Chapter 9: Deus Ex Aslana

"Maybe we should hold off mentioning Aslan until we've found out some more information," Peter said, as he and the professor climbed the stairs to the police station.

"His instructions were clear. He'll know what he's doing."

"I just hope his plan doesn't involve us being arrested as lunatics," Peter said, glancing over at the professor.

Digory smiled. "You can always claim I'm your eccentric old uncle."

They waited in a queue for what felt like an eternity, and then the receptionist directed them to another department. Then they had to wait in another queue. It wasn't a pleasant place to be, and arguments would often erupt in the various rooms around them. Finally, they stepped up to the desk. An officer was sketching a picture of some trees on a drawing pad, and didn't appear particularly attentive.

"How can I help you?" he said, not taking his eyes off his sketch.

"We're here to pick up some friends of ours," Peter said. "They were brought here earlier today."

"Names?"

Peter shared a glance with Digory.

"Um ... we're not quite sure," Peter said.

"What were they brought in for?"

"Well, we're not quite sure of that, either," Peter said. "See ..."

"You want to pay bail for people you don't even know?"

"I didn't say we didn't know them," Peter snapped.

"Just not their names?"

"We were sent by Aslan," Digory interrupted, suddenly.

There was an awkward silence for a moment, and then the man suddenly looked up, seeing their faces for the first time. His pencil and sketch pad fell on the floor.

"Who are you?" he asked, sounding almost frightened.

"Professor Digory Kirke."

"Peter Pevensie."

"Peter ... Digory ..." he repeated, distantly. He rubbed his head, looking like he was doubting his own sanity. "Where did you hear of Aslan?"

"We've both visited Narnia," the professor explained. He paused for a moment, and then asked, "Are you from Narnia?"

The man shook his head. "I ... I have these odd dreams. I've heard these names in those dreams, many times. Peter, Narnia ... Aslan. But I've never told anyone about ... but I always suspected that perhaps they were more than dreams. Wait, you say you've been to Narnia? You mean it is a real place?"

"As real as real can be," Peter said. "What's your name?"

"Ricark."

"The artist?" Digory said, surprised.

"You've heard of me? I only paint in my spare time ... a few small things. Actually, I paint the scenes I see in these dreams ... visions. Whatever they are."

"The things you've painted are bigger than you imagine," the professor said, distantly. "But we mustn't delay."

"Oh, yes," the man said. "What's this about your friends?"

"They're Narnians," Peter explained. "We don't yet know the full story, but I think they arrived in this world by accident."

"Come with me," he said. "I'll take you to the cells. See if you can find them."

The followed the man through some guarded doors, and down some concrete stairs. Peter had barely walked twenty meters down the cell corridor, when he heard someone calling his name. He looked over, and his face lit up in recognition.

"Trumpkin!"

In a moment, he was gripping the dwarf's hand through the bars. "Oh, D.L.F., it's so good to see you! How did you end up here?"

"Tis a long story," Trumpkin said. "And you know what I'm like at telling stories. Lord Drinian, come and meet the High King Peter."

Peter glanced over at the dark-haired, sunworn man, and smiled. He appeared rather shy, and quickly bowed. "An honor, your majesty."

"Please tell me you are here to free us!" Trumpkin said.

Peter looked back at Ricark, who smiled. "I'll see what I can do."

As they walked out of the police station, now with two free Narnians in tow, Trumpkin stared around as if looking for someone. Finally, he said, "Where's Caspian?"

"Caspian?" Peter said, surprised. "You mean he's here too?"

"He didn't send you?"

"We were sent by Aslan," Peter explained.

Trumpkin and Drinian shared a nervous glance, and the dwarf said, "We assumed he went back to Narnia for help."

"Perhaps he did," Peter said. "Anyway, I'm sure he's fine. Aslan would have said something if he wasn't. I'm just sorry he wasn't with you - I'd have loved to say hello."

"If he goes back to the police station, that Ricark fellow will tell him where we are," Digory said. "I left him my address and telephone number. Now, I believe it's time for some proper introductions."

"Yes," Peter said. "Trumpkin, Drinian - meet Professor Digory Kirke. He was there when Narnia was created, along with his friend Polly. Hey, Professor, when we get back, do you think we could invite Aunty Polly over? She'd love to meet these two."

"I'll telephone her when we get home," Digory said, with a smile. "It'll be a tight squeeze, but we have to make the most of it. Now, let's get on - we don't want to miss the train. You can tell me more on the way." Peter and Digory began to walk across the road, but glanced back when they realized their companions weren't following. They were staring with a mix of awe and disbelief.

"Grapes and gryphons!" Trumpkin said. "Do you mean to tell me that you are the same Digory who flew to that garden in the far west, the day the world was created, and brought back that pinecone? I had thought that was just a bedtime story!"

"It was an apple they brought back," Drinian said. "Not a pinecone. And they didn't fly - they rode on a horse. At least, that's the version I heard."

"It was a flying horse, actually," Digory said. "But do hurry up. You can tell me all about yourselves on the way."

"Yes," Peter said, glancing back at Drinian. "I should like to hear your story, Lord Drinian."

"Oh, there's nothing to tell, your majesty," Drinian said, walking beside Peter. "Nothing interesting."

"Did King Edmund and Queen Lucy tell you all about their voyage to the end of the Eastern Ocean?" Trumpkin asked. He patted Drinian on the side. "This here is the Dawn Treader's captain."

"Lucy and Edmund were in Narnia again?" Peter said, surprised. "When was this?"

"A year ago."

"A year ago we just got back from helping put Caspian on the throne," Peter said. "It's that crazy time thing again. I suppose they may have just got back from their adventure a few hours ago."

"Time thing, your majesty?" Drinian said, confused.

"Narnian time and our time runs differently," Peter explained, as they turned a corner. "And please, there's no need to call me your majesty. I'm no king here, I assure you."

"Aye, but you'll always be our king, your majesty," Trumpkin said, with a smile. "Once a king in Narnia, and all that. Now then, about times. Where are Edmund and Lucy now?"

"Staying with our cousin Eustace," Peter explained.

"Eustace was there too," Drinian said. "On the Dawn Treader."

"You were stuck on a boat with Eustace?" Peter said, screwing up his face in disgust.

"I will admit, he was a trial when he first arrived," Drinian said. "But it pains me to say it, your majesty, because he proved himself as a worthy shipmate."

"Eustace? Sounds like he underwent some transformation."

"In a manner of speaking," Drinian said, with a small smile. "So it hasn't been a year in your time since King Edmund, Queen Lucy and their kinsman Eustace returned from our fine ship?"

"It could be a matter of days," Peter said. "Even hours. Or weeks."

All this was beginning to sound familiar to Drinian. Edmund and Lucy had explained it themselves, when they'd arrived on his ship.

"Do you mean to say," Drinian said, slowly, "that for every hour here, months pass in Narnia?" He turned to Trumpkin in shock. "What will this mean when we return?"

"That we must return as soon as possible," Trumpkin said, looking equally distressed. "By the Lion, why didn't we think of this before we left? The land could have been attacked in our absence ... Trufflehunter will have thought we were all killed by the Gateway."

"At least Caspian returned," Drinian said.

"But why hasn't he come back?" Trumpkin said. "He must have spent months of Narnian time by now. Perhaps the Gateway was damaged ..."

"What is this Gateway you speak of?" Digory asked.

"The device we used to get here," Trumpkin explained. "It was a gift from a passing traveller."

"How are we to get home?" Drinian said, staring at the odd building they were walking towards. There was a track running past them, in a sunken pit.

"Aslan said he'd make arrangements," the professor explained. "In the meanwhile, we'll catch a train to my home. I am honoured to have you as guests. I'll call Polly ... I have no doubt she'll be here in five minutes flat. Then we'll hear all your stories."

It was a long time before Caspian dared open his eyes again. There was a silvery light on the decaying wall now. The moon must have moved into the eastern sky. The light made him feel a little better, but it was short-lived. A shadow fell across the wall. The unmistakable shaggy shadow of a lion.

Caspian closed his eyes again, and covered his ears. He covered them because he could hear the soft footfalls, pacing among the distant trees.

Caspian ...

He'd been calling him for the last hour. It was hard to say how he knew this, because he certainly couldn't hear his voice. Something in his soul stirred when he called him ... something that felt starved. Like feeling thirsty at the sound of a running stream, or hungry at the sound of a sizzling side of bacon. Yet he couldn't bring himself to move.

Caspian ...

He didn't sound angry. That was the worst part of it. If he was, at least he could feel like he had some excuse for not going. As it was, he was simply being cowardly and stubborn by refusing to answer his call.

Caspian ...

Please, Caspian thought. Please, leave me.

Why will you not speak with me?

It was the first time he'd said anything other than his name, and it put Caspian momentarily off guard.

I'm afraid, he admitted.

Of what?

Caspian realized, with surprise, that he didn't know. He wasn't afraid of being mauled or clawed. By all rights, he'd deserve it if he was. He wasn't afraid of being verbally reprimanded - he deserved that even more. But all he knew was he'd rather attend a dozen of those awful childhood 'conversations' his uncle used to host, than go and face the Someone to whom he owed far more than his life.

Caspian covered his face further, wishing the ground would crack open and swallow him. How did one begin to apologize for causing a country to fall to ruin? Aslan had entrusted him with this land. His subjects had trusted him. Nothing he could ever do would wipe this away. Perhaps what he truly feared was that he'd ruined himself ... that he'd passed some threshold of evil that took him from being good, yet flawed, which he'd always been comfortable with, to a lost cause, fit only to live in guilt and shame for the rest of his days.

After a moment, Caspian realized Aslan had not said anything else. He could no longer hear him pacing, either. Frightened that perhaps he really had left him, Caspian suddenly sat up. Only trees and black walls surrounded him. In a moment, he was on his feet. He found the Lion a short distance away, out of view because of a clump of trees. He was lying with his back to Caspian, at the edge of the cliff that overlooked the ocean. The only movement was his tail, which was thumping up and down in an idle manner. One ear was swivelled in his direction, indicating Aslan was aware of his presence.

It felt more than a little silly to go back and hide now. Nor did he feel ready for this. He hovered uncertainly for a few minutes, and then walked over slowly. When he sat down beside the Lion, he made sure to keep a good distance between them. He'd expected it to be bitterly cold on the cliff edge, with nothing between himself and the sea, but it was surprisingly warm. He shuffled slightly closer to Aslan, and found it was warmer still.

He couldn't bring himself to look at the Lion, so he didn't know if he ever looked at him. They sat in silence for what felt like half an hour to Caspian, until he could stand it no longer.

"I'm sorry," he said. His eyes filled with tears, once again, despite his attempts to resist. "I am the worst king Narnia ever had."

"Son of Adam, that is far from the truth. As you well know."

He sounded as calm and friendly as if they were talking about the fine state of the weather, but it didn't make Caspian feel any better.

"I destroyed it," Caspian sniffed. "At least my uncle didn't leave it like this."

"Are you so sure?" Now he sounded almost like he was holding back laughter. "Take a closer look, young Caspian. For this is your uncle's Narnia."

"You mean ..." Caspian felt very odd for a moment, and he turned to Aslan in surprise. "I'm in the past?"

"Before you were even born."

"But ... how could that be, Sir? The time differences ..."

"The makers of the Gateway attempted to compensate for them, to make travel between worlds more appealing. But it is far from accurate, as you can see. This is how that device ended up in your own time in the first place. It was made in a world far more advanced than even the one you visited today."

For the first time since arriving in this awful place, Caspian felt the urge to smile. He hadn't destroyed Narnia! But other concerns rushed into his mind ... Drinian and Trumpkin. Somewhere, his friends were still sitting in a prison cell.

"Will I ever be able to reach Drinian and Trumpkin again?" Caspian asked, desperately.

"Do not concern yourself with your friends. I have already arranged for their release. In the meanwhile, my son, you and I have other things to discuss."

Caspian's mood sunk at the words and he stared down at the beach below. Out of all the mistakes he'd made since the beginning of this whole sad incident, he wondered which one in particular Aslan wished to talk about. Perhaps the shameful lie he'd used to get his friends to accompany him. Or his misguided quest to use the Gateway in the first place.

"Tell me," the Lion continued, "what did you make of the world of Adam and Eve?"

"I ... I don't know," Caspian said. "Everything was very confusing. It was not at all how I expected." Images of the burnt buildings, reduced to rubble, filled his mind. "It didn't seem a very happy place."

"The part you saw was not," Aslan confirmed. "They are suffering under a terrible war."

"A war?" Caspian said, surprised. His thoughts turned instantly to his friends.

"Our friends who belong in that world are safe," the Lion said, clearly picking up on his concern. "It is not like the wars you know."

"I thought their world would be like a fairytale come to life," Caspian admitted. "After Eustace told me they lived on a round world, and all his stories about massive ships and flying machines. I never imagined they'd be things like wars, and people living in the streets." He paused to sigh. "It was wrong of me to go. I put my friends in danger and risked Narnia, all because ..." He trailed off into silence, staring at the dark, watery horizon.

"Because, Son of Adam?" Aslan prompted.

A dozen possible answers flashed through Caspian's mind. All of them sounded like pathetic excuses, unworthy of a king of Narnia. Finally, he said, "I ... I don't know, Sir."

There was only silence in response, which quickly became uncomfortable.

"Does it really matter?" Caspian asked.

Aslan turned his shaggy head and gave him a look that almost made Caspian jump up and run back to the forest. It took all his resolve to remain sitting.

"You wouldn't have asked if it didn't matter," Caspian mumbled, while nervously fidgeting with the grass.

"I wonder, Caspian," the Lion said, "if you will ever forgive me for sending you home at the eastern edge of the world."

"Forgive you?" The idea was shocking. "I ... I was not angry, Sir."

"I believe this is the first time you have spoken to me since."

Caspian couldn't deny it. He used to ask for Aslan's blessing every night when he was younger. Requests to guide him, to help him make good decisions, and to protect Narnia. Excuses rushed around his mind. He was distracted with Rilami, and there was the preoccupation of getting the Dawn Treader home, and he was just so tired at night sometimes.

"It would be wrong for me to feel anger towards you, Sir," Caspian said, looking aside. "After all you've done for me - and for Narnia."

"Nay, Caspian. It is only healthy between friends. Has Trumpkin not driven you to distraction on more than one occasion? Is your friendship the less because of it?"

"Well ... I'd have said it was the greater. But, Sir ... are you saying you want me to be angry?"

"Only that no good will ever come from a lack of honesty between us about your feelings."

Caspian considered it. He'd been keeping his thoughts about that particular event hidden from everyone. Even denied them to himself ... and that had resulted in his short temper, which had driven Rilami away. And his frustration had led him to so recklessly pursue the idea of visiting the other world, as he'd been so unwilling to admit earlier. Now, he had led himself and his friends into such a mess, it took Aslan Himself to bail him out.

It was clear what the Lion wanted from him, but Caspian could hardly bring himself to say it. He should be thanking him for showing such great compassion by being here at all - and remaining here after he'd initially refused to speak with him - instead of showing such arrogance as to express displeasure with his past decisions. He was half tempted to ask him if they could leave it until some other time, but he already knew the answer he would get. There was nothing for it.

"I was - I am - plagued with disappointment over not accompanying Reepicheep," Caspian said, eventually. Surprisingly, it felt good to admit it. Now that he had, the words came easily. "Yet I know it was the right thing to come home. But there's just a small part of me that can't stop ... wishing. I feel like I've climbed the highest mountain in the world, yet turned back a few feet before the summit. Or flown to the sky, and turned back before touching the moon. I had so many fantastic adventures on the voyage, it seems ungrateful to focus on that single thing. Yet it won't leave my mind." Caspian stared at the distant waves, remembering the taste of the sweet water. "My life here seems empty compared to the promise of that eastern horizon."

There was silence for a while, and Caspian gradually remembered where he was. It wasn't the first time, that memories of the Silver Sea threatened to overwhelm him.

Beside him, Aslan was standing up. "Ah, Son of Adam," he said. There was a hint of a roar in his voice, but the impression it gave was a tone of affectionate exasperation. "The land that lies beyond the eastern edge, is not somewhere you will reach in a boat."

Caspian also climbed to his feet, and Aslan turned to face him. They were on eye level now, and Caspian could hardly stand to remain the focus of the Lion's overwhelming gaze. The question he was desperate for an answer to was the only thing that kept him steady.

"You mean ... are you saying I will be allowed to go there?" Caspian said, hardly daring to believe it.

"Why did you ever convince yourself otherwise, my son?"

"I ... I thought ..." He'd thought many things. But now, as he felt the joy of this new realization surge through him - felt himself believe it, everything he'd thought previously seemed so insignificant.

"You have not turned back from the summit," Aslan continued. "Your life here is the journey towards it. The moon is not lost to you, even when you cover your eyes from its light. I never turned you away ... only gave you a push in the right direction. As I always will, even when you would rather I did not."

Purely on a joyous impulse, Caspian closed the remaining distance between himself and Aslan, and buried his head in his mane, embracing him as far as his arms could reach. Tears filled his eyes again, but this time, they were tears of joy.

After a moment, he remembered just who he was hugging in such a familiar way. He started to step back, but Aslan returned the embrace with his left paw, and nuzzled him gently. Caspian fell back against his mane, feeling like he'd never truly known what a real hug was before.

"Does this mean you forgive me, Son of Adam?" Aslan asked, eventually.

Caspian gave a muffled laugh. "I was going to ask the same thing."

"You have no need to ask."

The words reminded Caspian of something.

"I haven't apologized for everything yet," he mumbled.

"Oh?"

The Lion allowed Caspian to step back.

"When my friends and I were debating whether or not to use the Gateway," Caspian said, looking down at the dewy grass, "I started arguing with Trufflehunter ... and I said something. Something that no one should ever say, never mind a king. Especially a king of Narnia." He paused for a moment, and then said, "It was about you. I regret it wholeheartedly, and no amount of apologies could possibly make up for it."

"You haven't told me what you said."

Caspian winced at the thought of actually having to repeat the words, but when he met Aslan's gaze, he saw the Lion was only playing with him. The relief he felt must have been visible in his face, because Aslan sounded amused when he spoke.

"Son of Adam," he said, "you may call me whatever you like. On the condition that you will destroy that troublesome Gateway. Believe me when I say you are not the first adventurous spirit I have had to rescue from the bygone eras of my many worlds."

"Agreed," Caspian said, with a grin. "I think I've had enough of other worlds. This one is more than good enough."

"Then there is no danger of you being tempted to stay behind and explore, when I send you to retrieve your friends?"

"None at all, Sir," Caspian insisted.