Chapter Twenty-One: The Daughter and the Star

Disclaimer: I've been told that in my parents' time there was a company that, for a price, would provide you with a paper that proved you owned a star. As a child I wondered at the thought; who owned the stars, that they could sell them? And as an adult I realized the stars weren't made to be owned, for the sky in a strange way belongs to the earth. Narnia is much the same. This other world belongs in a strange way to those in our world, and yet it will never be mine in the sense of papers, money, and mine.

Anything italicized is a direct quote; there are a few times when I left some sentences out, but not many.

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Before them, beyond the pillars, there was the slope of a low hill. And now a door opened in the hillside, and light appeared in the doorway, and a figure came out, and the door shut behind it. The figure carried a light, and this light was really all that they could see distinctly. It came slowly nearer and nearer till at last it stood right at the table opposite to them. Now they could see that it was tall girl, dressed in a single long garment of clear blue which left her arms bare. She was bareheaded and her yellow hair hung down her back. And when they looked at her they thought they had never before known what beauty meant.

The light which she had been carrying was a tall candle in a silver candlestick which she now set upon the table. Gold and silver on the table shone in its light.

Lucy now noticed something lying lengthwise on the table which had escaped her attention before. It was a knife of stone, sharp as steel, a cruel-looking, ancient-looking thing. And something about it brought to mind a great grief, though she could not have told you why.

No one had yet spoken a word. Then – Reepicheep first, and Caspian next – they all rose to their feet, because they felt that she was a great lady. She had the grace and beauty of Susan, Lucy thought, and the strength of Peter. She was the kind of person people were drawn to.

"Travellers who have come from far to Aslan's table," said the girl. "Why do you not eat and drink?" Lucy thought she had a voice more piercing than the song of a mermaid, and clearer than the voice of a dryad calling to the wind.

"Madam," said Caspian, "we feared the food because we thought it had cast our friends into an enchanted sleep."

"They have never tasted it," she said.

"Please," said Lucy, knowing she would know the answer, and knowing that they needed the answer, "what happened to them?"

"Seven years ago," said the girl, "they came here in a ship whose sails were rags and her timbers ready to fall apart. There were a few others with them, sailors, and when they came to this table one said, 'Here is the good place. Let us set our sail and reef sail and row no longer but sit down and end our days in peace!' And the second said, 'No, let us re-embark and sail for Narnia and the west; it may be that Miraz is dead.' But the third, who was a very masterful man, leaped up and said, 'No, by heaven. We are men and Telmarines, not brutes. What should we do but seek adventure after adventure? We have not long to live in any event. Let us spend what is left in seeking the unpeopled world behind the sunrise.' And as they quarreled he caught up the Knife of Stone which lies there on the table and would have fought with is comrades. But it is a thing not right for him to touch. And as his fingers closed upon the hilt, deep sleep fell upon all the three. And till the enchantment is undone they will never wake." Lucy glanced at the three, saddened.

"What is this Knife of Stone?" asked Eustace, and Lucy's eyes traveled from the three lords to the knife on the table. The grief she felt on seeing it had not lessened, and the memory came to her mind of a white hand and arm, a cruel face twitching with passion, and the knife plunging to kill the being she loved the most. Surely - why would it be here?

"Do none of you know it?" said the girl.

"I – I think," said Lucy, "I've seen something like it before. It was knife like it that the White Witch used when she killed Aslan at the Stone Table long ago."

"It was the same," said the girl, "and it was brought here to be kept in honour while the world lasts."

Edmund, who, Lucy noticed, had been looking more and more uncomfortable for the last few minutes, now spoke.

"Look here," he said, "I hope I'm not a coward – about eating this food, I mean – and I'm sure I don't mean to be rude. But we have had a lot of queer adventures on this voyage of ours and things aren't always what they seem. When I look in your face I can't help believing all you say: but then that's just what might happen with a witch too. How are we to know you're a friend?" Lucy stilled. Edmund's skepticism had saved his siblings at various times in the past; but she looked at the face of the girl and didn't believe it. It couldn't be, it couldn't, that she wasn't telling the truth. Lucy didn't know how she knew, but she knew. She wondered how the girl would answer Edmund's question.

"You can't know," said the girl. "You can only believe – or not."

After a moment's pause Reepicheep's small voice was heard.

"Sire," he said to Caspian, "of your courtesy fill my cup with wine from that flagon: it is too big for me to lift. I will drink to the lady."

Caspian obeyed and the Mouse, standing on the table, held up a golden cup between its tiny paws and said, "Lady, I pledge you." Lucy held her breath; Courage was being tested, and as Reepicheep drank and then set down the cup and still stood upright, her heart thrilled. Courage had been proven right. Reepicheep turned and bowed to the lady. Then it fell on cold peacock, and in a short while everyone else followed its example. All were very hungry and the meal, if not quite what you wanted for a very early breakfast, was excellent as a very late supper.

Lucy, tasting the pineapple and grapes, let her eyes run down all the food. It was a feast greater than any she had seen before. What had the girl called it? Aslan's table – "Why is it called Aslan's table?" she asked presently.

"It is set here by his bidding," said the girl, "for those who come so far. Some call this island the World's End, for though you can sail further, this is the beginning of the end."

"But how does the food keep?" asked the practical Eustace.

"It is eaten and renewed every day," said the girl. "This you will see."

"And what are we to do with the Sleepers?" asked Caspian. "In the world from which my friends come" (here he nodded at Lucy and her brother and cousin) "they have a story of a prince or king coming to a castle where all the people lay in an enchanted sleep. In that story her could not dissolve the enchantment until he had kissed the Princess." Lucy remembered that night; after the Sea Serpent Eustace had asked if other fairy tale creatures existed, and Caspian had asked what a Fairy Tale was. Eustace had begun telling Sleeping Beauty, but in such a way that Caspian kept on asking questions and interrupting the tale, till Edmund took over and told it with the style of Narnian storytelling. And then they'd told Eustace about Father Christmas, and centaurs, and many creatures Eustace had not heard of, having not read the right books (1). Lucy wondered if the rules of fairy tales would be the same on islands in a different world.

"But here," said the girl, it is different. Here he cannot kiss the Princess till he has dissolved the enchantment."

"Then," said Caspian, "in the name of Aslan, show me how to set about that work at once." Yes, thought Lucy. Though it's the beginning of the end of our voyage, too, show us how to set them free.

"My father will teach you that," said the girl.

"Your father!" said everyone. "Who is he? And where?"

Look," said the girl, turning round and pointing at the door in the hillside. They could see it more easily now, for while they had been talking the stars had grown fainter and great gaps of white light were appearing in the greyness of the eastern sky.

Slowly the door opened again and out there came a figure as tall and straight as the girl's but not so slender. It carried no light but light seemed to come from it. As it came nearer, Lucy saw that it was like an old man. His silver beard came down to his bare feet in front and his silver hair hung down to his heels behind and his robe appeared to be made from the fleece of silver sheep. He looked so mild and grave that once more all the travelers rose to their feet and stood in silence.

But the old man came on without speaking to the travellers and stood on the other side of the table opposite to his daughter. Then both of them held up their arms before them and turned to face the east. In that position they began to sing. Lucy thought it was high, almost shrill, but very beautiful, "a cold kind of song, an early morning kind of song." And as they sang, the grey clouds lifted from the eastern sky and the white patches grew bigger and bigger till it was all white, and the sea began to shine like silver. And long afterwards (but those two sang all the time) the east began to turn red and at last, unclouded, the sun came up out of the sea and its long level ray shot down the length of the table on the gold and silver and on the Stone Knife.

Lucy, looking at the sun, was certain the sun was larger than it ever had been. There was no mistaking it. And the brightness of its ray on the dew and on the table was far beyond any morning brightness they had ever seen. For now they knew that they had truly come to the beginning of the End of the World.

Then something seemed to be flying at them out of the very centre of the rising sun: but of course on couldn't look steadily in that direction to make sure. But presently the air became full of voices – voices that took up the same song that the Lady and her Father were singing, but in far wilder tones and in a language which on one knew. And soon after that the owners of these voices could be seen. They were birds, large and white (they reminded Lucy of the Albatross), and they came by hundreds and thousands and alighted on everything; on the grass, and the pavement, on the table, on your shoulders, your hands, and your head (their feathers were softer than the fathers of the newborn chicks Lucy had held in Narnia, and the feet resting on her were light), till it looked as if heavy snow had fallen. For, like snow, they not only made everything white but blurred and blunted all shapes. But Lucy, looking out from between the wings of the birds that covered her, saw one bird fly to the Old Man with something in its beak that looked like a little fruit, unless it was a little live coal, which it might have been, for it was too bright to look at. And the bird laid it in the Old Man's mouth.

Then the birds stopped their singing and appeared to be very busy about the table. The four birds on Lucy's shoulders, hands, and hair rose and joined the others, the entire flock blurring the table in white. When they rose from it again everything on the table that could be eaten or drunk had disappeared. These birds rose from their meal in their thousands and hundreds and carried away all the things that could not be eaten or drunk, such as bones, rinds, and shells, and took their flight back to the rising sun. But now, because they were not singing, the whir of their wings seemed to set the whole air a-tremble. And there was the table pecked clean and empty, and the three old Lords of Narnia still fast asleep.

Now at last the Old Man turned to the travelers and bade them welcome. And Lucy responded like a queen, recognizing that here was another to whom honor was owed.

"Sir," said Caspian, "will you tell us how to undo the enchantment which holds these three Narnian Lords asleep." Please, Aslan, added Lucy silently.

"I will gladly tell you that, my son," said the Old Man. "To break this enchantment you must sail to the World's End, or as near as you can come to it, and you must come back having left at least one of your company behind."

"And what must happen to that one?" asked Reepicheep.

"He must go on to the utter east and never return into the world."

"That is my heart's desire," said Reepicheep, and Lucy smiled with joy, for it was like Aslan to set a task for the ones utterly His own that would be their hearts desire, whatever the ones not His own called such tasks.

"And are we near the World's End now, Sir?" asked Caspian. "Have you any knowledge of the seas and lands further east than this?"

"I saw them long ago," said the Old Man, "but it was from a great height. I cannot tell you such things as sailors need to know."

"Do you mean you were flying in the air?" Eustace blurted out.

"I was a long way above the air, my son," replied the Old Man. "I am Ramandu. But I see you stare at one another and have not heard this name. And no wonder, for the days when I was star had ceased long before any of you knew this world, and all the constellations have changed."

"Golly," said Edmund under his breath. "he's a retired star."

"Aren't you a star any longer?" asked Lucy.

"I am a star at rest, my daughter," answered Ramandu. "When I set for the last time, decrepit and old beyond all that you can reckon, I was carried to this island. I am not so old now as I was then. Every morning a bird brings me a fire-berry from the valleys in the Sun, and each fire-berry takes away a little of my age. And when I have become as young as the child that was born yesterday, then I shall take my rising again (for we are at earth's eastern rim) and once more tread the great dance."

"In our world," said Eustace, "a star is a huge ball of flaming gas."

"Even in your world, my son, that is not what a star is but only what it is made of. And in this world you have already met a star: for I think you have been with Coriakin."

"Is he a retired star, too?" said Lucy, his gentle humor and wisdom springing to mind. He seemed younger than Ramandu, and she wondered if he'd rise to the star's dance sooner.

"Well, not quite the same," said Ramandu. "It was not was not quite as a rest that he was set to govern the Duffers. You might call it a punishment. He might have shone for thousands of years more in the southern winter sky if all had gone well."

"What did he do, Sir?" asked Caspian.

"My son," said Ramandu, "it is not for you, a son of Adam, to know what faults a star can commit. But come, we waste time in such talk. Are you yet resolved? Will you sail further east and come again, leaving one to return no more, and so break the enchantment? Or will you sail westward?"

"Surely, Sire," said Reepicheep, "there is no question about that? It is very plainly part of our quest to rescue these three lords from enchantment."

"I think the same, Reepicheep," replied Caspian. "And even if it were not so, it would break my heart not to go as near the World's End as the Dawn Treader will take us." Lucy, too, was curious to see how this world ended at its ridge, and was ready to offer her own encouragement. But Caspian added an objection. "But I am thinking of the crew. They signed on to seek the seven lords, not to reach the rim of the Earth. If we sail east from here we sail to find the edge, the utter east. And no one knows how far it is. They're brave fellows, but I see signs that some of them are weary of the voyage and long to have our prow pointing to Narnia again. I don't think I should take them further without their knowledge and consent. And then there's the poor Lord Rhoop. He's a broken man."

"My son," said the star, "it would be no use, even though you wished it, to sail for the World's End with men unwilling or men deceived. That is not how great unenchantments are achieved. They must know where they go and why. But who is this broken man you speak of?"

Caspian told Ramandu the story of Rhoop, and Ramandu offered to give Lord Rhoop what he needed most, a sleep without the faintest stirring of a dream.

"Oh, do let's do that, Caspian," said Lucy. "I'm sure it's just what he would love." Before Caspian could offer his agreement – or disagreement – voices interrupted the quiet, and Drinian and the rest of the ship's company entered the clearing, halting in surprise when they saw Ramandu and his daughter; and then, because they were obviously great people, every man uncovered his head. Caspian sent sailors back to the ship to offer Lord Rhoop the company of his fellow lords and a deep, dreamless, sleep.

While they waited for a return, Caspian turned to the ship's company and told them what had been learned, and what task lay before them – if they would accept it.

Lucy listened as the sailors began to talk, and heard that Caspian was right – many of them did long for home. The older sailors agreed that after the New Years the winds would change, and the ship could head for home; and as they spoke of staying on the island the entire winter, eating at Aslan's table, her heart sank.

His table was as generous as his heart, but it wasn't Him.

And what of the three lords?

Not all the crew agreed. Rynelf started speaking for the rest, saying they had set out for an adventure, and would look as silly as Dufflepuds if they came this far, then went home without going the rest of the way (2).

Lucy watched their faces and listened. About half the crew were hanging back, lured by the promise of a great feast each night and then a known sea on the way home.

Only it wasn't her home, she realized with a start. It's what made her so lonely, sitting and listening to them. Narnia would always welcome her, but it had become home again on her last visit only when Aslan had been with her. By His side she always had a place, a purpose, and she belonged. On the Dawn Treader she had a purpose and a place as well, but there wasn't one back in Narnia.

And she wanted to finish this task, and free the remaining lords. She looked to Edmund; he was whispering with Caspian. She turned to Reepicheep, who had remained by her side. "Aren't you going to say anything, Reep?" she whispered.

"No. Why should your Majesty expect it?" answered Reepicheep in a voice that most people heard. "my own plans are made. While I can, I sail east in the Dawn Treader. When she fails me, I paddle east in my coracle. When she sinks, I shall swim east with my four paws. And when I can swim no longer, if I have not reached Aslan's country, or shot over the edge of the world in some vast cataract, I shall sink with my nose to the sunrise and Peepiceek will be head of the talking mice in Narnia."

"Here, here," said a sailor, "I'll say the same, barring the bit about the coracle, which wouldn't bear me." He added in a lower voice, "I'm not going to be outdone by a mouse."

At this point Caspian jumped to his feet. "Friends," he said, "I think you have not quite understood our purpose. You talk as if we had come to you with our hat in our hand, begging for shipmates. It isn't like that at all. We and our royal brother and sister and their kinsman and Sir Reepicheep, the good knight, and the Lord Drinian have an errand to the world's edge. It is our pleasure to choose from among such of you as are willing those whom we deem worthy of so high an enterprise. That is why we shall now command the Lord Drinian and Master Rhince to consider carefully what men among you are the hardest in battle, the most skilled seamen, the purest in blood, the most loyal to our person, and the cleanest of life and manners; and to give their names to us in a schedule." He paused and went on in a quicker voice, "Aslan's mane!" he exclaimed. "Do you think that the privilege of seeing the last things is to be bought for a song? Why, every man that comes with us shall bequeath the title of Dawn Treader to all his descendents, and when we land at Cair Paravel on the homeward voyage he shall have either gold or land enough to make him rich all his life. Now – scatter over the island, all of you. In half an hour's time I shall receive the names that Lord Drinian brings me."

Lucy watched as the crew made sheepish bows and moved away, talking; and she saw the uncertainty in those who had wanted to stay. Caspian had a heart that moved him to adventure, and he was able to tell them why. She looked back to him, thinking how glad she was that he was Narnia's king.

"And now for Lord Rhoop," said Caspian. But Lucy had seen him come while Caspian was speaking, and the daughter of Ramandu and come to him and escorted him to a chair, gently setting him beside Lord Argoz. Now Ramandu stood behind him and laid both his hands on Rhoop's grey head. Even in daylight a faint silver light came from the hands of the star. There was a smile on Rhoop's haggard face. He held out one of his hands to Lucy and the other to Caspian. For a moment it looked as if he were going to say something. Then his smile brightened as if he were feeling some delicious sensation, a long sigh of contentment came from his lips, his head fell forward, and he slept.

"Poor Rhoop," said Luc. "I am glad. He must have had terrible times."

"Don't let's even think of it," said Eustace. And Lucy agreed. She asked Eustace what he now thought of stars in their world instead. "How can something not be what it's made of?" Eustace asked.

"Well, we're not," said Lucy. "We're made of blood and brains and things. But that isn't what we are. We're people."

"Then what do you think a star is in our world?"

"It's light," said Edmund, who had been listening. And Lucy, listening to them discuss symbolism, being, and blessings, smiled, for it seemed a good conversation to have next to Aslan's table.

The next half hour passed swiftly, more and more men talking to each other and deciding that they didn't want to be left out of the coming voyage, and then going to Drinian and Rhince and almost begging them to add his name to the list to be presented to Caspian. And soon there were only three left who didn't want to go, and those three were trying very hard to persuade the others to stay with them. And very shortly after that there was only one left. And in the end he began to be afraid of being left behind all on his own – Lucy could see the fear on his face, she could identify fears more easily now – and changed his mind. When the half hour was over, and the men presented, Caspian took all the men except the one who had changed his mind because of fear. He stayed on Ramandu's island, and Lucy never learned what became of him.

That night they all ate and drank together at the great Table between the pillars where the feast was magically renewed: and next morning the Dawn Treader set sail once more just when the great birds had come and gone again.

Lucy stood beside Caspian as he watched the island disappear. She had heard him, the night before, promise the daughter of the star to speak with her when Caspian came again, when the enchantment was broken. And as the island grew smaller she hoped the birds flying each morning would remind Caspian that he would be going back, one day, to speak with Ramandu's daughter again.

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(1) Taken from several chapters ago, when Eustace had been turned into a dragon and Lewis writes, "as I said before, Eustace had read only the wrong books. They had a lot to say about exports and imports and governments and drains, but they were weak on dragons" p. 70.

(2) p. 162 paraphrased