Chapter Fourteen : Suffer the Little Children
When Elizabeth next looked upon Narnia – after wiping the tears from her eyes and leaving the little group to scamper through the forest home and safe a year and a half late – it was with changed eyes. Now she looked over the acres of heather and rock and howling winds and didn't see something that left her naked to sight and stripped of all protection, but rather something that was simply itself.
There was a purity to the north, a wild, stark, stripped distillation of living rock and water and flesh and leaf into the very elements of itself. A craggy complexity reverberated in the west, a land like its Duke – thoughtful, layered, introspective. The north was open, free, great and boundless – something you could walk through for days and not know completely, yet walk for years and still see nothing new.
Elizabeth wondered what the lands south of the River must be like – for she had seen little of them, and only the road that ran alongside that great blue nerve. A softer land, perhaps – rolling hills and beautiful downs, forests of blossom sliding into great peaks. The warmth of the dappled sun, acres of land where flowers bloomed and gentle creatures gamboled.
The east she had seen partially from the windows of the Cair, and it was a land of bustling activity, of enjoyment and merriment, of jumping and leaping and singing, of feasts and laughter and light.
But now she rode on a tired horse at the end of a long day through the empty cold silence of the northern moors – broken only by the whisper of wind on heather and the cry of the curlews and the wild, pinched prettiness of the lands that swept up to Ettinsmoor. It was almost with regret that she and Edmund came to the little golden circles of firelight that illuminated the bright tents and pavilions of the encampment on the southern side of the river. In the moonlight and starlight, the foaming crests of the ford breaking over the stones shone like a trail of diamonds leading to a pile of sapphires and emeralds and rubies gleaming on a green baize cloth.
The two of them had scarcely spoken on the ride back – there was little or nothing either of them wanted to say. Elizabeth's thoughts had perhaps moved in the direction of apologizing to Edmund for monopolizing Aslan, but then – feeling what still remained in her heart and what echoed around her in the very air and scent of the world – she realized she could no more monopolize Aslan from him than an eagle could monopolize the air by swimming in it.
She had remained contented – tired like her horse, and with the aches and weaknesses of her body more a sign of her mortality than ever and with her now finding that a joy – with the silence and the open purity of the north; a pale gold to the sunlight that drew her out of herself. Edmund had seemed – for the first time since leaving the Cair – to not be scanning the horizon for foes and threats and was simply quiet and thoughtful.
Their steeds splashed across the shallow river – freezing to the touch and causing them to shy back slightly and waking the two humans from their reveries – and entered the encampment. The sentries – heavy Centaurs in gleaming armor – challenged them and then allowed them passage.
Edmund immediately set of in search of his Captains and messengers, final preparations before the crusade got underway, and Elizabeth lead the horses to the stables. Then, with the sun completely gone from the sky and not even a suggestion of blue at the western rim of the world, she yawned her way to a tent, removed her armor, and snuggled her way into a warm bed next to sleeping creatures on either hand. She fell asleep immediately.
She awoke late the next morning and – after a laughing breakfast of rough-cut bacon sandwiches and brandy-laced coffee with a kick like a Minotaur taken standing around the fire with Dwarfs – she pulled herself back into her armor and went in search of fresh horses. King Edmund, she was told, would be leaving with her at mid-morning.
She lead the horses to the little Dwarf smithy, its presence revealed more by the chink-chink-chink-tap, chink-chink-chink-tap of horseshoes being fitted than anything else; it was built for the convenience of Dwarfs, and so scarcely came to her shoulder. It lurked out of sight behind a tent, and as she moved towards it a smile broke on her face as she saw the head and shoulders of the person being shoed.
"I'm going to have to get these re-lacquered when I'm next at the Cair," Hylonome was bemoaning, twisting her athletic torso back over her body to look at the hoof held in the stocks to which the Dwarf was attaching a glowing horseshoe. She tossed her head like a horse bothered with a fly as the rising smoke tickled her nostrils, her black and white streaked hair flicking in the dawn chill. "Part of me would love to be permanently stationed there – they get golden horseshoes that don't melt your nailpolish."
"Hylonome!" exclaimed Elizabeth, rushing forward with her arms stretched out. The Centauride span her shoulders around to face her, her pretty face broadening into a grin.
"Elizabeth!" exclaimed Hylonome, remembering just in time not to try cantering over with one leg immobilized in the stocks. The Dwarf tapped in a final nail and then knocked them open with his hammer. She sprang free and trotted to the woman. "You're back! How did you like the Silver Citadel – scary, isn't it?" She crossed her arms over her chest. Elizabeth noticed that – in addition to her rough brown tunic – she was wearing a crimson and green sash. Hylonome noticed her attention and drummed her hooves in excitement. "Companion of the Order of the Table!" she whispered, scarcely able to contain herself, "It's not official yet, but Marshal Nicodemus says I can wear the sash until the Grand Master - that's King Edmund - bestows it properly in the Spring."
The Dwarf had come up to Elizabeth and she started and apologized, handing the reins to him. He lead the horses away to be shoed as Elizabeth smiled at the Centauride. "Well done you!" she exclaimed, "Do I curtsey or bow?" Hylonome blushed and laughed in embarrassment. "Is that for the latest mission? Convincing Varden Edmund and I would be there alone?" Hylonome nodded.
"'For services to the Crown of Narnia and the Marshal of the Lantern Waste'," she recited, grinning, "But, yes – that's the gallop I got it for." She lowered her head to Elizabeth's ear and lowered her voice, "They told me it was very dangerous, but I still wanted to do it. I'm quite the fastest messenger King Edmund has, you know."
Elizabeth smiled up at the Centauride as she drew back, nodding solemnly. "I'm sure you are," she said without irony. There was something so very innocent and fresh about Hylonome – something utterly young and youthful, yet without being childish or naive She was – Elizabeth considered – maybe the same age as Edmund in human terms and, in any other circumstance, that would have made her being anything other than a child impossible. But here, in the same world that produced Kings and Queens who were teenagers or less, Hylonome could be seriously considered what she was – which was simply a person with a youthful attitude and a joy for life that none could match.
"Hylonome . . ." began Elizabeth, unsure of how to start, and then – as the Centauride faced her with an inquisitive and guileless smile – realizing she had to begin with, "I'm sorry I snapped at you after the battle with the wolves – I was . . ." She was going to say 'scared', 'frightened', 'stressed' but then she realized those were lies. "I was just simply angry and I shouldn't have been." Hylonome shrugged her shoulders with a forgiving grace.
"That's alright," she whinnied. "You were probably scared as well," she said after a moment's thought, "Varden's wolves can be pretty scary. I was chased by ten of them as I was running to deliver the message – even I was a little nervous." A pause. "I'm sorry I pried into your life – it wasn't any of my business." Elizabeth shook her head.
"No, I needed to hear that - thank you." Hylonome still looked embarrassed.
"It's not my place to be Aslan," she neighed. "He's the only one who should judge." Elizabeth licked her lips and looked at the Centauride.
"Hylonome," she asked, "have you ever seen Aslan?" The Centauride nodded happily.
"Oh yes!" she exclaimed, rearing back slightly and pawing the air with her hooves. "It was after the Battle of Beruna, my daddy had taken me to the Cair to see the Coronation – it was ever so exciting. All the people there – General Oreius all in his armor – ever so pretty. Anyway, at the party afterward us . . . little ones – I was only a foal, at the time – went to play on the beach. It's so nice to run through the surf. We played for a bit – myself and a few others, some Faun-children – but after a while we got tired and most of them lay down to have a sleep. I didn't, I was strong even then, and my daddy said that if I was a very strong girl I might be able to fight for the Crown one day. So I stayed running in the surf until sundown."
"And then you saw Aslan?" asked Elizabeth.
"I met him," said Hylonome. It was clear there was an important distinction in the Centauride's mind she didn't want to labor. "He came up to me just as I was getting tired – he's ever so beautiful, Elizabeth. He called me by name and we played in the surf for a little while – we had such fun. And then he breathed on me, and told me he loved me, and I said I loved him, and he . . . just went." She paused and smiled at Elizabeth. "It was wonderful."
"That's it?" asked Elizabeth, "He just said he loved you and went?" The Centauride nodded, obviously thinking there was nothing more to be said.
"Yes," she said, "what did he say to you?" As she began to ask how she knew, she interrupted her. "I can tell, Elizabeth – it's not hard." The human ran her hand through her dark hair.
"He told me life wasn't fair, and asked me if I understood," she said guardedly. Something about the whole complexity of the issues weighed on her – the theological difficulties that had – in part – been responsible for her own retreat from the Church. Issues she had never grasped – doctrines and Incarnations and Dual Natures and Trinities and . . . "Do you understand, Hylonome?" she asked.
"Oh, yes!" exclaimed the Centauride, with perhaps her first hint of puzzlement at the human's differing mode of perception, "It's very simple indeed; he loves us, and would do anything for us." She paused and – as Elizabeth gave the impression that she expected more – added, "That's all that really matters. He made the world for us to live in because he loves us. He made us because he loves us. He comes when we need him most because he loves us. He'll never let us down because he loves us." Elizabeth still looked unsatisfied. "There is more, of course," admitted Hylonome, "My daddy is a Centaur – obviously – and he is very wise indeed; he studies the stars and knows the nine names of Aslan and can read more languages than I can eat apples. King Edmund is frighteningly clever – I don't understand half of what he says about Aslan and the Emperor-Beyond-The-Sea. And, to be honest, I don't want to – I saw him, and he loves me, and I love him." A sweet, uncomplicated, simple smile – untarnished by theology or worry or denomination or anything else that might have been layered on it – shone down at Elizabeth. "That's enough for me."
Elizabeth's eyes beaded with tears and she reached forward and pressed her head into the Centauride's flank as she hugged her. "You," she said in a choking voice, "are the cleverest thing in Narnia." Above her, the bewildered Centauride shook her head.
"No," she said, "I'm just a messenger." Elizabeth felt the Centauride's body stiffen into attention and the reverberation as her fist hit her chest. "Your majesty," she said formally.
"At ease, Companion," said Edmund. Hylonome beamed and relaxed. "Horses ready, Elizabeth?" She nodded, accepting the reins from the Dwarf.
"May Aslan go with you to the Lone Islands, your majesty," said Hylonome, "Are there any messages you would like taking to the Lantern Waste?"
"Plenty," said Edmund swinging himself into the saddle, "but you're not taking them."
The sight of the Centauride's face falling was heart-rending, and Elizabeth looked with shock at Edmund that he could be so cruel. "Sire . . ?" the girl asked, uncomprehending. Edmund grinned.
"I need you with me in the Islands, Companion," the King smiled, "I've got no other messengers I can trust with something that delicate; and you're the best scout I have. You ride with us back to the Cair." The Centauride tried in vain to make some sort of noise of appreciation and thanks, but nothing came out of her blushing throat.
Elizabeth squeezed her hand and mounted her own steed. "I thought you weren't taking any Centaurs to the Lone Islands, Edmund?" she asked. Well, there's no harm in making the girl even prouder than she is, she reasoned. Edmund kicked his mount into a walk and answered her.
"Just Hylonome – most of them aren't any good on the ships. Say, Hylonome!" he called back over his shoulder at the static Centauride. She started and broke into a trot to catch up with the two of them. "Have you ever been on a sea voyage?" The Centaur girl shook her head; it was not hard to read the emotions that said clear as day Please don't choose someone else, I can learn, I'll be fine. Edmund nodded, "Didn't think so – it'll be a good experience for you." He kicked his mount into a gallop and raced – followed by the others – for the Cair.