Chapter Twenty-Eight: Tempus Fugitive

"What was the word for the tomb in this valley, Majesty?"

"Dolmen."

"Even the word sounds ancient."

I chuckled, casting him a smile. The tension that had been plaguing us since we left the Winged Horses was gone, and in its absence I saw how heavy a burden it had been. We had talked far into the night after I rescued the Krakens and had come to a better understanding of each other's point of view towards issues like helping the innocent and reckless endangerment of one's own self. I understood Phillip's protective attitude and he accepted that I needed to act when it was within my power to do so.

I was feeling better, too, after the sudden addition of protein into my diet again. I had more energy, I wasn't quite as cold, and I was less snappish. Being dry helped as well, and we had been treated to a series of clear, crisp days that allowed me to dry out our possessions and have fires every night. My particular concerns were Rhindon, the bowstrings, and my boots, which seemed tight and told me either all this water had shrunk them or I had grown or both. Even the constant winds died down occasionally, and between bouts the sun was almost warm. It was as pleasant as could be expected, given the situation.

We entered the lifeless valley that housed the dolmen early in the morning. We had deliberately timed it so we could be out of the gorge by evening, for it had been about a day's walk through the first time and we both wanted to make camp in the trees and grass on the far side. In its own way it was a pretty place, reminding me of pictures I had seen of the huge, water-carved canyons in the mid-western parts of the United States. Still, I preferred the lush green and rolling hills of Narnia.

We sang as we went, something we had not done in a long while, our voices echoing off the steep stone walls. I had told Phillip about Rhye's fascination with song and he brooded a bit over that, finally commenting that it was sad that her people had lost something so natural and so vital to everything that was Narnia. I had to agree, and to lift his spirits I sang every one of his favorite songs as sweetly as I could manage.

The dolmen was little more than halfway through the gorge and by mutual agreement we intended to rest a short while there. I was looking forward to seeing it again simply because it was a memorable landmark and visible proof that we were making progress home. I was still singing when we rounded a bend in the river, fully expecting to see the stone structure set up above the river bank.

Instead what I saw was a sleeping Giant.

I choked on the next note of the song. I stopped so abruptly Phillip's nose smacked into my shoulder and sent me staggering forward a few stumbling steps. Together we stood and stared.

Now I've had many dealings and very respectable relationships with Giants, more with the good version than the bad. Luckily, since the defeat of Jadis, bad Giants tended to steer clear of Narnia and keep to their city north of Ettinsmoor. Though simple and often slow in their thoughts, good Giants are the truest of friends and invaluable for battle and heavy labor and lifting up my littlest sister to put the finishing touches on the Christmas decorations in Cair Paravel's great hall. Though basically human in form, they tend to be a little heavier, as if they were more crudely made than humans. The ones I had met ranged in height between eighteen and twenty-eight feet tall, the women tending to be a bit smaller and cleverer than the men. They're loud, bawdy, good-hearted beings who think anything smaller than them is cute and needs looking after, even Oreius.

This Giant was at least three times the size of the biggest Giant I had ever seen.

He slept on his side against the wall of the gorge with his head resting atop the dolmen, his great, slow breaths stirring the dust and making ripples on the river's surface. He didn't look like other Giants I had seen. Indeed, he looked more like an overgrown Human than a Giant. The top of his head was bald, but he had a long, flowing gray beard, bushy eyebrows, and in sleep his face looked kindly and wise and noble. He wore a long brown tunic belted about the waist, blue leggings, and boots so big I couldn't imagine how many hides had gone into them.

For a minute or more, the Horse and I were speechless.

"What should we do?" Phillip finally whispered. "Go back?"

I swallowed, unable to look away, awed by the sheer size of this man. And I had thought the Krakens were huge?

I nodded, unable to come up with a better (or safer) solution. "Step lightly," I finally managed. My voice rose in a squeak.

Phillip let out a little moan and we began to slowly turn around. A Horse trying to tiptoe is not a pretty sight, especially when he's shod in iron and trying to make his way soundlessly across smooth rock. Suddenly it seemed as if everything we carried squeaked and banged and clanked and our passing was nothing short of an almighty din echoing across the gorge. Phillip kept his head down, looking as hangdog as ever I'd seen him and I knew my own expression couldn't have been very dissimilar. We'd barely moved twenty feet when my foot slipped on some gravel. I fell, catching myself with both hands, biting back a yelp of pain and surprise. Rhindon's sheath smacked onto the rock with a loud clang! We both froze in place when the Giant snorted and stirred slightly.

Gingerly, I regained my feet, staring at the Giant. We started moving again cautiously, seemingly even noisier than before and wincing at every step when with a mighty yawn and much mumbling and moaning, the Giant woke up.

"Such a racket," he muttered in a deep, clear voice. He stretched luxuriously.

We froze in our tracks and I slowly, reluctantly turned around. The giant was propped up on his elbow, his hair mussed by sleep, his eyes half-opened and tired, his attention focused on us.

"Was that you?" he asked, frowning. "How could something so small make so much noise?"

"I - I - I apologize for disturbing you," I stammered. "We...we were trying to be quiet."

He shrugged, slowly sitting up. His feet were larger than Phillip where they rested on the ground not far from where we stood. If he wanted to stomp us, we would be flat without a fight. Looking at me with interest, he asked,

"Am I so very large or are you so very small?"

Amazingly, I was able to form an answer. "I think it's a little of both, sir."

"What are you, then?" he asked.

"A - A Son of Adam. And this is-is a Horse."

"Ah! Horses! I remember meeting some very clever ones."

And before I could protest he picked up Phillip on his forearm just as easily as I would have picked up a cat. I clapped both hands to my head. Poor Phillip! He didn't dare move, just lay there with his legs dangling down and panic in his eyes as the Giant looked at him this way and that.

"Yes,' said the Giant. "Very wise beasts, Horses. And I assume you're a son of King Frank and Queen Helen?"

"Actually, sir, King Frank and Queen Helen reigned in Narnia almost a thousand years ago and could you please put Phillip down?"

"What? Oh, of course." He set Phillip carefully onto the ground again. The good Horse staggered and hurried to my side, standing close by as if he wanted to hide from sight. I wished I could do the same. "So, Son of Adam, Frank and Helen reign no more. Such a shame. They were marvelous rulers and Helen made the most delicious strawberry jam."

"You knew them, sir?" I asked, startled. I had to crane my neck to address him even seated.

"Of course! I was much smaller then. Barely to treetop levels, actually. You know of Narnia?"

"I'm her High King, Peter Pevensie."

"Really?" His bushy eyebrows rose. "You must give my regards to Aslan."

I blinked, then stuttered, "O-of course. Whom shall I say sends his regards?"

The Giant drew a deep breath. "He named me Tempus."

"Time? He named you for time?" I wondered, then realized I was being rude by questioning something so personal as a name. He took no offense, though.

"Indeed. I was an unhappy king in a very ancient, troubled kingdom. I held such hopes, but the land and people were corrupt and beyond my ability to redeem and they plotted endlessly against my rule. One day, in the midst of my despair, I went for a walk and wandered into a cave by the shore. The cave was a doorway to Narnia, newly brought into being by Aslan. He welcomed me, castaway that I was, and named me Tempus. In him, in this land, I had found all I sought. He bade me grow in wisdom and faith and love in him, but beyond that I simply never stopped growing at all. I think Aslan might have something to do with that, for every time I've seen him he seems larger, too."

I smiled. Phillip shuffled closer. "I know what you mean, sir."

Tempus rested his hands on his knees and sat back with a sigh. "But now I've grown weary. I have traveled the world over. I have touched the dome of the sky, I have spoken to the Stars, I have plumbed the depths of the ocean and I have tasted the sweet waters in the river leading to Aslan's Country. I have had my fingers burned by Salamanders and Birds of Morning stole the hairs from my head for their nests. All I seek now is someplace quiet to sleep until He calls for me at the end."

"And we woke you up. We're very sorry, King Tempus."

He chuckled at the title I gave him. "King no more, Peter Pevensie, merely student of the divine and the happier for it. You may call me Time. How many people in this world can claim they've been named by two kings?" He smiled through his beard at me. "And no need to apologize, I was really only napping for a few weeks or so. I need a dark and quiet bed. Perhaps I shall seek my berth within the mountains to the north. There are caverns beneath the Mirror Mountains not even the Ogres have explored. I need to sleep and dream and perhaps even forget a few of the things I have learned these many years."

I had no idea where the Mirror Mountains were but he seemed to, and this plan appeared to satisfy him quite well. He looked at me closely, leaning far over to see me clearly. His eyes were green and bright and kind. While Phillip hadn't lost his fear, I felt no threat from him, especially since he spoke Aslan's name with love and reverence.

"And what brings you so far from your kingdom, High King?"

"I'm on a quest to save my brother. Aslan sent me to fetch an apple from the Garden in the West to restore the Tree of Protection in Narnia."

"Ah, yes. Jadis again, I assume. Unpleasant woman. She tried to turn me into stone once. Bothersome, that."

"She's no more. Aslan destroyed her."

"Then Narnia and all the world is better for it. Come! I must head east a little before turning north. Your company would be welcome." He rose, towering above us and casting a mighty shadow.

"Of course, sir, but, I-oh!"

He scooped poor Phillip up again, just as he had before, and picked me up in his other hand, holding me gently. I balanced on his huge fingers. Each was longer than I was tall and rough as untanned leather. I looked at Phillip. The unfortunate Horse was perfectly miserable and terrified, looking, for all the world, like a stuffed toy draped over Tempus' hand.

"Well then," he said, turning and following the Great River. "I believe you were singing before?"

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

What took us a day to traverse took the Giant Tempus an hour, and he walked for three hours before gently setting us down in a small field not far from the river. I was hoarse from singing every song I knew. Tempus seemed to enjoy the company and entertainment equally, and he thanked me for all the songs even as I thanked him for taking us so far.

"If you ever come to Narnia, sir, you would be most welcome," I promised, ignoring a snort from Phillip.

He smiled softly. "When the Lion calls, I will come. Until then, wish me sleep, King Peter."

I grinned back at him. "May your rest be long, quiet, dark, and peaceful, and may every dream be sweet, sir."

We bowed to each other and I watched him stride off to the north, humming one of the songs I had sung. Phillip said nothing, just found a spot and laid down even before I could get his saddle off.

"Are you sick, Phillip?" I asked anxiously, kneeling beside him.

"I have...never ridden before," said the Horse in a shaky voice. He seemed to be rocking slightly, trying to stabilize himself. "I don't like it. I had no control. And my stomach hurts. His gait was uneven."

"Ah. I see." I had a seasick Horse on my hands. This could get ugly. I made it a point not to mention that I had enjoyed the ride immensely. "Well roll over a bit and I'll get this saddle off you and I'll fetch you some water. You need to rest yourself."

He obeyed and didn't move for the remainder of the day. I had a successful hunt and built a large fire early on so we could both enjoy the warmth.

When we woke up the next morning, the first frost had turned the land to white fields of fine ice. Winter had come to the Western Wild.