The sun rose over Ettinsmoor the next day. The sun came and went, and so did the rain, falling across the empty plain and soaking the grass and stones of the ruins. And following that was the snow, the unusually warm autumn turning into a sudden and bitter cold winter. The snow covered the entire moor, falling especially sudden in Harfang. But that wasn't unusual, for Harfang was always notorious for its spontaneous blizzards, flaring up and then disappearing just as suddenly.

Two figures could be seen among the snowstorm, faint outlines against the white that blotted out the ruined road that they rode upon. One had a lovely white horse, an unusually placid creature that even in this snowstorm did not shy and startle and run for cover. The other had a dark horse, black, that kept its head down except to occasionally snort and shake its mane in an attempt to get the snow from its eyes. They were two of the finest horses that could be found in the entire world, obtained through trade from a dark-skinned Calormene in the far south of the world. He had held out for a long time, not wanting to part with two of his best prizes. But in the end he had to, for the price that he was paid was something he could never ignore. He patted farewell to Snowflake and Coalblack and gave the two horses to the buyer, a funny, squat fellow with a really long nose and a pair of thick glasses around his eyes to protect them from the sun, and then went on his way.

"We should go back," said one of the figures, sitting on the black horse. "The snow is getting worse. It won't be long before this whole area is covered."

The first figure on the white horse shielded her eyes against the gale. "Nonsense. It will blow over in a few minutes. I know these storms far better than you."

"You must. You've lived here longer," he was quick to agree.

"I want to ride out to the border today. You may come if you wish, but if not, then you can turn back."

"No, I will come with you."

"Very well." She pulled on the reins, guiding the horse back along the ruined road that led to the borders of Ettinsmoor.

"I should thank you again," he said as he rode beside her.

"For what?"

"For letting me ride with you on your trips onto the moor. It is far too kind of you to let me ride in Overworld with you like this, even covered as I am in this armor. It is far more than I deserve."

"It is," she agreed, trotting on ahead, for she knew the way better than he did. "But it is sensible, for your eyes must be accustomed to the sunlight. It would be such a shame if, after all we have worked for, if the moment you stood in Overworld you were blinded forever from the glare of the sun in your retinas. Most unfortunate."

"Look, the snow…it is lessening."

"As I told you it would."

"And you are always right, my lady, in your infinite wisdom that far surpasses my mortal knowledge, and I am grateful each day that you have chosen me of all the people in the world to bestow such honors upon."

She nodded, and then kicked the horse into a trot. There were rumors given to her by Mullugutherum on his journey home from Calormen that there were people on Ettinsmoor that were not her giants, and she had to put an end to that. She unfortunately couldn't send him to Calormen again…this journey alone, despite the protective glasses she had devised for him, had damaged his eyesight greatly. She supposed the only reason he didn't go mad as Thanagel did was his hopeless loyalty to her. Well, she had gotten what she wanted there, and her dealings with that country overall were few and far between and she wished to keep it that way.

"Why are we riding out this way? What is it that you need to see?"

"Intruders," she answered without a moment's pause. "I have heard there are intruders on my domain. I thought I had set laws with the people of Harfang to eradicate anyone who comes here unless they are under my own safe conduct, but some have escaped their watch. I must deal with these intruders accordingly."

"Of course, Sara. This is understandable."

She pulled the horse to an abrupt halt so that the two horses nearly ran into each other. The black horse stepped back, churning up dust and pebbles in an attempt to veer out of the way.

"I believe I have told you never to call me that," she said evenly. "Unless it slipped my mind?"

"No, no, it hasn't," he answered quickly. "Forgive me, your majesty."

"That's better. And…what's this?" she brushed the hair out of her face and peered down, noting the odd marks in the path that were similar to horse hooves but different enough to be noticed. "Centaurs." She breathed. "Dear me. We have a centaur on my moor. This simply won't do."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Centaurs are terribly observant creatures. They are wise and can look into the sky and stars and see what the future may portend. This presents possible problems, and I must find this centaur before he has a chance to do that. Come, now." She pulled the horse around and set it on a different path, off the main road, following the centaur tracks left in the dust and snow. "These are recent. The centaur can't be far off."

It was an hour of riding before she finally caught up with the centaur. He had taken a moment to gaze up at the sky and was circling it, trying to find a small opening in the clouds he could better see through.

"Good afternoon, traveler," she said, holding up a hand to the centaur in greeting and trilling her r's in an over exaggerated Mayharran accent, something she had come to do with every traveler that had come into her moor. "What brings you on this snowy afternoon to this most treacherous country?"

The centaur dropped his gaze and turned around to face her. "Who are you?"

She laughed. "I could ask that same question of you, fair traveler. I too am merely making my way on these moors, and I have rarely seen any other living thing here and am curious to see who I am meeting now."

The centaur had an arrow slung around his back and a quiver of arrows at his side. "I am a knight of the king of Narnia, and I have come to the far north of the world to seek his son who was lost to us five and a half years ago."

She laughed again, a sound reminiscent of wind chimes in a breeze. "It is strange, then, that you should be seeking him in such a cold, desolate place. Why, I have ridden over much of the moors in my life, and have scarcely seen anything."

The centaur's eyes flicked for a moment to the other man, but he said nothing. "Still, I am hoping that perhaps I will be the first to find something."

"I have lived here many years and found nothing. I am afraid neither will you. Such a shame this journey is for naught, yes?"

"I have seen such strange things in the stars," the centaur said evenly. "And they portend me to come here in order to seek them out. They speak of deception things lost and hidden, and I intend to discover them."

"You hold much faith in the stars. I would advise against it. Surely someone as learned as you would know this."

"I know that what I see there has held far more truth than anything here on earth. But…your companion, has he anything to say? Perhaps he has seen something?"

She glanced sideways, then smiled again at the centaur. "He doesn't," she said.

"Why not? If I may ask…"

"No, you may not." This, however, she said a bit sharper than she intended, and the centaur noticed this as well.

"The stars…"

"What did the stars say?" she leaned forward in her horse. "What did they speak of other than deception? What did one as wise as you see written there?"

"I saw terrible things that spoke of a witch and far too many years passed."

She laughed again, but this time the chimes were gone from that laugh. "How wise," she said. "How intelligent. How much of a shame to lose you as well as the countless others who have come to my moor in search of the lost prince."

"I beg your pardon?"

She lifted a small handful of powder, a dark purple, in her hand. It glimmered unnaturally in the snowy air. The centaur stared and took a step back.

"What is that? Who are you?"

She smiled. "I was asked that question recently," she said, somewhat thoughtfully. "By someone who I know far better than you. You should be privileged to be the first to receive an answer to that question." And in a small whisper of air, she blew the powder in the centaur's face. There was only a brief moment then in which the centaur's hands flew to its throat, and then he staggered backwards and collapsed onto the moor, dead. She smiled again.

"They call me the Lady of the Green Kirtle," she said, leaning over her horse to look at the centaur's body. "And this is what the world shall know me as hereafter."


"Have you ever seen a tree?"

"No…"

"But I am sure you have seen what passes for trees in the cavern of the sleepers, yes? I have not been to that cavern in a long time, but surely the Warden has taken you there before."

"Yes, but…"

"And you see those things growing from the ground, whatever they are, with limp leaves and branches brushing the ground. And they are hardly anything to look at, to sit under, to linger by. And so you replaced them with what you call trees, lovely things with green leaves to sit under on a warm day. It is easy to understand why. There are no trees."

"There…"

"There are no trees,"

"There are no trees," he mumbled. "There were never any trees."

"Good." She nodded approvingly. He knew what to say by now. The words she recited over and over had taken root in his mind so that now it was nearly automatic, even if he didn't believe what he was saying. Soon he would. Soon the mindless repetition would convince him that what she said was the truth. It would take time. But she had time.

"There was never any world but mine,"

He said nothing. She didn't expect him to say anything. He still resisted that. He still insisted. Ah, well. It was easier this way.

The tunnel was going well. It was six years now, but she had a year ago found a good part of the rock to tunnel through and now a steady tunnel was being created to the surface. She didn't have to worry about that now, especially since she had given at least half of the gnomes working on the tunnel the slightest bit of leniency in her enchantment of them to allow them to think about what to do in case they came in contact with a fault.

She had taken Virk, who she originally situated at the beginning of a tunnel, and out him with plenty of other gnomes past the cavern of the sleepers into the biggest cavern, the one that people most often came through the few times they did…now it had been three people, two of them knights and a third a very determined Leopard…and set them all to guard that entrance. The Marches of Underland, she called it, and ordered Virk as Warden to guard them and if anyone comes through, to immediately bring them to her. It was of utmost importance and if they did not come to her, she would be highly displeased and they did not want to see that. Of course they agreed, and now she didn't have to worry about that, either.

Quickly, she was disposing of all the things that she had previously worried about. Those two were easiest. She then set several notably observant giants in numerous places in Ettinsmoor to keep watch for her. They obeyed, as the giants in Harfang always did, and that too was crossed from her list.

Rilian believed in Narnia far too much, and in all of their previous debates, she had almost encouraged it. There were too many times where he won the debates and she could think of nothing to do to counter it. There were too many times where she couldn't justify the nonexistence of Narnia, and as a result, those few times made him even more sure that it still existed somewhere and that he would still find it. That complicated things, and she was through with complications.

If she allowed him to believe, then she would fail. The very thought disgusted her. She couldn't let that happen. She had to eliminate all possible risks that could allow such a thing to recur. She had to make it so absolutely nothing got in the way of the final plan, which was…she reminded herself of this repeatedly…the conquering of Narnia, the taking of Cair Paravel, the murder of the king, the instating of herself and Rilian as rulers of Narnia, their subsequent marriage, and then the entire world and him as well belonging to her. Nothing could get in the way of that anymore. Nothing.

She had to have Rilian forget Narnia. Otherwise it was one more power he had over her, which was unacceptable. While he still refused to acknowledge her world as the only one, she had convinced him to deny many of the other things he had stood staunchly by, a faint look of resignation coming over his features as he obediently repeated that whatever thing it was had never existed. He did it more and more and almost every debate they had ended in her success.

It was one less thing to worry about.

Did she love him? Yes, of course she did, and always had. But she couldn't worry about that now, because that too was becoming a weakness and keeping her from her true task. She would love him again after the plan was completed and she was successful. But she could wait, wait until she was free to love as she wished without any obstructions. Until then, my Rilian, let us continue to live as I had imagined us living. Keep me safe during the day, and let us love only during that time I allow it, until that day comes again when we can stand beneath the stars and be witnessed by all Narnia as we chose.

So it was decided. And there was another thing she didn't have to worry about any longer.

She took Rilian riding with her every day now. It wasn't anticipated, but in those days following the first escape…when she still did worry…she felt such guilt at the fact that he had not seen even the smallest glimpse of sun since this whole affair started. Now she realized that it would be unwise not to, as then his eyes would not be accustomed to the brightness of the day and he would be blinded and that would hardly do well for the plan. So instead she took him riding as often as she went, dressed in full armor incase anyone saw, and he lived under the belief now that if anyone saw him it would hinder her magic that would help to free him. Of course it would, but not the way he saw it as.

Either way, that was no longer a problem now. No longer a worry.

And thus the months passed.


If there was a Narnia, he felt he was too far away to see it. If there ever had been…which he was sure there was…he had lived there for all his life. But it was too hard to remember.

"There is no Narnia," her voice was soft and insistent.

He refused to answer. For the past year he refused to answer.

What if…what if he did?

There is no Narnia.

He thought but didn't say anything. Would it be that hard to give in to it? Yes! He lived there. There were people there he cared about. They had names, and he could remember the names if he tried but that had become too hard and the names slipped away and disappeared. So what did one land matter, if he couldn't remember the names of the people in it?

It didn't matter.

How long had it been here? A hundred years? As long as the winter that happened in Narnia once. But what was winter? It was supposedly cold and filled with snow, but here the temperature was always comfortable and water never fell from the sky and if there wasn't a winter here, where he seemed to always live, then there was no Hundred Years' Winter, and therefore…therefore…

There was no Narnia.

He could try and say it. If he didn't like it he could still take it back.

"There is no Narnia,"

But much to his surprise, there was no guilt in saying it. There was only relief.

He didn't have to worry about Narnia anymore. He didn't have to remember names that he couldn't, seasons he couldn't, things he had to do in that world and things he wanted to say. There were no burdens, no responsibilities, only a strange freedom to say those words in a world he was sure always existed about a world he couldn't remember any longer.

"There was never any Narnia,"

He could almost laugh with the relief of admitting it. No burdens no worries no forgotten names nothing! Only the truth of this lady and all that she said, only this world that he existed in and always did.

There was never any Narnia!

For a moment another thought intruded, faint but insistent enough to be noticed. There's Aslan.

Aslan. The son of the Emperor over the Sea. A lion, not a tame lion but a good one, one who watched over the people of Narnia and cared for them. One who was the king of everything, even moreso than his father or anyone else. Aslan helped his people in the gravest times, it was said, and it had been proven countless times in the past.

There was always Aslan, wasn't there? The one who watched out for Narnia and every citizen of it. Aslan would care. Aslan would help him.

Rilian stared at the carpet in front of him, the same as it had always been.

How long had he believed that?

Every night, he thought absently. Every night since he came here. Aslan would find him.

But he didn't know how long it had been, just that…that it had been that. A long time. And Aslan was not here, and Aslan never came for him. There had never been a daring escape, not like his father who had escaped the treacherous King Miraz and helped bring back the lost voice of Old Narnia. There had never been anything. Just a witch and this underground world, cut off from everything except memories or dreams or anything. And there had just been this. There was nothing to show him that there ever had been anything but this. Aslan wasn't here.

If Aslan cared for him, Rilian thought bitterly, he would have come years ago.

Perhaps then Aslan was a dream too.

And he was wise enough to be able to tell dreams from reality.


Sara was quite pleased. The rescuers stopped coming. It had been seven years now, more than that, and it seemed they finally realized the futility of their exercise, and she was glad they stopped sending them for they had become a terrible annoyance to her. Thirty of them. She counted. Thirty had come from Narnia seeking the lost prince, and thirty had never returned. Some she had killed herself. Some took the wrong tunnel to Underland and she had found their bodies weeks later, either starved or died of thirst, collapsed against the wall, rotting into the ground. Some she had sent to Harfang under her name, and the giants of Harfang ate them as they wished. She never took part in those feasts, but it was the one thing she couldn't breed out of the giants, no matter how hard she tried. She was now glad she was never able to. Now she could use it to her advantage.

Rilian now admitted the nonexistence of Narnia. Excellent. It was truly a fair exchange now. She had not thought of Mayharran in years and agreed that it, too, was a lovely dream she had made up for a time long ago she had forgotten about. Now they were even. She was content with that.

The tunnel was progressing nicely. It wouldn't take that much longer at the rate things were going. The gnomes, she had given them a good work ethic of late, and they were taking off with that. Before long they would breach the surface.

She had set things in motion now exactly the way she wanted to set them, without hindrances and second thoughts, without problems, worries, and anything getting in the way.

Now all she had left to do was sit back and watch as her careful plans played themselves out perfectly, as she intended them to do.


He had fought, or at least used to, for a very long time. He didn't know how long but remembered trying, repeating names over and over until they sounded like nonsense. He had recited every place in Narnia...he still remembered that name, for he dreamed about it terribly often, a recurring dream that he wished he could linger in, for it was such a nice dream and far better than this dreary place…and described it down to the smallest detail. He had shouted everything he could remember…from the dreams, of course…until his voice was hoarse. He pleaded, begged, and insisted…and nothing had changed. He screamed until he no longer heard himself, and still she did nothing but look at him sadly and say she was sorry for his most unfortunate condition.

He had fought for a long time, insisting there was a Narnia, insisting that he was Rilian, son of Caspian the tenth, prince of Narnia.

Nothing had changed. He only spent an hour begging, pleading, praying, for nothing.

Thou art king of many imagined lands in thy fantasies, she said. But still, it doesn't do well to torment your mind with thinking such fantasies are real. You know well that there is no other world but mine, no other world but what I have created.

Oft she said that to him, her voice soft and low and insistent. She would sit near him, and even when the fire burned clear she still gave off enchantment. It was as if it was burned into her very skin, as if she was a creature made of living magic and enchantment and nothing else.

She had a name, he knew. She used to be something else. A healer, maybe. Or a herbalist. Or a surgeon, or…or…a historian? Was that it? And she used to sit with him and…there was snow, once, was there? But he was certain she had a name, but he couldn't remember it. All he knew was enchantment and evil magic, and it left no room for names, for memories of young women from other worlds he had once embraced under the stars.

There was never any world but mine. You must remember that too, my dear. It will soothe your mind and ease your worries. Forget about your dreams.

Yes, there was…was another world…that wasn't…yours…

There were names in that world, too. There was Lord Drinian, there was Trumpkin, there was…but…but the names he couldn't remember. It took such an effort to try and when he did, it all sounded like nonsense anyway. He would spend an entire hour trying to remember one name, only to lose it as the clock chimed eight and he belonged to her once again.

Even during that hour, he didn't belong to himself any longer. She would watch as he struggled to even remember a single name, a moment, a picture, and then all she did was praise him for his creativity and imagination.

There had been a time when she had spoken with him. She used to hate it when he did this. She used to say the names with him and help him remember. She would laugh when he recalled an event of something that happened that she perhaps witnessed and would even throw in her own version of the events, what she remembered that he forgot. They would laugh together then.

Had that been here? Or had it been someone else? He couldn't remember.

There had always been someone here. There was someone who would sometimes press their hand to his cheek and talk to him, someone who would brush back his hair or run their fingers across his wrist and soothe the burns from the ropes, but they spoke too low and he could never make out the words. No one said the words anymore, no one did any of those things anymore.

He couldn't remember the name of that lady anyway.

Now there was only a witch, and he didn't know her name either. Names slipped through the cracks and fell into the sea now.

He looked over at the woman. She was reading. She did that a lot. And she was beautiful, sitting by the fire. If only she would believe him. If only she would listen when he told her about Narnia. She was so reasonable when she spoke to him…she was a reasonable lady. If only she believed him, he knew she would show him the way home.

But where was home? Was it far overhead? And did that home even have a place for a man who couldn't even recall his own name?

Maybe she was right.

Maybe there was no other world but hers.

It was too much to think about.

The clock chimed eight. Think? No, why…why think, thoughts were too difficult to hold on to and they all vanished too fast, and the more he tried to hold on to them, the more it muddied his mind and obscured everything. One, two, three chimes. What had he been thinking about? Was it important? Four, five, six chimes. His lady had not told him anything, and she was usually the one who said anything worth thinking about. Seven chimes. Perhaps she would be so gracious as to take him out today. She was terribly wonderful like that, to use her wise magical art to keep him safe until he was free from his awful curse. Eight chimes. And then someday he would be king of Overland, with his Lady's hand to guide him, as there had been no one kinder to him over the years, no one who had taken more pains to keep help him as she had. No one more beautiful, wise, gracious, gentle, merciful…no one in the world he could ever love more.

The eighth chime fell silent and once again the hour had passed, and peace fell across Underland.

So it was, and so it had been for ten years.


In Overworld, it was a brilliantly sunny day. The waves at Cair Paravel lapped against it shores and against the boat anchored at its docks. The next day the king was set to sail far from Narnia, to the ends of the world, where he would seek Aslan in his ultimate aid. For the king had no one to succeed him, his only son vanished years ago without a trace, and everyone who had gone to look for him had never returned. The king always thought it was absurd, something out of a story told to children at bedtime…eat your vegetables, or you will be taken away without a trace and never seen again…but it wasn't, no matter how much the king had wished it.

The ship's banners fluttered in the sea wind, snapping smartly together when an unusually intense gust came through. Already there were many people gathered in Cair Paravel to witness the sailing of the king. Many had mourned with him the day he discovered his son vanished, ten years ago, and many had mourned since…whispering how sorry they were for the death of the prince.

The king never believed his son had died. He had stood by that belief for ten years, no matter how many people told him otherwise. He just didn't know what to do now. He didn't know who to succeed him, if he should wait until his son returned…if he ever did...or…or…

The king didn't know. Only Aslan knew, and it was Aslan he was seeking for one final answer near the end of his life.

So the king went to sleep that night, alone, as he had for years now, knowing tomorrow he would sail, perhaps for the final time.

And the next day the sun rose over Narnia, over the entire land, over Ettinsmoor and Harfang, though there was no one there to see it, for all the giants were asleep. It rose the same as it ever did, though far away, unseen by all, even the Queen of Underland whose eyes reached further than she had ever dreamed, a small change had infiltrated the fabric of the world. A boy and a girl stood at the edge of a precipice in a beautiful country, far away, and the girl, in an attempt to show off, came too close to the edge and stared over its precipice to show her bravery, and foolishness, staring down at the clouds which were so far away she confused them for sheep.


Mullugutherum squinted in the light of the lamps and stumbled along down the hallway, trying not to trip over the rich carpet. His eyesight used to be much better, but ever since his queen sent him on a mission to a far, distant land in Overworld, it had never been the same. Mullugutherum shuddered to remember that journey which he thankfully never had to repeat…months of living in open air under the sky, with the sun a horrible glaring brightness that wasn't at all comforting like the fires of Bism, and the constant fear that if he stumbled that he would fall right off the world and tumble into the endless sky overhead.

He was sure he'd never have to do it again, but now he wasn't so sure. The way his queen had been talking, with the tunnel being near completion…

That's what he had to tell her. In a manner of days they would break through to the surface. She would be quite pleased when she heard that.

He didn't want to go to the surface again, no matter how loyal he was. The only thing that consoled him was the fact that everyone else would be going too, all the people in Bism would be part of her army to fight on the surface. Even Virk and the rest of the council that had sentenced him to exile that first time…and second time…

Mullugutherum grinned a wicked, toothy grin. They'd be on the surface too. How would that feel for the council, the lowest people in Bism?

It had been ten years since they had fallen under the queen's jurisdiction. Mullugutherum figured that his enjoyment of the mistreatment of the Bism council would wear off after awhile, but…even after ten years, it was still there. It only got better, especially with the tunnel almost finished.

He knocked on the door with the staff three times and waited for the queen to let him in. She was sitting in front of a map of the tunnel leading to the surface.

"Yes, Mullugutherum? What news do you have for me?"

"Good news, your majesty," he said, bowing, even though she wasn't looking at him. "The tunnel is nearly completed. It will be finished in a matter of days."

"Days?" she turned around, her eyes wide and a smile at the corner of her mouth. "Perfect. It's been long enough, hasn't it? Ten years." She picked a pencil up off the desk and tossed it to Mullugutherum, who had to drop the staff in order to catch it. "Too long, really. Ah, well, it won't be much longer now."

Mullugutherum bowed again and went up to the map. She stepped aside and allowed him to climb on the table and reach up as high as he could to sketch the work that had been done on the tunnel that day. When he finished, he realized with a shiver that it was too close to the surface. They might as well be on it, living under all that open sky and fall into it and never return. Well at least if he fell into the sky, everyone else would, too.

He handed her the pencil again, and she nodded with satisfaction. "Perfect. Now go back, Mullugutherum. I want you to be the first one to notify me of any change."

"Many sink to the bottom, your majesty," he said obediently. She rolled her eyes and turned back to look at the map.

"And few return to the sunlit lands," she answered with an annoyed sigh. "Can't ever get rid of that password now, can I? Well, it makes them happy." She gestured absently to the window at the far left that opened to the rest of Underland. "Won't have to worry about that password anymore soon, so I suppose I can live with it for a few more days. A few more days!" she laughed joyously, clapping her hands together. "Forget my orders, Mullugutherum. Bring some wine instead. Perhaps we shall take a minute to celebrate, yes? Ten years and now finally this close to victory."

"Yes, victory, of course," Mullugutherum agreed. "In your wisdom we are humbled."

"Of course you are."

"Now, what season is it? Let me see…" she ran a finger along the calendar next to the map, and then nodded. "Nearly autumn. We will break through and have the entirety of Overworld under my power before winter begins."

"And…that is a good time, your majesty?"

"The Narnian people are terribly superstitious," she replied, sitting down and interlacing her fingers while looking at the map. "They've always seen winter as an unfortunate time for evil magic ever since they had a witch plunge their country into a seemingly eternal winter many years ago. I will play upon their natural superstition and use it to my advantage. Now go. I must prepare as well."

Mullugutherum bowed and exited, leaving the queen alone in front of the only map in the castle, smiling proudly at the pending success.


Janile pushed the head of the last moor giant and watched as he grunted and then bent back over his collection of rocks and stopped bothering anyone before she walked away. Stupid moor giants. They were all brutish and annoying and nowhere near as civilized as she and the rest of Harfang. She snubbed her nose at them as often as she could. They were kept in check, though. They answered to Harfang, even though they were all too stupid to know it.

With that work done, she started the long walk back to Harfang. The king had sent her on this recent job to check on the wild giants who were getting too close to the road to Harfang lately. Janile knew that if their lady was there, she wouldn't let Janile be sent on such menial tasks. Well, their lady would be returning soon. She always came around this time of year.

She hadn't gone too far when she saw something, something different from the usual flat moor and moor animals. They looked awfully small, and on closer inspection…they looked like people, kind of like their lady only smaller. One was kind of chubby…and looked quite delicious…and the other one skinnier and wearing clothes like their lady wore. That one didn't look as tasty but they both were…were…

"Men, Janile. They look like myself, like the knights that I have sent to Harfang before. If you see them, tell me. Send a message to me somehow. If they come to Harfang…well, then they're yours to do as you wish."

Which meant that they would get to eat them. Lady never said they couldn't. She never joined them in eating anyone, but she let them do it as they wished.

Janile squinted at the creatures. Yes, two of them were definitely men, though they were kind of small. Small didn't matter…they were still delicious no matter how big they were. And the third…eh, some creature, long, thin, lanky, walking slightly in front of the two men.

Marsh-wiggle.

Janile wrinkled her nose. Disgusting. There wasn't much that could be done with marsh-wiggle…they were hardly worth eating. Cooks knew a way to make it slightly more edible, but Janile herself was never interested. Men, on the other hand…

But their lady's orders were not to eat them right away. First, she was to be notified.

But then usually they got to eat them.

Janile watched several more moments as they got a little closer. The two men looked at her, and so did the wiggle, and then moved to get further away. Oh, so they were afraid of her! They should be. Soon she was going to eat them.

As soon as she told their lady.

She grinned at the idea of how little they knew. They were just going about their business and had no idea that sooner or later, they were going to get eaten.

That idea amused Janile so much that she roared with laughter and walked away on her own business, ignoring the bewildered and slightly fearful looks she left behind.


"And you must remember not to say anything,"

"As those are your words, I ever obey."

"Good."

Trouble by the border, Janile said. There were two men and a marsh-wiggle wandering through the moors by themselves. The men looked terribly delicious. Will we get to eat them? They're small but that's fine with us, you know.

The news had surprised Sara. She hadn't seen men or any sort of creature on the moors in years now. She figured they had given up when none of them had ever returned. She didn't know why anyone would show up now, not when she was only days away from completion. Had she underestimated Narnia's determination?

No, it was an accident. She handled the other thirty people sent to rescue Rilian, she could handle two more and a marsh-wiggle, although she wasn't entirely sure why the wiggle had come. They kept to themselves, on their side of the Shribble, and never bothered her and her giants never bothered them. It had been that way for far longer than ten years.

"Hah, calm down now," she ordered the horse, which snorted and shook its head vigorously. What was this particular beast called? Snowflake, that was it. A lovely white horse she had gotten from the far south. She still didn't like horses, but decided she wanted only the best for her kingdom, including horses.

She would ride all the way to the border and see if there was anyone, and then ride back. That should cover it.

Thankfully, she didn't have to wait long. As she neared the bridge, she saw the three that Janile spoke about, crossed the bridge. She pulled the horse to a halt, and Rilian stopped as well. The three came closer and they too stopped, and Sara got her first good look at the strangers since Janile mentioned them.

Two of them were not men at all, but children. One was a chubby boy with dirty clothes and a dirty face…and dirty hair…looking decidedly miserable in the cold air of the open moor. He had his hands in his pockets and was standing close to the girl, who was equally dirty, and looked even more miserable than the boy did. She was wearing a long dress and was trying to warm her hands and looked like she wanted to be anywhere but here. Both of them…they couldn't be more than ten, twelve years old! What in Yarrin's name were they doing on Ettinsmoor near winter?

The marsh-wiggle, however…he was not looking…well, she couldn't say he wasn't looking miserable because wiggles always looked miserable, but seemed more guarded and reserved and was looking at her with a decidedly suspicious look.

Children. Two children. Why were they here? It made no sense. Children never left Narnia. This land was far too inhospitable for young people to be wandering around on it. There was no reason they should be here…

Unless…

They were…rescuers?

That was nonsense. They were children, and the wiggle was just a wiggle, and unlike the countless knights she had seen, none of them were wearing armour, or armed with any sword…the boy and the wiggle had bows and arrows…which was even stranger, since there was no reason a boy of that age should be allowed to shoot.

It seemed all wrong, somehow. She couldn't pinpoint how, but the whole thing was just…just wrong. Children and marsh-wiggles didn't just wander around her moors for no apparent reason. Surely they were lost.

"Good day, travelers," she said with the usual exaggerated Mayharran accent. "Some of you are young pilgrims to walk through this rough waste." (Lewis 89)

"That's as may be, Ma'am," the wiggle replied, stiffly and just as guarded as before…no, now more so. He had a deep frown on his face…unusually deep even for a wiggle…and was standing just as stiffly as he was speaking.

"We're looking for the ruined city of the giants," the girl spoke up. There was a sidelong glance from the wiggle, who didn't look all that happy that she said that.

"The ruined city? That is a strange place to be seeking." Her hands tightened subconsciously on the reigns of the horse, though she kept up her easygoing and cheerful manner. That was a strange place. The ruins at Harfang were certainly not well known, and the only people who would have any desire to look at them were historians and record-keepers, people interested in seeing the past. Normal people…especially children…would have no interest in such things. "What will you do if you find it?"

"We've got to—" the girl started to say.

"Begging your pardon, ma'am. But we don't know you or your friend—a silent chap, isn't he?—and you don't know us. And we'd as soon not talk to strangers about our business, if you don't mind. Shall we have a little rain soon, do you think?"

Of course they were hiding something. This whole scene was completely absurd.

Sara laughed instead. It always caught people off guard. "Well, children," she said, ignoring the wiggle and looking the two children in the eyes, addressing them directly. "You have a wise, solemn old guide with you. I think none the worse of him for keeping his own counsel, but I'll be free with mine. I have often heard the name of the giantish City Ruinous…" and she could very well be preposterous back… "but have never met any who would tell me the way thither. This road leads to the burgh and castle of Harfang, where dwell the gentle giants..." she described Harfang as she usually did, dwelling on the warmth of their fires and deliciousness of the food.

The faces of the boy and the girl lit up and she could see the faintest hint of the smile on the girl's face. It was standard enough for Sara…if she saw people on the road, she would always send them to Harfang, and naturally there they would meet their end. The Harfang giants were always willing to eat anyone she sent their way, and they were especially anxious now, so close to their autumn feast. She had always tried to send them at least one man for the feast. And she could tell by the dirtiness and miserable looks of the children that it must have been a long time since they had stayed anywhere civilized and warm, and for children that young…well, it was absolutely absurd, but that was besides the point. The true point was that they most likely weren't used to it and could be easily tempted by her offer.

"I say!" the boy said, taking a deep breath. "That's something like! Think of sleeping in a bed again."

"Yes, and having the hot bath," the girl agreed almost immediately. Then she turned back to Sara, a decidedly worried look on her face. "Do you think they'll ask us to say? We don't know them, you see."

"Only tell them," Sara finished, a slight smile on her face "That She of the Green Kirtle salutes them by you, and has sent them two fair Southern children for the Autumn Feast." Then they would know that again, their trusted lady provided them with the famous treat that they always wanted for this particular feast. She had already told Janile she would send the men their way, and Janile was looking forward to it. It was the least she could do for Janile. That giant had given her years of loyal service.

"Oh, thank you ever so much!" the boy and the girl said, smiling at each other and then practically beaming on Sara.

Sara smiled broadly back at them. "But have a care," she warned, holding up a hand. "On whatever day you reach Harfang, that you come not to the door too late. For they shut their gates a few hours after noon, and it is the custom of the castle that they open to none when once they have drawn the bolt, how hard so ever he knock."

"Oh thank you!" the girl said again, looking at both Sara and the horse as if they were simply the grandest things on earth.

"Yes, thank you!" the boy agreed, and he looked at her with faint admiration. Together, the children were hanging onto her every word as if she were the moon and the sun come down from the sky to send them somewhere safe. She waved to them and they waved back with renewed vigor.

The wiggle, however…all he did was take off his hat and bow, very stiffly and very small. His eyes never left her the entire time, and were still just as guarded and suspicious as ever.

Sara kicked her horse into motion and she continued on, leaving them behind. She turned back only once, and saw the wiggle lean over the children and say something, but they were too far away now for her to be able to make out the words.

"Who were they?" Rilian asked when they were safely out of range.

"I don't know," she said, still looking behind her. "But they are clearly up to no good. What sort of children that young would be out on my moor, near winter, looking for the ruins at Harfang? It's absurd. And that wiggle…what is he doing here? My agreement with the wiggles has always been that they remain on their side of the Shribble and will not be harmed. He…is on the wrong side." She frowned. "But it is no matter. I have sent them to Harfang, as I have sent many others, and that will be the last we see of them."

"Of course, my lady."

And with that thought, they both crossed the old giants' bridge in a clatter of hooves and then disappeared over onto the other side.


The bell chimed seven, and it was such a normal occurrence that Rilian barely thought of it anymore. He didn't think much of anything anymore, for it was all far too difficult…took too much effort and achieved nothing. Today was no different, though earlier he vaguely recalled hearing the gnomes mention something about Overworld, but he forgot that now anyway.

The witch was sitting by the fire, but she wasn't reading today. She was staring into the fire…pulled out her pocketwatch to check the time, then sighed irritably and snapped it shut again. What was wrong? He didn't know. Didn't care. Stopped caring awhile ago, though he didn't remember how long.

He had been dreaming, and it was such a strange dream. His dreams normally weren't that strange. Usually they involved a beautiful land, a grand castle with people he wished he could know in reality for they were all such nice people. Usually there were trees and rivers, rivers that sparkled in the sunlight…even though there was no such thing as the sun…or rivers, or trees for that matter. Nevertheless he still dreamed about them, very vivid dreams that were just as terrible as they were wonderful, because he felt that there was something…something just out of his reach that he couldn't grasp, something he felt he should know but always managed to elude him, and he woke from those dreams feeling strange and restless and altogether awful. That reason eluded him too.

The dreams today…they made little sense. It started out normal enough…there was a moor, but he had seen the moor in the dreams enough before to not worry about that. But then it grew stranger. There were three people in the dream, and they were people he was sure he had never seen in the dreams before. Two were very small and he liked them instantly, though he didn't know how he could if he had never met them and didn't even know if they were trustworthy. The third was a tall, odd looking thing with a grave voice and a hat. They were on the moors, searching for something. They never spoke once to him, but the fellow with the hat kept looking at him, and he had an odd feeling that the tall thing was looking…looking right at him, even through the dream. The children were too busy speaking to the witch, something just as strange as the rest. The witch had showed up many times in the dreams, but she…she was always speaking to him. In this dream she was speaking to the children, and she obviously didn't like it, and seemed agitated.

That too was odd. The witch was never agitated. She was always in control of everything.

It didn't make any sense. The wiggle, he…

Wiggle.

How did he know that?

The word came into his head very suddenly, and it made him raise his head in surprise. How did he know what that creature was called? Unless he had dreamed up the name as well? But no, it took him longer when he thought up names. This name was just there. It meant something. That tall thing was a wiggle, whatever a wiggle be.

The other two were awfully small. Practically children…

Why would children be in his dreams? They never showed up before. And why were they in a moor? That made no sense either.

Maybe he should ask the witch. She usually had some sort of answer for him, even though the answers were not always satisfactory.

"What is a wiggle?"

The witch turned around, her brows snapping together sharply. "Excuse me?" she asked.

"A wiggle. What is it?"

"It's…why, it's…wherever did you hear that word?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "I think I just…remembered it."

"From where? Oh, wherever would you remember such a foolish word? Wiggle, what kind of name is that anyway? I'm sure it's nothing. Forget about it, dear."

"No, no, it was something, it really was something. There was a tall creature with a hat on the moors and I remember he was called a wiggle. And you know so much, I am only asking…asking you what it is."

"Well, there's no reason to ask. I know of no such thing."

"But you know everything," he insisted. "You always say you do, so surely you have a…an answer for a wiggle."

"It is nothing. Now stop asking!" she snapped, and whirled back around to face the fire.

She never did that. She never got angry. She was always the picture of ridiculous calm, and even when he pleaded with her all she did was smile and turned away, dismissing his cries with a wave of her hand and sometimes a chuckle. She didn't snap. It meant something was wrong. Maybe the wiggle was wrong? Why was she so angry that he knew that name?

"What about…were there…I've had such strange dreams today," he said finally.

"I'm sure you have. But fear not, my dear, soon the dreams will be ended and there won't be any more worries for either of us." Her voice was calm and soothing again.

"I don't understand it…I…there were three people, and two were small, I don't know why they were there, why I would dream about small…people? Men? Were they men?"

This time she turned around and stood up, her eyes wide.

"And the tall person who I am sure is called a wiggle, I think, that's what I remember and I don't know how I know that but I am so sure that I do. He looked at me, that creature. I don't know why. No one ever looks at me except for you, but he did, and it meant something. The children were talking to you. Children! I remember that now! I remember that word, and those people! They were talking to you and normally you never talk to anyone in my dreams. It was altogether very strange."

For a moment her eyes darted back and forth, then around the room, before she finally said, "That is all nonsense. You've been having very strange dreams and you would do well to forget them." Her last words were almost a command. No, they were a command.

But what could be so wrong about dreams that she would order him to forget?

Unless…

"But…what….no, they were there, they all were and so were you." He insisted. There was something…something that he was missing.

There had been for a long time something he was missing. If only he could…

"Begging your pardon, ma'am. But we don't know you or your friend—a silent chap, isn't he?—and you don't know us. And we'd as soon not talk to strangers about our business, if you don't mind. Shall we have a little rain soon, do you think?"

Rilian started, not caring that the ropes cut into his wrists and ankles. He remembered that now, and…and it was impossible that he dreamed that, for he had never in his life dreamed up someone speaking words that didn't belong to the witch. He couldn't have dreamed up the voice, either…it was like nothing he had ever heard before.

Except it was. Except he had heard it before, when he lived…in…Narnia…

He repeated the words that the wiggle spoke out loud, over and over, until they sounded like nonsense in his ears.

"Will you stop that!"

He opened his eyes. The witch was only feet away, looking decidedly furious.

"Stop that! Stop that incessant speaking, stop that repeating, stop saying that! Stop dwelling in such foolish dreams and forget about it!"

He stared at her and she stared back, breathing hard and pulling on a lock of hair that had fallen in front of her face. Then she sighed and strode back over to the fire, sitting down in front of it.

Why was she so angry? That made no sense either.

Unless…

Wiggle. The wiggle spoke. The children spoke. Spoke in their voices, their unique voices, to the witch, who spoke back. In a cold place, a desolate place he had been to a thousand times before, called…called…Ettinsmoor.

Unless it was…

Not a dream?

It was a strange thought. It was something that hadn't crossed his mind in years. But it was the only explanation. He had dreamed a lot in his life, but nothing so strange as that. And if…

He had gotten used to justifying everything in his life by absurd logic. It was what the witch did, and it was something he picked up over the years. She would say, you dreamed it because it is something you wish for, and one always dreams what one wishes.

But he never wished anything so absurd in his life.

Which could only mean, by that same logic, that it was real.

The wiggle was real, so were the children, the moor, the…the…Narnia. Cair Paravel. The Great River. The stars! The hundreds of stars that would grace the sky when the sun dipped below the horizon, the trees that bloomed with thousands of green leaves in the summer and lost their leaves in a flurry of color in the fall, the wind that could be both soft and gentle in the spring or terrible and furious in the winter, blowing snow and ice from the sky onto the ground. And so was Narnia, blessed Narnia, and everyone who lived in it. It wasn't a dream, not a dream not a dream it was real.

He could almost laugh with the brilliant relief of that realization. That was it. That was what he had been trying to…to find for…a very long time. It had always eluded him, that fact, remained just out of his reach, frustratingly far away. But now he had it. There was a Narnia and no matter what the witch said there always had been a Narnia because he could dream an awful lot but not this. Not two children and a wiggle on a cold moor in the autumn.

"It's real, of course it was real, it was always real!"

He hadn't even realized he had spoken out loud until the witch stood up again. There was a cold fury in her eyes now.

"I forbid you to say that ever again. You should know well by now that you have had such dreams for a long time and you have been wise to long accept them as false. That still remains. They are still false, and this is no different. There weren't any children or marsh-wiggle…the very idea is preposterous, and in all my years of living I've never seen anything like that. It would never happen, it is too absurd. Forget such a dream! It means nothing!"

"No…no, see, that's it, that's why I believe it," he insisted, feeling even more certain in this fact by seeing the witch and how agitated she had become. She never became that way unless something had unsettled her, and that…that was something he knew she hated. "Maybe I have dreamed everything else. Maybe I've dreamed things people said to me or places that I've been to or things I have done. But I believe this, because…because…" it was a struggle to find the words, especially as the clock chimed again, making it that much harder. But he knew this. It was the first thing he was certain about in a long time.

"Because some things are too preposterous to be dreamt."

She didn't have an answer to that. All she did was press her lips together and tap her fingers on the armrest of her own chair, and for the first time in a long time, couldn't find anything to say.


Jill took her courage in both hands. "Please," she said, shouting up to the giant. "The Lady of the Green Kirtle salutes the king of the Gentle Giants, and has sent us two Southern children and this Marsh-wiggle (his name's Puddleglum) to your Autumn Feast.—if it's quite convenient, of course," she added.

"O-ho!" said the porter. "That's quite a different story. Come in, little people, come in. You'd best come into the lodge while I'm sending word to his Majesty." He looked at the children with curiosity. "Blue faces," he said. "I didn't know they were that color. Don't care about it myself. But I dare say you look quite nice to one another. Beetles fancy other beetles, they do say."

"Our faces are only blue with cold," said Jill. "We're not this color really."

"Then come in and get warm. Come in, little shrimps," said the Porter.


"This isn't going fast enough!" Sara shouted enough at the gnomes at the tunnel that day, though, to send them into an even greater frenzy of activity.

"We're working as fast as we can!" one of the gnomes pleaded, nearly falling over with exhaustion.

"Well, it's not fast enough! We've been at this for ten years, that is far too long!"

"But…but you've let us do this for those years and never said anything!"

"I was more patient then! I am not patient anymore. I demand you work harder and work faster. I am determined to break through to Overworld as soon as possible. There have been enough delays!"

"Yes, right away! To work!" the gnome shouted at the rest, who glanced over their shoulders briefly before working even harder at the tunnel, pushing themselves to the point of exhaustion in order to please their queen.

Sara nodded, pleased at the increase in work. She didn't know why it was so important, this sudden move to finish her plan, but she felt that it was beyond pressing and couldn't wait another minute. Ten years was long enough. It was too long. Oh, if only there hadn't been so many setbacks at the start with all those faults in the rock, this would have been completed a long time ago.

Ah, well. A few more days, that's all it would take. She was willing to wait a few more days. What was that, when she had waited ten years?

Nevertheless, she had grown terribly impatient and hoped those few days would go by quickly. Judging from the work her gnomes were doing now, it would.


"It's a cookery book," thought Jill without much interest, and glanced over her shoulder. The giantess's eyes were shut but she didn't look as if she were properly asleep. Jill glanced back at the book. It was arranged alphabetically: and at the very next entry her heart seemed to stop beating; It ran—

"MAN. This elegant little biped has long been valued as a delicacy. It forms a traditional part of the Autumn Feast, and is served between the fish and the joint. Each man—"

But she could not bear to read any more.


It was down to days now. Three days, maybe even less than that. She was so close now, and that in itself was a feeling that left her breathless. It had been so long, and there were times she didn't even think she would reach this point. She didn't think she would have success. But now she would. Now it was only days away. A matter of three or less days, and her dreams of ten years would finally become a reality. She and her army would take Narnia. It wouldn't be that long. She had the advantage in every way possible. They would have no choice but to accept her rule.

She sat in the courtyard of her castle, her head tilted towards the ceiling. Soon she would have no need to look at this ceiling anymore, these roads and stones that made up Underland. She'd never have to look at this dark dismal cavern again, not when she would be living in Cair Paravel where the sun shone every day and the waves lapped at the shore, a salty breeze blowing from the sea.

That brief meeting with the children and the marsh-wiggle left her unsettled initially, but she had dismissed the feeling now. It was a strange occurrence, no doubt. And no doubt Narnia was growing desperate…the king had to be old now…and she had decided that they were probably willing to send anyone out to look for the lost prince now. Such a shame that they were so desperate that they resorted to sending children and wiggles on such a hopeless task. Clearly they had no idea what they were doing, setting out alone across her cold moors in search for a prince that the bravest of Narnia's people hadn't found.

Such a shame that those young lives would be lost that way. Children, she had never sent any children to their deaths in Harfang, though she had sent countless others. She shrugged it off. Their fault for taking on such a foolish task and daring to disrupt the plans that she had set so carefully. Shame to lose people so young, though. Ah, well. She was willing to sacrifice young lives in order for her plan to come to fruition, and so she had done that. It had bothered her at first, that whole encounter, but no longer. It was after the autumn feast. They would be dead now anyway.

It didn't matter what Rilian remembered. He would forget that soon as well, and now that her plan was nearly complete, it mattered even less.

She leaned back against the stones of her castle. Three days. She could wait three days. What was three days when an entire lifetime now lay before her?


"And have you noticed how warm it is?" said the voice of Puddleglum. "That means we're a long way down. Might nearly be a mile."

No one said anything. Some time later Puddleglum added,

"My tinder-box has gone."

After another long pause Jill said, "I'm terribly thirsty."

No one suggested doing anything. There was so obviously nothing to be done. For the moment, they did not feel it quite so badly as one might have expected; that was because they were so tired.

Long, long afterward, without the slightest warning, an utterly strange voice spoke. They knew at once that it was not the one voice in the whole world for which each secretly had been hoping; the voice of Aslan. It was a dark, flat voice—almost, if you knew what that means, a pitch-black voice. It said:

"What make you here, creatures of the Overworld?"