Chapter 8: Return to Cair Paravel
It was the wind that roused Caspian into a sitting position. It was a harsh, bitter wind that blew straight through his clothes. Everything quickly returned to him as he stared round at the darkness. Drinian and Trumpkin were in jail, and it was all his fault. He'd come back to Narnia to retrieve gold to free them. It had been a fairly warm afternoon when they'd left, and they'd only been gone a few hours at most. Why was it night? And why had he been deposited who-knew-where, instead of the throne room at Cair Paravel?
He stood up and turned in circles for a moment, trying to get his bearings. The trees were thick and overgrown, and the branches waved wildly in the wind.
"Tree spirit," he called, placing his hand on a nearby trunk. "Are you awake?"
No one answered him. Now that his eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness, he had to admit these trees looked devoid of any intelligence. It seemed a little lighter in front of him, so he picked up the Gateway, and began to walk forward. Before long, he passed a piece of building stone, lying turned on its side. Bits and pieces of the same substance appeared more regularly the further he walked, until finally he emerged into a small clearing. The remains of a wall loomed up in the darkness, black and eerie against the night sky.
Caspian wiped his hands on his tunic, feeling they had become wet with perspiration. There were no ruined buildings like this in Narnia. He knew every square foot of this land, from the lamp-post to Cair Paravel, as a king should. What strange land was this?
He glanced down at the device, wondering if he should try it again. Maybe this was simply a glitch.
But just like the happenings of a few moments before, when he'd tried to put Edmund's torch in the device, nothing happened when he switched it on and placed his multi-tool back in the field.
There was nothing for it but to keep walking. Perhaps he was simply somewhere to the west of Narnia ... maybe he was in Telmar. If he could get out of this forest, and have a good look at the stars, he might be able to pinpoint his location. Thank the Lion for those hours of astronomy lessons with Doctor Cornelius.
He tried not to look at the ruined wall as he walked past it. But it was nothing compared to what awaited him on the other side. When he came through another clump of trees, he found himself stumbling backwards in shock. Pieces of decaying walls and floors were everywhere, stretched out towards the east. And beyond that ... a cliff edge. And a view he knew better than any other.
"NO!" Caspian yelled. It couldn't be ... it couldn't be Cair Paravel! Destroyed and deserted, with the tree spirits gone ... who could have done such a thing? Who would dare? He'd only been gone a few hours!
Soreus, he thought, with a flash of rage. The coward ... the vile, evil villain! He was a spy, a traitor ... a two-faced scoundrel. He must have been standing by with an army, just waiting for him to take his bait and leave Narnia.
But it wasn't long before Caspian realized that was impossible. There were no signs of any battle here ... and the trees certainly had not grown like this a few hours ago. It appeared more like he'd arrived here ten years after some great war had befallen the land.
It was then that everything suddenly made sense to Caspian. A hundred years in Narnia could only take up a minute of our time.
This was many years in the future. Those hours he'd spent wandering around that other world must have taken up a decade here. And now his country - his dear, beautiful Narnia - lay in ruin.
Caspian fell to his knees, and wept.
Professor Digory Kirke usually didn't leave his home, unless it was necessary. He sometimes felt he was becoming rather reclusive. In all truth, he enjoyed the company of books more than people - and the company of good friends rather than the aloof, somewhat snobbish members of the local fine art society. But he'd felt Peter Pevensie needed to get out of the house. Being a recluse was fine for a gentleman of his age, but not for a bright young man like Peter. So he'd taken him along to this exhibit opening at the local art gallery.
But the boy still seemed preoccupied ... distracted even. Digory was willing to bet he hadn't heard one word of the speeches. He was polite enough to all the people Digory introduced him to, though, and even engaged the daughter of one of the exhibitors in a lengthy conversation.
He joined Digory as the professor began to admire the various paintings.
"Everything all right, Peter?" Digory asked, finally.
"Very much, sir," Peter said. "Thank you for bringing me tonight."
There was silence as they stared at a painting titled 'tombs in the desert'. A boy lay sleeping in the front-right corner of the painting, with a tawny-coloured cat lying at his back.
"I've been thinking about Edmund and Lucy," Peter said, suddenly.
"Ah. Missing your siblings?"
"We've never been separated over the summer, before," Peter explained, "and Lucy and Edmund were so miserable about having to stay with our cousin Eustace. I just hope everything is all right."
"Perhaps you should telephone them."
"Aunt Alberta would probably hang up," Peter said, with a small smile. "She never really liked us."
Behind them, a disgusted voice rang out. "Oh my, what an awful picture! Who's the artist?"
Peter leaned in to read the label. "One Edwian Ricark."
"The standards have certainly lowered this year," the lady said. "Whoever was responsible for accepting this has all the taste of a schoolboy."
"You think so?" the professor said, turning to the lady. "To tell the truth, ma'am, I rather like it."
The lady made a snorting noise, and then moved on. Digory shared a smile with Peter.
"It's funny," Peter said, staring closely at the painting. "This painting reminds me a lot of the country of Calormen."
"It does? How so?"
"They have a collection of tombs in the desert, right outside their capital city of Tashbaan. And this desert ... those tiny mountains on the horizon look just like the range on the southern border of Archenland."
"I wonder what this boy is doing, sleeping in the desert," Digory said, pointing at the figure.
"I'd be glad to have that cat for company, if I was him," Peter agreed.
"Perhaps this artist - what is his name? Ricark? Has visited Narnia."
"You think there might be more of us out there?" Peter said. "Wouldn't it be wonderful to have a gathering of all the people who had been there."
"A Friends of Narnia society?" Digory suggested, with a smile.
"Something like that. I wonder if he's painted anything else," Peter said, looking at the painting from a different angle. "The more I look at it ... the longer I look at it ... the more real it seems. I can almost see the sand shifting on the desert floor ... hear the wind whistling through those tombs."
The professor had turned to stare at him, hearing something unusual in his voice.
Peter suddenly closed his eyes, and reached up to rub his forehead.
"But that's impossible," he said, firmly.
"Impossible?"
Peter was startled at the strange voice. His hands fell back to his sides, and he glanced up at the professor, who was staring fixedly at the painting. Peter followed his gaze, and found himself looking at the cat, who was climbing off the ground and stretching itself.
"You, of all people, Peter, should not use that word so lightly," the cat said, in a warm, clear voice.
Peter met the gaze of the painted cat, and was overcome with a sense of familiarity. He took a quick glance behind him, and found this part of the gallery was empty. The guests were occupied with the hall of sculptures. He turned back.
"Aslan?" the professor said, sounding far less surprised than Peter felt.
The cat nodded. "Digory, Peter - I need your help. Some Narnians have found their way into your world. They are being held at the police station on Quarter Street, opposite the library."
"Narnians at a police station?" the professor said, in complete surprise.
Peter was too confused to say anything.
"You will have to speak to someone before they will be freed," the cat continued. "Tell him you were sent by me - by Aslan. I will send someone to bring them home once they are safely with you."
"We'll go and find them at once, Sir," Digory said. "Come on, Peter."
"Wait," Peter said, suddenly finding his voice. "How did ... how did Narnians find their way here, Sir?"
"I will leave that story to them," the cat said, lying back down at the sleeping boy's back. He sounded a little weary.
The worst thing about this future Narnia was it felt so horribly lonely. There were no insect chirps, no bird calls. Even the watery roars of the sea sounded muffled. Tears were streaming from Caspian's eyes as he searched the wreckage for the entrance to the treasury. But he refused to allow himself to rest. He must rescue his friends.
After a few hours of searching in the complete darkness - broken by moments where he nearly gave into despair - the light on Edmund's torch suddenly disappeared. It had been growing fainter and fainter, but Caspian had been half under the impression that was because it was getting darker.
It was then he knew he would have to leave it until dawn. The only good thing was, now that he gave some thought to the time differences, Drinian and Trumpkin would not be wondering where he was. He could spend a day here, and it would probably only take a minute of their time.
But now, he supposed he would have to wait out the night. There was one place where three walls remained together, although the third had half crumbled away. He gathered some dry wood and leaves, and soon had a reasonable fire going. He crouched down in the corner, and hugged his knees.
Beside him, the Gateway sat, powered down and looking deceptively innocent. Caspian was sorely tempted to smash it, but that wouldn't help his friends. Or Narnia, for that matter.
His grief had worn him out, and soon his head began to rest on his arms. His vision blurred with tears, and he closed his eyes. An orange glow still remained, through his lids. That glow became dimmer, and then brighter. The next thing he knew, he was underneath the sun, riding his horse Destrier across the plains of Narnia. The air was fresh, and birds were flying overhead, causing gliding shadows on the ground.
Over the next rise, he would be home at his castle. Caspian smiled as Cair Paravel came into view. There was someone waiting for him at the gate. Waiting to welcome him back. Or so he thought. When the figure came into focus, there was nothing welcoming about him. It was Miraz.
Destrier reared and whinnied, and Caspian was thrown to the ground. He looked up as the walls closed in around him, realizing this wasn't Cair Paravel at all, but his uncle's fearsome castle. Rough hands grabbed him, and shook him as they pulled him to his feet.
"You useless, stupid boy! You're a disgrace."
His uncle raised his hand, and he was struck across the head. Caspian fell to the ground again, hands reaching to rub away the pain.
"I'm sorry!" he cried.
"I'll make you, sorry, boy!" He was dragged back to his feet, and was pulled roughly towards a gaping door. There was darkness within. "I'll teach you some responsibility!"
"Please, Uncle," Caspian said. "I didn't mean to ... I -"
They were in his uncle's room, now, although the specifics of how they'd arrived were fuzzy. Caspian hated this room, even feared it. There were horrible pictures on the walls, stuffed animal heads mounted on the walls, and bear skins covering the floors. The cabinets were full of tusks and horns and claws. It was more like an abattoir than a bedroom. Worst of all, it overlooked the gallows, where his uncle would sometimes leave bodies hanging for weeks ...
His uncle pushed him to the floor, and turned to leave.
"I'll be back," he said, ominously. He locked the door behind him.
"Why, Caspian? What have you done to us?"
Caspian jumped up, staring at the bear skin rug in surprise. The head of the rug turned around to look at him. "You destroyed us."
"No," Caspian said, shaking his head. He could feel tears running down his cheeks.
"You promised to be a good lord to all the talking beasts of Narnia."
Caspian turned to see a stuffed talking mouse, standing on the desk. It sounded exactly like Reepicheep.
"I didn't mean for this to happen!" Caspian sobbed.
"You were supposed to be our king!"
Caspian turned to the other side of the room, from where the newest voice had come. The sight caused him to fall to his knees. Trufflehunter ... his most loyal knight, and truest friend ... now nothing more than a stuffed ornament in his uncle's bedroom.
"No! It can't be ... Trufflehunter, I'm sorry!"
The door banged behind him. His uncle had returned. In his hands, he held the ugly black whip he'd always used. And Caspian did not protest as he was roughly pulled up by the front of his shirt. He deserved it ... he always had, whenever they had these 'conversations'. Because he'd always done such stupid, stupid things.
Then his ears were shaken with a loud crack. The door had burst open, and the room filled with golden light. It was followed by a roar so deep and full, that everything merely crumbled under its resonance. Beside him, Miraz blew away like sand, and the ground beneath him became grassy. The glow in the doorway became dimmer and oranger, then Caspian lifted his head to find himself staring at the fire. He looked around, seeing nothing but darkness. The fire had died down while he'd slept, and he reached for a stick to poke it back to life.
His hands glistened in the firelight as he raised them from his knees, and the wind felt clammy on his forehead. At once, his dream came rushing back. Tears filled his eyes once more, as he realized it wasn't merely a dream. Trufflehunter was likely dead. They all were ... Doctor Cornelius ... Rilami.
The flames rose up in response to his poking. They looked odd through his tears, blurred and fuzzy, like the sun through a frosted glass window. Almost like shapes. Many said you could see fauns dancing in Narnian flames. Perhaps it was just his fragile state of mind, but it wasn't hard to believe it now. Rings of fauns, dancing around in a circle. Then they were enveloped into a larger flame, and the fire became a dragon, flapping its wings and beating its tail. It reminded him of Eustace as a dragon. Then this was devoured by an even larger animal - a lion! The Lion!
Caspian ...
In a moment of panic, Caspian grabbed a heavy log and smothered the fire. Then he turned his back to the remains, and lay down, covering his head with his arms.
Please, please, don't be here ...