Prompt #12: The moment someone outside Narnia first noticed the White Witch's winter.
Disclaimer: This ended up being a bit more frontier woodsman than I thought it would, but I'm blaming that on the rustic borderlands. And the Dwarves in HHB had a porch, so my friends do too. As you can tell, this is an imitation of a master's work, and not mine.
Old Abe muttered as he stood outside his door and looked at the sky. "Thunderstorm's comin' in, Abram," he called to the empty house. "Clouds all over the mountain head. All on Narnia's side, though." He sighed, and walked, hunched over, to sit on the other side of the porch. He frowned.
"Abram, come look at this!"
"You talking to your brother again?" a cheerful young voice asked, and Old Abe glared at the seven-year-old neighbor who often followed him around.
"Just because he's dead don't mean he's not listenin'."
Korcha climbed up onto the porch and sat beside him. "Why were you frowning at the sky?"
"Take a look at this sky over here. What color would you call that?"
"Blue. Mom's say's it's the color of a robin's egg, but the Robins in Narnia don't take me to their nests, and Mom says it's rude to ask."
"Now run to the other side of the porch, and look at the sky there."
Korcha agreeably hopped down and ran over. "It's grey!"
"And that ain't natural," Old Abe said, mostly to himself. "Clouds like that don't stay in one part of the sky for long, but we've nary a wisp over here."
"Why?"
"Why?" The young boy nodded. "Why what?" the old man asked.
"Why don't the clouds stay in one place?"
"Because clouds are made and moved by the winds, and so they're always moving." He looked back at the sky again. "Looks like I'll be heading into Narnia this evenin', for sure."
"Why?"
"What?"
"Why? To find out what's going on with the clouds?"
"To find out if somethin's not right." Old Abe frowned at the sky again. "Because that sure don't look right." He knew a few Centaurs—one of them, an old chieftain and star reader named Meadowcloud, he visited at least once a week—and if anyone could read the skies, it would be them.
It was after lunch before Old Abe made his way to the mountains. There was a gentle path, just big enough for one, where a friendly giant had moved all the boulders, and the Moles had tamped it down to a gentle slope. Still, Old Abe was panting by the time he reached the top. He sat down to rest on the bench the Dwarfs carved into the mountain, looking with a wince at the way down.
Then he frowned, peering more closely.
The ground was white. As white as a cloud in a blue sky.
He got up slowly, and took his first few steps down. The dirt was firm, dry, and hard under his feet. But as he went further it began to cool, and a wind blew as cold as the winter breeze over an icy lake. He shivered. It was high spring.
The white was getting closer, and he knew it, he'd seen it, though he rarely travelled over the border during the winter these past few years. Not since Old Abram and his wife died, and the three of them couldn't travel together anymore. But he remembered the chill, and the white, white world, and this—this was the white of winter.
"Who goes there?" a voice growled, and Old Abe jumped. His foot came down a hand's breadth away from the white—and it reached almost to his ankle, though not a flake hit the dirt where he stood. He looked up into the blazing eyes and bared fangs of a Wolf.
"My name's Old Abe, and I'm goin' to visit a friend of mine. Who might you be, stopping folks on the trail?"
"I am her Majesty's guard. Archenlanders are no longer welcome in Narnia."
Old Abe frowned. "Last I heard, you had a King."
A low growl warned him to cease speaking, and the Wolf crouched lower. "Mind your tongue, Archenlander. Jadis is Queen of Narnia now, and by her command, the borders are closed!"
Old Abe had not grown to be so old by being lacking in common sense, and as he was unarmed, and now shivering as well, he glared at the Wolf but turned around. He made his slow way back to the top, and looked down, only to see the Wolf still watching him.
"So not today," he muttered to himself, and he went home.
"Korcha."
"Mr. Old Abe!"
"Is your mother about?"
"Mom!"
Old Abe leaned against a brown porch pillar as Korcha ran yelling into the house. Weary from his long trek back down the mountain, he closed his eyes.
"By the Lion, Old Abe, sit before you fall. There, that's better. Korcha, go and fetch some water." Motherly hands had seated him on the porch floor, letting him rest his back against the pillar, and moments later gentle hands on thin arms gave him water in a rough wooden cup. He drank it greedily, sighed, and set it beside him.
"Somethin's up in Narnia. A Wolf guards the way, and the land's covered in snow."
"Snow? But it's spring! Surely-"
"Snow, and it's ankle deep. And the Wolf says there's a new Queen, Jackis, or somethin' like. No Archenlanders to be let in." He looked at the wide brown eyes, noting the hands that adjusted the sling holding the baby to her back. They were such a young family. "Send your husband to Anvard? King Sol ought to hear."
The woman nodded, eyes still wide, and turned to head towards the fields. She paused at the edge of the clearing and turned back. "What are you going to do?"
Old Abe glanced up, first at her, then at the seven-year-old listening with wide eyes, his three-year-old sister hiding behind him. "I'm goin' to find my friend," he answered shortly. "And it's best you don' know how. Be off, then."
"Old Abe-"
"Be off!" the man grumped, glaring ferociously. She paused for a moment later, then turned and ran. Old Abe sighed.
"Get to your feet, now," he grumped at himself. Korcha came closer, his sister pressing so near she was probably holding his shirt.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm goin' to get my coat, and then I'm goin' on a bit of a hike. Haven't made it for a while—not since I bet Abram I could beat him to Narnia—but there's little that changes a mountain face in a decade. Now go inside and get things ready for your pa, he'll be taking a ride soon."
Korcha took a step closer. "Can I help you too?" Old Abe looked down, down into the brown eyes he'd inherited from his mother, under the dark curls he'd gotten from some Calormene ancestor, and felt the impulse to smile.
He didn't. But he took that moment, just that moment, to remember that young, good things were growing.
"I do better without help. But you help your ma and pa, and your sister and the baby, and grow up to be a good neighbor, you hear?" Korcha nodded, and Old Abe ruffled the tight, dark curls. "Now, inside the house." Korcha went, and his sister went with him. Old Abe headed back to his own home.
He knew his old joints were too tired to attempt another hike today, but he spent the evening getting out his coat and the mittens old Mrs. Beaver had knitted him, a rope, a sack to hold a lunch, and the boots good for both winter and hiking, though he spent about an hour mending a hole in them. He ate a simple supper and went to bed.
Old Abe puffed out, his breath creating a fog in front of him. The narrow, twisting, half-rock-climbing path was still there, and he'd been smart enough to use the rope he'd gotten out the evening before. He missed being young enough it didn't matter whether he used it or didn't.
But he was over the border—he'd found the border, the place where the snow suddenly appeared. Narnia had a blue sky, but it felt like the coldest day of winter. It made Old Abe glad to be climbing.
Not a bird—or Bird—in the sky, and not a sign of the Wolf. He was an hour down the mountain, and if he judged his pacing right, he was about a quarter of an hour from the bottom, and another half hour after that to old Meadowcloud's clearing.
He missed being younger. It would have been less than an hour, once. And his bones wouldn't have been hurting or creaking.
The hour passed, with only two more uses of the rope, and Old Abe cautiously emerged from the snow-covered rocks, ducking into the forest.
Not a Bird sang. There were no Dwarfs pounding, shaking the ground. There were none of the spring whispers of Dryads.
Everything was still. Everything was cold.
And Old Abe didn't like it.
But even then, he didn't guess how bad it'd be. His first hint came from a sudden change in the white—a dark stain, like a puddle of muddy water thrown on the white. It was just about here, he estimated, that Mrs. Beaver's house was in the middle of the iced-over river. Odd ice, that. It looked as if it changed in a second, with the waves and ripples frozen during their rhythmic motions. Yes, that was her dam. He made his way over to the puddle, about to quietly call to the dam. And that was when he smelled it, and looked down.
The dark puddle was blood. The heat of it had melted some of the snow, and around it—those were Wolf tracks.
Old Abe looked back at the dam. The lights were out, and no smoke in the chimney. Mrs. Beaver got cold easily, and if she'd been home, there would have been smoke.
Old Abe waited quietly a moment, then shoved some fresh snow with his boot, covering up the dark stain. It wasn't a burial, for there wasn't a body, but it was the closest he could offer.
He made his way to the clearing, trying to be careful about tracks. "I don't have wings, and I can't help much in the snow, so stop warnin' me, Abram. I can't help it, and I can't go back. I've got to check on our friends."
The clearing was empty. Old Abe felt his heart constrict. "No bloodstains," he muttered to himself. He walked the entire clearing, looking for clues. No tracks, no messages in the bark, no possessions. But still—no bloodstains. "He's probably all right. Just maybe hiding. That's it, hiding. Now if you were a Centaur, were'd you go?"
"To a place near the old clearing, my friend, after asking a Dryad to keep watch." Old Abe turned hastily.
"Meadowcloud!"
"Hush!" the Centaur answered anxiously, looking at the trees on either side of him. "Too many have been betrayed between the sun's setting and its rising. We do not know how. But you, my friend—why are you here?"
"Storm clouds over Narnia that don' roll over the mountains, a Wolf on the pass, and an insatiable curiosity, that's all. What's goin' on?"
Meadowcloud looked exhausted, and Old Abe noticed with a pang that one of his forelegs was bleeding, as if from a bite. "A new Queen has risen, taking Narnia captive. The stars foretell her rule will be long—though it will end. We must get you to the border, my friend. Word has come by the Birds that she hunts all Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve from her borders, and those she finds are killed. Come."
Old Abe made his aching way over, his boots stomping in the snow, but stopped when he was by his friend. "I found blood by the Beavers' dam," he said quietly. The shadows in the Centaur's eyes made him feel helpless. "Tell me what I can do."
"You can leave. We will resist her might as best we can, but our first duty is to hide those she hunts; the rightful rulers, and the helpless. For cruelty ever kills the helpless first. You must go back, Abe of Archenland, and warn your ruler an enemy has taken your neighbor. She has magic, powerful and cruel."
Old Abe matched the Centaur's long strides as best he could, still asking quiet questions. He wanted to help. "The snow's her doing?"
"Endless winter."
"How will you stop her?"
The Centaur stopped. He looked down at the human with a grave, warning face. "You underestimate her power, Son of Adam."
"Or maybe I just know some evil has to be resisted," Old Abe shot back hotly. "I'm wearin' the mittens Mrs. Beaver made for me, and I nearly just stepped in her blood! I ain't lettin' that happen without fightin' back."
A creaking above their heads made Meadowcloud look up, and fear filled his features. "The Dryads," he breathed. "Some of them must be on her side. We must run!" With one hand he picked the old man up and slung him onto his back, running forward in leaps, dodging trees.
A howl sounded behind them.
"Let me down!"
"You are not fast enough!" Meadowcloud panted. He headed straight for the mountain. Reaching the rocks at the bottom, he slung Old Abe over them, not letting him touch the snow on the tops. "Hide there! I will run!" He bolted before Old Abe could object.
Old Abe hunkered down, quiet as he could, trying not to shiver. Slow, quiet breaths; Wolves had good hearing, though if they were hunting by scent, maybe he had a chance.
Hours passed. The Wolves never came by his rock. At last Old Abe knew he could wait no longer. He stood up, glanced back up the mountain—and then headed in the path of his old friend's tracks.
He followed them a good ways, seeing and hearing nothing, not even a creaking tree, before he found Meadowcloud. He almost ran into him, for the grey stone blended into the white world. Old Abe looked, speechless, on the outreached arm, the palm shielding the turning face—the face he knew so well. He reached up and touched it with trembling fingers.
It was Meadowcloud.
He was stone.*
A tear fell down Old Abe's cheek, and he patted the Centaur's face. "I—I get her power now, old friend. I—I'll keep the rest of them off. The humans, the Archenlanders—I tell them she's hunting them. No more Narnians sacrificed to keep us safe," he promised in broken tones.
He turned, heading back to the mountain.
Old Abe made it back home, with frostbitten feet, and a weary, more bitter heart. But he made sure his neighbors, and and their kids, all heard the story of the brave Centaur, the evil Wolves, and the wicked Queen. To King Sol he gave a shorter, more bitter account, and the King grieved, setting his own watch on the mountain pass. Old Abe told the King about the other path, the one that would not be guarded. The King sent a group of volunteering soldiers to see if they could offer their neighbors any help. They found a few fugitive men and woman, chased by Wolves; they slaughtered the Wolves and took the refugees. Returning them to Archenland, and to spring, they went back for more. Gradually the hidden trail came to be called "Meadowcloud's Charge," and always, at the end of the rescue, the humans came to a cabin with a porch, listening to an old man tell them he was sorry for the pain happening in their home, and promising them what he'd heard from a Centaur, that the Witch's reign would end.
*In my own personal headcanon, Meadowcloud was transformed back from stone by Aslan after the war.
