forward and lowering his voice to a murmur. "Your Highness, I am not certain it is my place to be demanding your skills."

"Any man may be put in his place, Caspian," Silas responded. He gave Jaelyn a brief look that confused her before adding, "including me." Before she could question it, he'd continued speaking to Prince Caspian. "As for your place, I believe it must be my job to put you in it. The throne of Narnia—this Narnia—is rightfully yours, and not mine." He held out his hand.

Caspian studied him for a moment, looking uncomfortable with such a transfer of leadership. But a few seconds later, he shook Silas's hand, and Jaelyn glimpsed both the young prince's acceptance of his mantle, and a flash of the future Narnia might have under this would-be Narnian king.

- #-

All morning, they debated what must be done about Miraz. It was eventually decided that no matter what their later plans, they must find a gathering place more defensible than the forest, where the Telmarines, once emboldened enough, might approach them from any or all sides.

"I know such a place," Caspian said. And he brought them, on a long, tiring march, to the most curious place Jaelyn had yet seen in this curious land: an enormous, grassy mound rising into the cloudy blue sky. The mere sight of it sent the whole company into a hush, and Jaelyn soon found out why.

Inside was a maze of tunnels and caverns, almost a temple. The rock was covered with illustrations, from primitive paintings to the most beautiful sculptures she'd ever seen. Some of the creatures carved into the stone were similar to those now walking through this hallowed place, for hallowed it was.

Aslan's How, they called it. If ever Jaelyn had needed proof of the Narnian stories of old, here it was. As she walked, studying the pictures in awe under the dim torchlight, she saw, over and over, the image of a lion. And then, to her shock, she noticed a painting of two men and two women, all with crowned heads and standing before four identical thrones.

"My father, and his brother and sisters," Silas confirmed, studying the paintings with a thoughtful look.

Jaelyn saw, under the illustrations, a line of symbols painted on the rock. Her eyes shot wide. "Wait!" She snatched a torch from a surprised dwarf walking past them. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she blurted. "Here, let me just ... I can't ... Hold this!" She shoved the torch at Silas, and they were forced to press back against the wall to allow a line of soldiers to pass them.

Caspian paused beside them with a question in his eyes. "Go on," Silas told him. "We'll follow shortly."

The stream of troops trickled past, and finally she and Silas were alone in the narrow hall. Jaelyn ran her fingers along the line of symbols. "Reign ... no, king ... no. Kings. And this must be queens."

"Can you read this?" Silas asked.

"Of course. I mean, it's old. Very, very old, hardly any of it at all even in the oldest texts in Anvard's library. Can't you read it? Of course not. It may not even have been in use in your time. After you, perhaps, and still far before me. What an odd dialect they use." And she was off, trailing her fingers along the line of inscriptions and down the hall. "The Kings and Queens of Narnia's Golden Age. Golden Age, that's what you said it was when they took the thrones! Isn't it?"

"Yes. And then, after the Battle of Cair Bay, the Age of Light. My time," Silas said, jogging after her and holding the torch up so she could see.

"It's all here!" she cried, her voice echoing as she followed the trail of words along the hall. "A magical door into our world ... an unending winter ... a great war ... and a lion. No, The Lion, they say, just like you said. Everything we could want to know. Everything my master never told me!" She stopped abruptly, and Silas bumped against her. "Why didn't he tell me?" she wondered. Quieter, hurt now, she added, "What harm would it have done me to know all of this existed?"

"Maybe he simply wanted to protect you," Silas said behind her.

She became acutely aware of Silas's warmth at her back, and the corresponding warmth that crept into her cheeks. She darted off again down the hall, tracing the words. "Yes," she said, distracted now. "Yes. A great war at the end of the Golden Age, with many countries fighting, even my own. And a ... Was there a dragon?" She stopped short of touching the painting of a winged, reptilian beast over the words.

Silas grinned, his features gilded in the torchlight. "That may be Maddoken."

"Did you fight?"

"Of course I did," he said, sounding a little affronted. "I protected Selbaran, as is my duty."

She turned back to the inscriptions. "And when Narnia won the war, there was a period of peace and great learning. Towns grew up and made progress." She followed the words into another, smaller cavern, far down the hall and away from the bustle of Caspian's troops. Here, the words covered the rock from floor to ceiling. "Oh, my. This is going to take time."

"Take it, then," Silas said, holding the torch higher.

She read as much as she could understand, and the story of a country took shape. Telmar and Narnia had been allies for many years. Narnia welcomed men from that country, and the world prospered.

But something changed. "There was a falling-out," she said. "The son of Telmar's son," she murmured. "I don't understand."

"It is a way to address the members a royal family," Silas explained. "Much in fashion in my time. I am a servant of my country. Tied to it by my own blood as well as royal lineage ... so I am called a son of Selbaran." He came closer. "They must mean Caspian the Second, the son of King Caspian the First, of Telmar."

Jaelyn gestured back to the doorway of the little cavern. "Should we call ... ?"

"Not yet. Keep reading." An urgent look came into Silas's eyes.

She sped through the inscriptions. "He believed that because of his fully-human heritage, he had a right to challenge the royal line of Narnia. None of her heirs possessed fully human blood." She glanced at Silas.

"We don't. Half-dryad. Half-werewolf. Part-hag ..." Silas scowled, as if something more than the turn of historical events were bothering him.

"In secret, the second Caspian gathered together a group of like-minded followers, and marched on ... on the castle of the F-Four Thrones." Jaelyn's heart thumped loudly, so loudly she was sure Silas heard it.

"Go on," Silas ordered, clearly trying to read the words himself, but making little sense of them.

"Cair was unprepared for attack. Caspian's army appeared before them, and in a matter of hours, the castle was ... Silas, are you sure?"

"Tell me!" he snapped.

"It was razed to the ground."

Silas paled, even in the torchlight. "Hours. How could this happen?" he whispered, and she could tell how shaken he was by the tremor in his voice.

"They had help. The Calormenes, I think. It mentions his ally to the desert south. And ... something else, I can't read it. Silas, I'm sorry," she said tearfully, touching a chipped line of text over a row of what appeared to be tiny blue flamelets. The row repeated, swarming over the rock and almost engulfing the rest of the text.

Silas lunged toward the rock with the torch, throwing what was left of the words into sharp relief. His eyes gleamed with angst, so clear and so bright that even across the centuries, Jaelyn could feel the love he and his family had held for one another. His breath trembled, and his moss-green eyes sped over the words on the wall. She saw the moment he left off, frustrated, from the text, and turned his attention to the images.

A choked sound emerged from his throat, and he pounded a fist against the tiny blue shapes. Dark blood oozed from his knuckles and smeared the stone. "Jinn," he whispered.

"What's a Jinn?"

Silas took a deep breath. "Magical beings, born of flame. Adepts of spellwork. Bound to do the bidding of their masters. I can think of only one Calormene who will have spent the years of Narnia's peace amassing such a multitude of slave-warriors." He pushed the torch into Jaelyn's hands and rubbed his face as if he were much older and desperately weary. "Rabadash, the Tisroc of Calormen. Not such a Peacemaker, after all."