Nothing is impossible

This was impossible. He knew he must be dreaming, so instead of going on further, he ran out of the wardrobe and pretended that he never saw that. After all, it couldn't be real... right? When the game had finished and Lucy had come back, Edmund said nothing; he still couldn't shake what he had seen out of his head. Maybe he was becoming just as insane as Lucy?

Of course, her visits were not going to stop just then. That night, Lucy tossed and turned in her large bed, staring at the ceiling as she waited for Susan to fall asleep. An ominous rumbling soon filled the silence that had been surrounding her. Lucy sat up and looked over to see Susan snoring. Grinning, Lucy quietly slipped out of her bed. She eased out of her room, now wearing a pair of shoes and a raincoat. Carrying a candle, she sneaked away down the hall.

After a moment, a toilet flushed from behind a door. That door opened and Edmund stepped out sleepily, though the tiredness went away when he noticed Lucy wandering off at the far end of the hall. He grinned and crept after her.

Lucy opened the door of the spare room and crept inside, closing it behind her. She walked over to the wardrobe and reached out for the handle, though hesitated just as her hand stopped centimeters away from the metallic material.

Biting her lip, she gave in; she'd gone earlier, after all; and pulled the door open.

A breeze blew out from the wardrobe, extinguishing the candle.

Lucy smiled and went in, closing the door behind her.

After Lucy disappeared into the wardrobe, Edmund stepped out of the shadows.

"Not this again." He groaned. "Seriously, that girl needs to be locked up," he muttered under his breath, not really caring that it was his own sister he was talking about.

Sighing, he walked over to the wardrobe, reached for the knob, threw the door open and jumped in to find...

Nothing. The room laid bare and silent.

So, the last time wasn't real, he thought, letting out a relieved sigh, though the relief wavered a bit, becoming wary. If what I saw earlier wasn't real, then where is Lucy?

Swallowing back the wariness, Edmund put up a smirk and began to make noise he thought would scare Lucy.

"Luuucccyyyy! Whooooooo! It's the goblins from the warrrdrrrobbbbe!" He crept into the wardrobe, climbed inside and shut the door behind him.

Darkness.

Frowning, Edmund clunked and struggled in the wardrobe.

"Lucy?"

He stumbled forward out of the darkness and there he was again, stepping out from the shadow of some thick dark fir trees into an open place in the middle of... a wood.

Okay... so, it is real, after all...

There was crisp, dry snow under his feet and more snow lying on the branches of the trees. Overhead there was the pale blue sky, the sort of sky one sees on a fine winter day in the morning. Straight ahead of him he saw between the tree-trunks the sun, just rising, very red and clear. Everything was perfectly still as if he were the only living creature in that country. There was not even a robin or a squirrel among the trees, and the wood stretched as far as he could see in every direction. He shivered.

He now remembered that he had been looking for Lucy; and also how unpleasant he had been to her about her "imaginary country" which now turned out not to have been imaginary at all.

He thought that she must be somewhere quite close and so he shouted, "Lucy! Lucy! I'm here too— Edmund."

There was no answer.

She's angry about all the things I've been saying lately, thought Edmund. And though he did not like to admit that he had been wrong, he also did not much like being alone in this strange, cold, quiet place; so he shouted again.

"I say, Lu! I'm sorry I didn't believe you. I see now you were right all along. Do come out. Make it Pax."

Still, there was no answer.

"Just like a girl," said Edmund to himself, "sulking somewhere, and won't accept an apology."

He looked around him again and decided he did not much like this place and had almost made up his mind to go home, when he heard, very far off in the wood, a sound of bells. He listened and the sound came nearer and nearer and at last, there swept into sight a sled drawn by two reindeer.

The reindeer were about the size of Shetland ponies and their hair was so white that even the snow hardly looked white compared with them; their branching horns were gilded and shone like something on fire when the sunrise caught them. Their harness was of scarlet leather and covered with bells. On the sled, driving the reindeer, sat a fat dwarf who would have been about three feet high if he had been standing. He was dressed in polar bear's fur and on his head he wore a red hood with a long gold tassel hanging down from its point; his huge beard covered his knees and served him instead of a rug. But behind him, on a much higher seat in the middle of the sled sat a very different person— a great lady, taller than any woman that Edmund had ever seen. She also was covered in white fur up to her throat and held a long straight golden wand in her right hand and wore a golden crown on her head. Her face was white— not merely pale, but white like snow or paper or icing-sugar, except for her very red mouth. It was a beautiful face in other respects, but proud and cold and stern.

The sled was a fine sight as it came sweeping towards Edmund with the bells jingling and the dwarf cracking his whip, the snow flying up on each side of it.

"Stop!" said the Lady, and the dwarf pulled the reindeer up so sharp that they almost sat down. Then they recovered themselves and stood, champing their bits and blowing. In the frosty air, the breath coming out of their nostrils looked like smoke.

"And what, pray, are you?" said the Lady, looking hard at Edmund.

"I'm-I'm-my name's Edmund," said Edmund rather awkwardly. He did not like the way she looked at him.

The Lady frowned, "Is that how you address a Queen?" she asked, looking sterner than ever.

"I beg your pardon, your Majesty, I didn't know," said Edmund:

"Not know the Queen of Narnia?" cried she. "Ha! You shall know us better hereafter. But I repeat— what are you?"

"Please, your Majesty," said Edmund, "I don't know what you mean. I'm at school—at least I was, it's the holidays now."

"But what are you?" said the Queen again. "Are you a great overgrown dwarf that has cut off its beard?"

"No, your Majesty," said Edmund, "I never had a beard, I'm a boy."

"A boy!" said she. "Do you mean you are a Son of Adam?"

Edmund stood still, saying nothing. He was too confused by this time to understand what the question meant.

"I see you are an idiot, whatever else you may be," said the Queen. "Answer me, once and for all, or I shall lose my patience. Are you human?"

"Yes, your Majesty," said Edmund.

"And how, pray, did you come to enter my dominions?"

"Please, your Majesty, I came in through a wardrobe."

"A wardrobe? What do you mean?"

"I— I opened a door and just found myself here, your Majesty," said Edmund.

"Ha!" said the Queen, speaking more to herself than to him. "A door. A door from the world of men! I have heard of such things. This may wreck all. But he is only one, and he is easily dealt with." As she spoke these words she rose from her seat and looked Edmund full in the face, her eyes flaming; at the same moment, she raised her wand. Edmund felt sure that she was going to do something dreadful but he seemed unable to move. Then, just as he gave himself up for lost, she appeared to change her mind.

"My poor child," she said in quite a different voice, "how cold you look! Come and sit with me here on the sled and I will put my mantle around you and we will talk."

Edmund did not like this arrangement at all but he dared not disobey; he stepped on to the sled and sat at her feet, and she put a fold of her fur mantle round him and tucked it well in.

"Perhaps something hot to drink?" said the Queen. "Should you like that?"

"Yes please, your Majesty," said Edmund, whose teeth were chattering.

The Queen took from somewhere among her wrappings a very small bottle which looked as if it were made of copper. Then, holding out her arm, she let one drop fall from it on the snow beside the sled. Edmund saw the drop for a second in mid-air, shining like a diamond. But the moment it touched the snow there was a hissing sound and there stood a jeweled cup full of something that steamed. The dwarf immediately took this and handed it to Edmund with a bow and a smile; not a very nice smile. Edmund felt much better as he began to sip the hot drink. It was something he had never tasted before, very sweet and foamy and creamy, and it warmed him right down to his toes.

"It is dull, Son of Adam, to drink without eating," said the Queen presently. "What would you like best to eat?"

"Turkish Delight, please, your Majesty," said Edmund.

"NO!" she shouted, running past her brother and in front of a woman and her child just as one of the robbers who was pointing his gun at the pair pulled the trigger. She was shot right in her chest just above her heart and collapsed.

"No! Ella! You son of a bitch. You shot my sister! You'll pay for that!" he shouted sprinting towards them but just then another shot was heard, followed by many others. The ten-year-old girl shut her eyes, knowing what that meant.

"Ella?"

The girl's breathing became shallow as her eyes fluttered open and she slowly turned my head to the side to see her brother crawling his way towards her.

"Fabien?" Ella said, though her voice came out strangled. As soon as he reached her, he grabbed her and hugged her weakly to him, both oblivious to the frantic people rushing around looking for a way to help the siblings who had just sacrificed their lives for a family they didn't even know.

"I'm so, so sorry, Ella. I love you so much, please don't die," he chocked out as his grip on her was loosening.

She smiled sadly. "Fabi, it's okay. I'm okay... I love you..." she whispered though he did not respond. She hugged him closer to her, but her strength was failing her. He couldn't be gone.

"Fabi..." she whispered. "Don't leave me."

"I'm right here, Ellie..." he whispered back in her ear. She painfully sighed in relief. "I'm not going anywhere."

She rested her head on his chest and closed her eyes. "We're dying, aren't we?"

He was silent at first. "I'm sorry, Elle."

They were silent for a while, neither paying attention to the frantic people around them, nor the robbers that were now being arrested. Ella had started to think he was already gone, but she sighed in relief, once again, when she heard his heart beating against his chest. The beats we're faint and slow, like hers, but at least they were still audible.

"Ella... princess... I'm so sorry..." he chocked out.

Her heart practically shattered. "It's okay, Fabi..." she chocked out.

There's was no response.

"Fabi?" she whispered. Still no answer. "Fabien?" she tried, but, again, he did not answer. She couldn't even try to be in denial. He was gone. But she didn't want that to be true. She wanted his heart to beat again.

Craning her neck a bit, she opted for shaking her brother. "Fabien? Fabien, please," she choked out.

Her eyes snapped open and she was breathing heavily, her body completely shaken up from that horrible memory. She sat up but instantly regretted it as she felt a familiar pain engulf her body. She blinked a few times before glancing around, as though to remember where she was. Her room, always neat and in order. She sighed and laid back down, though frowned when a familiar voice reached her ears.

"Peter! Peter, Peter, wake up! Peter, wake up! It's there! It's really there!"

"Shh. Lucy, what are talking about?"

"What's going on?" Susan asked tiredly as she joined them.

"Narnia!" Lucy exclaimed happily. "It's really there like I told you! It's all true. Edmund saw it too. There is a country you can get to through the wardrobe."

"You've just been dreaming, Lucy," said Susan, just wanting to get this over with so she could go back to bed.

"But I haven't!" Lucy insisted. "I saw Mister Tumnus again! And this time Edmund went too."

Peter looked at Edmund and raised an eyebrow. "You... You saw the Faun?"

Edmund shook his head.

"Well, he didn't actually go there with me," said Lucy. "We met one another in there, in the wood. Go on, Edmund; tell them all about it."

"What's all this about, Ed?" said Peter.

And now we come to one of the nastiest things in this story. Up to that moment Edmund had been feeling sick, and sulky, and annoyed with Lucy for being right, but he hadn't made up his mind what to do. When Peter suddenly asked him the question he decided all at once to do the meanest and most spiteful thing he could think of. He decided to let Lucy down.

"Tell us, Ed," said Susan.

And Edmund gave a very superior look as if he were far older than Lucy; of course, he wasn't, he was actually but two years older than her.

He gave a little snigger as he went to sit on the bed with a smug look on his face and said, "Oh, yes, Lucy and I have been playing— pretending that all her story about a country in the wardrobe is true. just for fun, of course. There's nothing there really. I'm sorry, Peter. I shouldn't have encouraged her, but you know what little children are like these days. They just don't know when to stop pretending."

Poor Lucy gave Edmund one look and rushed out of the room.

Edmund, who was becoming a nastier person every minute, thought that he had scored a great success, and went on at once to say, "There she goes again. What's the matter with her? That's the worst of young kids, they always—"

"Look here," said Peter, turning on him savagely, "shut up! You've been perfectly beastly to Lu ever since she started this nonsense about the wardrobe, and now you go playing games with her about it and setting her off again. I believe you did it simply out of spite."

"But it's all nonsense," said Edmund, very taken aback.

"Of course it's all nonsense," said Peter, "that's just the point. Lu was perfectly all right when we left home, but since we've been down here she seems to be either going queer in the head or else turning into a most frightful liar. But whichever it is, what good do you think you'll do by jeering and nagging at her one day and encouraging her the next?"

"I thought—I thought," said Edmund; but he couldn't think of anything to say.

"You didn't think anything at all," said Peter; "it's just spite. You've always liked being beastly to anyone smaller than yourself; we've seen that at school before now."

"Shut up!" Edmund exclaimed, face flushed in anger. "You're not Dad! I wish you weren't even my brother!"

"Do stop it," said Susan; "it won't make things any better having a row between you two. Let's go and find Lucy."

It was not surprising that when they found Lucy, a good deal later, everyone could see that she had been crying. Nothing they could say to her made any difference. She stuck to her story and said:

"I don't care what you think, and I don't care what you say. You can tell the Professor or you can write to Mother or you can do anything you like. I know I've met a Faun in there and— I wish I'd stayed there and you are all beasts, beasts."

And with that said, she ran again, tears running down her cheeks once more.

"Grandfather, I think something has gone downhill with the Pensives," Ella told the Professor from where she stood in front of his open bedroom door.

He looked at her with soft eyes, noticing the slight concern she was trying to hide from her eyes.

"Would you like for us to go and see what all the ruckus is about?" he asked softly.

"It would honestly help me sleep better tonight." As if on cue, a loud sob was heard from the upper level, proving her point as to why she couldn't go back to sleep.

The Professor chuckled and nodded. "Of course, dear. Come on."

And with that said, the pair started their way back up the stairs to see their guests. "And Ella, it's the Pevensies," he added, causing her lips to twitch slightly upward as she rolled her eyes.

At that precise moment, Lucy came running down the hall, face tear-stained, and ran straight into Ella. The little girl looked up at her and threw her arms around her, catching both Ella and the Professor off guard, though, after a few moments, the older girl hesitantly wrapped her arms around the little girl and returned the embrace. Ella was not so surprised as she had noticed that, no matter how much she tried to distance herself from the youngest Pevensie, Lucy only seemed to attach herself more to her ever since that day she had gone to comfort her. The Professor was more surprised; he'd seen the child trying often to spend time with his granddaughter, but this was the first time he'd seen the latter give herself into comforting someone she barely knew and had tried to push away.

Missus Macready came out of her room and walked over. "You children are one shenanigan shy of sleeping' in the stable!" She then noticed the head of the household. "Professor. I'm sorry. I told them you were not to be disturbed."

"It's alright, Missus Macready. I'm sure there's an explanation," said the Professor, placing an arm around his granddaughter, who still held the crying girl in her arms. "But first of all, I think this one is in need of a little hot chocolate."

"Yes, Professor. Come along, dear."

But Lucy didn't want to let go of Ella; she knew that Ella was the only one who believed her, even though she hadn't said so directly.

Ella knelt down in front of her and offered her a rare smile that seemed to calm her down a bit. "Go with Missus Macready. Some hot chocolate and some biscuits would make you feel better," she said in her naturally soothing voice.

Sniffling, the little girl looked at her shyly, wiping her eyes a bit with the sleeve of her coat. "Will you come with me?" she asked in a small voice.

"I will join you in a moment," Ella promised. "But I need you to go with Missus Macready for now, okay? Can you do that?"

Lucy nodded and gave the girl another hug before grabbing Missus Macready's outstretched hand and letting the latter lead her downstairs to the kitchen.

"Grandfather, if you will...?" Ella glanced in down the stairway that led to his study.

"Of course, my dear. Come, come."

Peter dragged his heels as he and Susan climbed the stairs. "I really don't think we should disturb him."

Susan tried to look self-assured. "Why not? Are you scared?"

"No," Peter replied with a slight edge to his tone. "But... I mean... we don't even know him well. Shouldn't we just keep this in the family."

"Has that been working so far?" Susan sighed as they reached the Professor's door. "We have to do something."

Peter looked at Susan, rolled his eyes and raised his hand to knock, though stopped short when he heard voices coming from the other side of the door.

"I just don't know why I had it," a soft melodic voice said, which was easy to recognize as Ella's.

It was silent for a moment before they heard the Professor reply, "This isn't the first one, is it?"

A sigh. "No. The last one was of... George. Before... before we got the news a few days ago."

"Anyone else."

There was a pause. "They're recurring. And about all of them. I don't even know why I get some of Erick and Henry; I wasn't even there! And I dream about a man who, I guess, is my father, dying, though I've never even met him before. I don't understand what's happening, Grandpapa."

"My dear, you've gone through so much ever since before you were but a mere toddler. It is normal for one to have these sort of dreams after having to endure so much trauma. Though as for what is from your father, whom you've never met, and your brothers, whose demise you have not all witnessed, I am guessing it has quite some to do with where you are from."

Silence again.

"That's not all, is it?"

Another sigh. "I've found myself thoroughly dreaming of this woman called Jadis."

"Tell me about her."

"Well... how do I put it?" A pause. "She's a white witch." Another pause. "Literally. She's white everywhere, and she's a witch."

"What happens in those dreams you have of her?"

There was a moment of hesitation before Ella replied. "I die... she kills me."

"Peter, knock already! We're not supposed to be eavesdropping!" Susan hissed at her older brother. "It's rude."

Peter looked down at her and rolled his eyes again before knocking.

It was silent for a moment before the Professor said, "Come in."

Peter and Susan timidly stepped inside. Shelves lined the walls, crammed with ancient books and artifacts. A massive desk loomed beneath a window, and behind it sat the white-haired. He pored over an old book, spectacles glinting in the lamp light, as his granddaughter, who was siting on the edge of the desk, stared blankly at the book-crammed shelves, her lower lip caught in between two perfect lines of pearly white teeth.

"Professor Kirke?" Peter asked hesitantly. Ella snapped out of whatever trance she had appeared to be in and looked over at the two Pevensies and stared at them blankly.

"Ah... children," the Professor greeted casually. "Pleasure to see you. Do come in. Is everything alright?"

Ella fought back the urge to roll her eyes at her grandfather's question. Of course, nothing was alright— did he not see the crying girl who ran straight into them earlier?

"Actually, sir, we have a question about our sister," said Susan.

At least she doesn't try and pretend everything's fine, Ella thought, feeling a strange speck of respect for the younger girl before them.

The Professor looked up mildly interested.

"She's... well, it seems she's been lying," said Peter.

"That's a very serious charge, my boy," said the Professor in a grave tone.

Finally, Susan just blurted out, "She says she found a magical land in the upstairs wardrobe."

The Professor's head snapped up. "What did you say?"

"Um, the wardrobe upstairs..." Peter repeated, trailing off in uncertainty.

The Professor popped out from behind his desk, gathered the children and seated them on the couch; Ella stood from where she sat on the desk and walked over to the window. It was raining again.

"Lucy insists she found a forest inside," said Peter.

"What was it like?" asked the Professor.

Susan sighed. "Like talking to a lunatic—"

"Not her, the forest."

Ella's lips twitched upward as she listened. Peter and Susan only looked at each other, confused.

"You're not saying you believe her?" Peter asked in disbelief.

"Well, how do you know her story isn't true?"

"Edmund said that they had just been pretending," said Susan.

"And he's usually the more truthful of the two?" Ella asked from where she stood by the window, a hint of sarcasm in her voice. She smiled a bit at the nightingale that was tapping on her window.

Peter and Susan glanced over at the older girl, then shared a look before shaking their heads.

"No," Peter admitted.

"That's just it, up until now I would say Lucy is very honest," said Susan.

"Do you think she's mad? Insane?" the Professor asked them.

"Probably not," said Susan.

The Professor took a pipe from the hand of a wooden monkey. "What do they teach them in these schools?" He unscrewed a silver apple, revealing a core of tobacco. "If Lucy isn't lying, and she's not mad, then logically, unless further evidence turns up..." He lit up his pipe and waved away a cloud of smoke. "We must assume she's telling the truth."

It was silent for a moment before Ella asked, "Why don't you believe her?"

"Because it's impossible," Susan replied.

Ella silently chuckled, shaking her head as she opened the window a bit and reached out a hand on which the nightingale jumped and rested on her finger.

"There's that word," said the Professor. "Seems to make everything smaller somehow, doesn't it?"

The corner of Ella's lips twitched. "I meant what I said the other day, Pensive," she said as she turned around, the tiny bird on her finger. The two Pevensies looked over at her and felt their eyes widen in shock at the scene before them; the Professor only smiled at the sight of his granddaughter caressing the little vertebrate's feathers.

"The universe is full of magical things patiently waiting for our wits to grow sharper." She held her hand out and let the bird fly off, spiraling around her before settling once again on her finger, whistling beautifully. " Children see magic because they look for it."

She looked toward Peter and Susan, eyes intense as they rested upon them. "Those who don't believe in it will never find it."

She walked over to one of the many coffee tables in the room, which was crowded with biscuits, sweet bread, tea, and coffee. She grabbed a piece of bread and ruining it with her free hand until it was but crumbs. She put it all on a small plate and placed it on the desk, where the bird jumped and gleefully fed itself.

"I'm going to tell you what I told your sister," she said, eyes never leaving the bird. Her grandfather only listened, watching the girl with prideful eyes, as he smoked his pipe.

"Everyone believes that every answer can be found within science." Susan felt herself blush slightly; she was one of the many to believe that. "That without books the development of civilization would have been impossible. But the thing is, where do all these books come from? Sure, they come from us, but where do we come from?" Ella grabbed a biscuit and took a big bite out of it before pouring herself a cup of coffee.

"The most common, logical answer anyone would give is: we come from earth. We come from Adam and Eve, or we are descendants of primates, blah, blah blah." Susan bit back a giggle then when Ella's tone had become a bit dramatically bored.

Ella took a sip from her coffee, finished her biscuit, then continued. "The question is: where did all of that come from? God. Yes. But how did he create us? He used his powers. Whatever he thought or believed he could do, he did. He began and finished it."

She reached a hand toward the bird, and, chirping, it instantly jumped onto her finger.

She turned to face the others, expression unreadable. "Action has magic, grace, and power in it."

"The word 'impossible' is only in the mind," said the Professor. "And not in the heart. If we can remain in the heart, There will be no end to our progress."

"He's right," said Ella. They all turned to look at her, only to be shocked when they found her smirking. "Nothing's impossible, the word itself says 'I'm possible'."

She grabbed her cup of coffee and walked over to the other side of the room, the bird still resting on her finger. "Grandfather." She nodded at him before turning to the children and nodding as well. "Pensives." And with that she pushed her back against a door, which neither one of the Pevensies had noticed, opening it, and walked out of sight.

There was a moment of silence between the siblings and the old man, when suddenly, blinking, Susan realized something.

"Did she just call us Pensives?"