6 - Maira Receives a Shock
A/N: First off, I'd like to say thank you to the guest who left a lovely review for my Blades of Narnia series, mentioning how happy they were to reread the books after so many years. I'm glad you've returned to my Narnia, and that I'm able to share some more of its magic with you. :)
Aedan returned to Maira with a serious look that somehow emphasized his handsome features. "I have something to ask of you," he said.
She tilted her head at him. He did still look a bit green. "Why do I get the feeling you're about to return the favor of the ride on the train and in the motorcar?"
"I'm not certain it can be helped. For that matter, I'm not certain it will even work." He reached for her hand.
Cautiously, she took it, and they walked toward Digory.
Digory gave her a brief bow. "My lady, it's been a pleasure."
Maira frowned. "You're not coming with us?"
Digory chuckled. "I suspect my visits to Narnia are quite done for the time being."
She withdrew her hand from Aedan's. "We're going to Narnia?"
Aedan slanted a wry look at Digory. "That was the something I was planning to ask."
"I don't understand how this will help me get to my brother."
"I think he's gone to my country. In fact, I'm sure of it, but I don't know how he managed it." Aedan narrowed his eyes at her. "You aren't Narnian … are you?"
Maira took a step back. "I'm sure if I were, I would know it." And frankly, she'd begun to doubt of Aedan's sanity. Were it not for Farhan, she might already have abandoned this need to help Aedan on his mad mission.
Her thoughts scattered when Aedan took both her hands in his own. His warm fingers closed over hers. "Can you trust me? I'll keep you safe, and we'll find Farhan. These things I vow to you."
Goodness, he spoke like a knight of Arthurian legend. It might have seemed silly, coming from anyone else in the England of 1910, but she believed him. She looked into his eyes—earnest, hopeful, blue as a summer sky—and nodded, though she had no idea how they were to begin a voyage to another country from the middle of an English plain.
"Excellent," Digory cut in. "I'll wait on the road until you're gone, then."
He and Aedan shook hands, then Aedan slid his hand back into hers. "The center of the Horse, do you think?" Aedan asked.
"Best to stand in the heart," Digory called. "Not sure what you'll need to say, if anything, or whether Miss Singh's presence alone might do the trick. Best of luck, Your Highness."
"The same to you, Digory. Thank you for everything." With that, Aedan walked with her up the hill where the White Horse stretched, vast and bright, across the undulating green.
When they reached what would be the heart of the Horse, Maira cast a look left and right. "I don't understand," she said.
Aedan slid his hands into hers again. "I'm not sure this will work. Aslan hasn't been back to Narnia since I was a child, not that he does anything on someone else's behest … and I don't have a token."
"Token?" Maira echoed.
"An object," he explained. "Something to ensure a connection between Narnia and … other places, I suppose. My uncle Ed explained it to me once. Think of it as … a train ticket." He flashed a grin, brief, heart-skipping, then it was gone. "But it only works when you and Narnia are connected by a loved one." His bright-blue eyes darted away from her, as if he felt awkward speaking of such things.
"Who is this Aslan? Mister Kirke mentioned him, too."
Aedan took a deep breath. "He's better seen than explained." He took a firmer grip on her hands. "Your head may ache, and you'll be thirsty. If this works, you're going to see an entirely different landscape. I promise not to let you come to harm."
Maira swallowed hard, realizing for the first time that harm might be an actual possibility. But she met Aedan stare for stare, and nodded. Farhan was out there somewhere, waiting, maybe hurt and in trouble. Certainly, if he were in Narnia and needed her, she would go without hesitation. "All right. Let's … go?"
That smile again. Bless it, he ought to stop doing that. Whenever he did so, her pulse stuttered. When he asked her to close her eyes, then did so himself, she caught herself staring at his high cheekbones, square jaw, and generous mouth. Remembering herself, she shut her eyes—extra hard, just in case she was tempted to look again—and stood, holding his hands, not knowing what she expected.
"Aslan," Aedan said, "if you hear me, and if it's your will, please send me home."
Nothing changed. The grass was still soft underfoot and the wind gusted restlessly around them as if beckoning them to play tag. Maira waited a moment, then peeked.
Still nothing.
Aedan stood there, eyes shut, still holding her hands. Another moment passed, and he opened his eyes. His mouth firmed in a tiny frown. "Aslan?"
Maybe he truly was a madman, and this was a goose chase. Farhan might actually be back in London at this moment, waiting for a rescue that wouldn't come. "Your … Highness?" she prompted. "I think this is all a mistake."
"It can't be," Aedan murmured. He released one of her hands to scan the moor. "I must have said it wrong."
"Really, we ought to go back," Maira protested. "It is a little chilly out here in the wind, don't you think?"
"I can't think what I should have said instead," Aedan said, now studying the sky as if it had some answer.
Maira gave their still-linked hands an insistent shake. "I need to go home."
I need to go home … I need to go home … I need to go home …
The words echoed in the air, and everything vanished.
- # -
She smelled sunlight. She couldn't have said how she knew sunlight had a scent, but it did: warm, and bright, and full of everything good.
There was another scent, too—wild, fresh, a bit salty as though she stood by the ocean. That, more than anything, stirred a longing in Maira's heart. She opened her eyes, needing to find the source of that tantalizing smell.
Before her stood a lion.
She yelped and dropped to her knees to cover her head, though she knew this would be the worst possible posture to display before an animal that could end her in one bite or one swipe of those enormous paws. She kept her face pressed to the grass, gasping in not the pungent odor of English moor, but something sweeter. The blades of grass tickled softly at her nose as though urging her to join in on some great joke.
Being eaten by a predator was no joke … although someone was laughing. A rich, low, throbbing chuckle filled her ears.
Maira risked a look. The lion—no, Lion, with a capital L, because there could be no other way to think it when such a magnificent beast stood before her, blotting out the very sky—was laughing.
Laughing. A great maned beast, whiskers bristling, laughing as surely as she trembled on her hands and knees before him.
She swallowed, but that did nothing to ease the passage of words from her throat. "I don't …" she whispered. "I don't … understand."
"It is not necessary now for you to understand, Maira Singh," said the Lion, "only that you see." He spoke, just as he'd laughed, and somehow it made perfect sense. If any lion could talk, it would surely be this one, and of course he would know her name.
She could hardly look into his golden eyes, at that glorious mane, at those paws that were near as large as her head. But she saw, and she knew. "Oh," she breathed. "Oh. You must be Aslan."
"That I am," said the Lion.
Still cautious, she rose to her feet. "Is this Narnia? Where is Aedan? Is Farhan here?"
The Lion laughed again. "All will be done and all questions answered, daughter of the sea, now that you have come home."
"Home? Home is London."
His golden gaze mellowed. "Home has been both, for you, and you have a choice ahead of you." He lowered his head to stare straight into her eyes, now sympathetic. "I'm afraid either decision will bring you great sadness, even as it offers you joy."
She rose to her feet then stared around her. The English moor had indeed disappeared: no Horse, no rolling downs, no road in the distance with Digory and the waiting motorcar. Instead, she found a wide, flat plain with trees in the distance. The air was full of that sunlight scent, so sweet her heart ached for something she couldn't name.
And Aslan. The breeze ruffled his mane, blowing that ocean scent toward her until she couldn't tell if the ocean were beyond those trees or if the scent came from him.
She dusted off her trousers, now grass-stained. "Where am I to go to find my answers?"
The Lion smiled, and a smile from a lion was no more surprising than speech and laughter had been. "Brave Maira, follow your nose." He nodded toward the distant woods.
She turned to look, and when she turned back, the Lion had disappeared.