This is a short story beginning in Calormen and ending in Narnia. A sign tells of a new age. No violence or bad language. Stands alone but is also part of the White Witch sequence.
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THE PORTENT
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A missed opportunity
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The Asha Hal Farl was sluggish; the water exceptionally low for the time of year. Normally healthy tributaries had become muddy, stagnant pools and mosquito nurseries. The fertile, riverside strip was looking distinctly brown and wilted. The heat off the Hal Hallim was relentless, coming in waves. The wind warmed rather than cooled. Some miles away lay the small town of Ashakoy (1), famous for being the birthplace of ancient Calormen's greatest poet (2). Crops there would undoubtedly fail and the elders were already begging for government help.
The small caravan consisted of the Sage, a guide, his two personal servants, a cook and eight guards. The Sage was rich enough to take great care of his own comfort. The travellers were drenched in the ubiquitous kolonya that doubled as perfume and insect repellent. They'd been travelling for a week but finally they were near their destination. "Still seeing many, many tracks, Authentez (3)," called the guide, ahead.
The Sage shifted uneasily in the saddle of his camel. "Stay alert, Kapud" he instructed the Captain of the guards (quite unnecessarily).
They had travelled a further two miles when they spotted the smoke of many campfires. Night would fall soon and the sun had begun to disappear behind the Golge hills. "What do you want to do, Authentez?" asked the Captain. The Sage, with every reason to be nervous, ordered the guide to scout ahead. In the meantime, they waited impatiently by the fly-blown riverbank. When the man returned it was – to their surprise – with an invitation to supper.
There were over eighty men encamped by the listless water of the Asha Hal Farl. Most were guards or servants but five were familiar to the newcomer. They formed a group away from the others, sat about a burning fire. Aromatic torches, stuck in the ground, burned slowly and kept away mosquitos. The five men were reclining on mats, propped up on the saddles of their camels. "Gec; we thought you weren't coming." This was said casually enough but they managed to rouse themselves to greet him respectfully.
The ageing Sage, Gec, unrolled his own rug and placed his saddle down. "So, we are all on the same errand. I suppose it was inevitable." He groaned as he settled on the ground. The other men were all members of the Astrologers Guild too.
"It was written," said Sisirilmis. Now that sounds very portentous, but it was something he was rather prone to saying.
"Of course, we've all cleared this with the Observances Bureau, haven't we?" Gec said 'testing the water'.
His fellow sages looked shifty. "The Bureau – old Kibirli Yargi in effect – would not, perhaps, understand," Sisirilmis suggested (4). The Observances Bureau was a government department dedicated to religious observance. Its original functions had long since been replaced by the persecution of all heresy, apostasy and heathenism. The Vizier for Public Morals (Kibirli Yargi) was not a man to take kindly to anything that didn't glorify Tash (or himself).
"That was my feeling to," said Gec. He reached out a hand towards the dish of rice and mutton. "If I may?" he asked. Then, having taken a good mouthful, he went on. "We are all agreed, I take it, that the calculations are significant?" Now, in our world, astrology is a deal of nonsense. For me, the great Augustine proved that back in the fifth century AD. In their world however things were different. Astrology and magic actually worked. Why the difference? I really have no idea.
"Oh the calculations were right," chimed in the youngest Sage, Ucuncu. "We were all just too late. We came through Ashakoy this afternoon. The townsfolk there saw it depart, northwards. The place was abuzz with the sighting."
"Ominous," said Sisirilmis shaking his head regretfully. "It is almost as if we were meant to miss the sign. It isn't for us."
"Were there any other sightings?"
"There's an old, collapsed ziggurat in the waste beyond Ashakoy. Some say it was the first temple to Tash (5). Goatherds saw it atop the ruins this morning." That too was significant.
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In the Lantern Woods
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In the gloaming the centaur moved carefully through the woods. It seemed quiet but the place might easily be teeming with 'her' spies. By 'her' the Narnians meant Jadis, the White Witch, self-styled Queen of Narnia. A gentle but persistent snow thoughtfully covered up his tracks and he was duly thankful.
Inimicus, like his ancestor and namesake, was an astrologer of some skill. Unlike that earlier Inimicus he didn't have access to the facilities of Cair Paravel (which, anyway, now sat abandoned). He was Court Astrologer to nobody (6). He could still read the stars however and had inherited charts and predictions of all sorts. The Witch had ruled for a long time but something momentous was about to happen. The nature of the event remained unclear. The time and date had driven him through the Lantern Waste to find out more. He was making for the ancient lamp-post. I must say something about said lamp-post. It resembled nothing so much as an ordinary Victorian street-light from our own world. It had burned in the darkness throughout Narnian history without fuel or need of replenishment. Jadis heeded it not. She never gave thought to light of any sort. Her mind turned only to the dark. Inimicus had charts that indicated the eternal light but there was a problem. One might, with craft, remain undetected in the midst of a great wood. In a clearing, around about the only landmark, it would be much harder to keep hidden.
The centaur found his way to the lamp-post before dark and remained concealed in the trees beyond the clearing. He kept a close watch and a solemn silence. He was most startled therefore when a voice above him asked, "Hullo! What are you about?"
Inimicus looked up to see a particularly large squirrel peering at him through the branches. "Hush, my friend, tend to your nuts!"
"Nuts! I wish!" squeaked the creature, indignantly. "There's a distinct lack of nuts around here."
"I wish you well in finding them," said the centaur gravely and with - what he hoped - was finality. He was out of luck.
"What are you doing here then?" the squirrel persisted.
"I am looking for someone," Inimicus admitted.
"I know! I can guess!" the beast replied proudly. "I've seen it! You're too late though!"
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Wanted by the police
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Maugrim, Captain of Her Majesty's Secret Police, was decidedly unhappy. Not to put too fine a point on it, he was furious. The wolf was the last of the ancient Uffanglas pack (whose forgotten origins lay in the west) and a direct descendant of the infamous Uffa himself (7). Maugrim worried that he was now likely to see an abrupt end brought to his line. "Failure is not an option," he raged.
The great she-wolf Hilda bared her teeth in warning. "We did our best with little to go on."
"An impudent tree-rat and some hoof prints are not good enough." Maurgim rubbed himself, distractedly, against a tree. "We can't even track the hooves in this infernal snow."
"She likes the snow," said Hilda pointedly.
"Well she won't like failure," her chief warned. "If I ever get a-hold of that cocky little nut-hoarder he'll be gone in a single bite." He prowled about the clearing in a wide circle then paused. "What informants have we got around here?"
Hilda thought that Maugrim might do well to listen to a reading from the great volume 'Information Laid'. It was a mighty tome in which all of the Queen's spies (willing and not so willing) were listed. She decided not to give vent to the thought. "There's the faun: one Tumnus".
"It's worth a try," the captain said without much hope. "We had something on his father, didn't we?"
"Yes; he's a respectable sort and wouldn't want any scandal," Hilda said with contempt. "He's timid as a dove too".
"I only hope he doesn't pass out on seeing us".
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Not entirely happy
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"How is she now?" Maugrim enquired, as he lurked in the courtyard by the tower door.
"Oh she's merry as a grig," said Samael witheringly (8). He indicated the stains down his tunic where she'd flung her supper at him. "She always chucks things at me when she's being jolly. It's a fun game we play."
The wolf let out a low growl; he wasn't a lover of sarcasm. "Is there a message for me, Master Dwarf?"
"There was, if you've a fancy to bite your own tail off," Samael retorted with a nasty smile. "She did also say to stop the search; it's too late apparently."
Up in the tower the mood was as heavy as the incense fug that hung in the air. Waves of power seemed to flow from Jadis like ripples of sea-water projected from a rock. A skewer stuck one inch deep inside the door. It had followed the plate of food flung at the retreating Dwarf. The table was strewn with charts and other paraphernalia such as a pair of compasses, a ruler and a jar of ink. A magnificent Calormene astrolabe – used in studying the heavens – was purposeless for the moment. "Too late, too late," was her constant refrain.
She would plump herself down in a chair periodically and sit as if in a stupor. Then seized by a passion she'd rise, frantically study the charts and complain aloud. "I don't understand! What's going to happen and when? The time and place were right!" In that she was correct; the timing should have been right. On occasion, though, it is better not to include those who believe themselves wise.
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The portent herself
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The following day found a young faun cautiously making his way through the woods. It had stopped snowing, for the moment at least, so he was fairly confident he'd spot any suspicious tracks. Even so, it was well to be wary in those days. Before he reached the lamp-post clearing he peeped ahead, intending to skirt around it. His eye was caught by something on the ground thirty yards away. The 'thing' was red and gold and hunched over. As he looked, there was a sudden blaze of fire that burned with unnatural ferocity in the snow. The faun gasped and – fearing sorcery – considered backing away. There was however something indescribably cheerful about the bright yellow flames; they spoke of a warmth long banished from the land. Then, as quickly as it had flared up, the fire began to die. The flames became small tongues and fizzled out.
The youngster kept watch but nothing else happened. He ventured from his hiding place and crossed the clearing. There was a tiny pile of ashes and in the midst was a large, white egg. The bemused faun touched it gently and found that it was cold. Then, as if responding to the touch, the egg began to crack. An ugly, almost reptilian head popped out and stared the faun right in the eyes. Holding his gaze, it began to wriggle two tiny, bat-like wings out of the fragile shell. Then, its feet emerged from the bottom and it began to waddle, shaking off its protective covering.
The small, purple, fleshy thing started to sprout little hairs across its body. Its neck began to lengthen and the beak grew as if suddenly inflated. The legs became stouter and the hairs became feathers. Soon the bird stood there in the white wood in all its colourful, exotic glory. It was now the size of a small eagle, with the most glorious red and gold plumage. Its legs were a Tyrian purple (9), a colour fit for emperors. Being newly born there was a smell of fresh myrrh, so unfamiliar to those northern lands. Two deep blue, clever eyes regarded the faun. "Have you ever seen the like of me?" she asked.
The youthful creature, with its fledgling beard and tiny horns, had never seen anything as perfect as the bird. "No, I haven't," he admitted. "Are you… that is… are you a Fenix?"
"Fenix (10)? How strange the name sounds in your barbarian dialect," the bird observed. "I am what you would call a Fenix. In gentler (more civilized) climes I am a Phoenix. You may call me Sophia, which is wisdom."
I suppose nobody really likes being called a barbarian but the faun was willing to 'swallow it' in the circumstances. "I'm Akakos," he replied.
"Well, Master Akakos, I think little to your weather," Sophia grumbled.
"It used to be very nice," said the disconcerted faun. "Well, my parents say it was. It's an evil enchantment cast over the whole land".
"Ah, was it a spell cast by a witch or Djinn?"
"A witch," Akakos offered.
"You must make a wager with her and trick her into a bottle," Sophia suggested. "That's the thing to do with witches and Djinns. All the heroes of my land have done such things."
"Where is your land please?"
"I am from Calormen, in the warm south. Calormen: where the scent of jasmine carries on the zephyr and the trees groan with fat oranges."
"Are you lost then?"
"Certainly not, child," said Sophia, offended at the very idea. "Can't you guess why I'm here?"
"I'm afraid not," said the young faun apologetically.
"You are most highly favoured, child." Sophia looked at him proudly. "A phoenix can live for as long as five hundred years but we are rarely seen."
Master Akakos muttered something polite along the lines of "Much obliged".
"You saw my old body die and this new body rise from the ashes," she explained. "It is a rare privilege to watch indeed."
"Thank you but… what does it mean?"
"I am a sign – a portent – an omen. What dies will be reborn. I have come at a time of great change. A phoenix heralds a new age, you understand."
"A new age for Narnia?" Akakos asked.
"It is a new age for Narnia, and for the world; although the world does not know it." Sophia agreed. "Don't ask me to tell you more because I won't and – frankly – I can't. Only so much foresight is gifted to me".
"I think that you've got the wrong person," the youngster said timidly. "Shouldn't somebody more important see you?"
The phoenix shook her head. "That's better," she said irrelevantly, "I was having a lot of trouble with my old neck. Anyway, where were we? Oh yes: you are just the type of Narnian who needs to know about the new age."
"Why?"
"Many of the so-called wise think they knew all about me. They'll have plotted my death and rebirth on their charts and worked it out according to the heavens. But, I've not come just to warn the wise. I have come for the ordinary Narnian. What will happen is a new thing and is for all sorts of folk: young and old, master and slave, the educated and the unschooled." Sophia fluffed out her feathers and her chest swelled. "I had a little leeway and I decided that you are an eminently suitable creature to see the portent (my humble self)."
"I see…or at least, I think I see," the faun confessed.
"Good; what matters is that the sign is now given. Have courage and faith young Master Akakos; tell your friends and family that a new age is almost upon you." Sophia began to look about her; her task now performed. "I can't say that this cold agrees with me. It's a long flight to the cultured south from this barbarous waste, so I had better be gone. There's an ancient olive tree that I plan to roost in by the Asha Hal Farl river. One feels the warm breath of the Hal Hallim desert at night; it should be very soothing again now that the sign is delivered. It will allow me to get a good eight hours sleep at night." Sophia began to stretch her wings. "Have faith, young Akakos. May the warm sun and the gentle rain be blessings upon your olive grove. Fare thee well!" With that, she ascended in a blur of red and gold and was gone.
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THE END
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Notes:-
1 For the village (later town) of Ashakoy see my short story 'The First Temple of Tash'
2 Flaima Khal-am – 2nd century Calormene poet from Ashakoy; the most famous ancient Calormene poet
3 Authentez: similar to Turkish 'efendi' meaning sir/master
4 For more on the Observances Bureau and the Yargi family see my short stories 'New Calormen' and 'By Tash Alone'
5 For more on the First Temple of Tash see my short story of that name
6 For more on the earlier Inimicus see my short story 'King Xavier and what lay beneath'
7 For the origin story of the Uffanglas see my short story 'New Calormen an Ancient History of Telmar'
8 For more on Samael the Dwarf see my short story 'The Apple Tree in Winter'
9 An expensive dye made in our world from secretions from sea-shells; a dye favoured by Roman Emperors
10 Fenix: phoenix (Old English)