Chapter 7: Things Start to Make Sense

Something hard was pressing against the back of his head. Not only was it hard, it was cold too. He heard murmuring of voices and forced his eyes open. It was dark all around him save for some fires scattered here and there that lit up things a bit. He was in a cave. Was it the Dryads' cave? Did the voices belong to them? Were they Laura, William and John? Motivated by those thoughts alone, he fought the piercing throb that was plaguing his back and his leg and sat up, focusing his gaze.

He found himself wrong.

"Master! My Lord! It's awake!"

"The Son of Adam?"

"The Son of Adam!"

Then John heard a smart rapping that sounded like boots clicking across a stone floor. He held his breath, expecting a Hitler-like man, but a figure came into the scant light and he saw that it was nothing but a . . . Raven. But there was something so terrible, so malicious about his bearing: the way the Raven's feathers ruffled ever so slightly, the way those sleek, scaled muscles gleamed even in the dark, the dangerous curve of its scythe-like beak, and the glinting in its eyes; that told him that this was no ordinary Raven.

He heard a whimper from somewhere to his right which went on to say: "My Lord Gurd!" John recognised the voice. It belonged to that blasted Raccoon! He opened his mouth to say something mean, but the Raven spoke.

"What is your name, Son of Adam?"

John now turned his glare towards the Raven. "I don't need to tell you."

"Fool," the Raven said coldly, "do you know who I am?"

"You're – you're just a great big bird that's all."

A gasp echoed from the huddled figure that stood at the Raven's feet.

"A great big bird? I see. I do not think that I have left the right impression on you . . ."

Suddenly he felt his throat being tightened by a deathlike grip. His eyes darted about wildly, but he didn't see anything that was squeezing his throat. He gasped and the water came to his eyes. He realised that it was It; the Raven was the one doing it. Impossible, he thought. But it made sense. He felt his body weakening. Stop! Stop it!

"St – st – stop . . ."

"Stop what?"

"Ch – choke . . ." he managed to croak out. Too much! Stop! He would do anything to stop it! Stop!

"What do you say if you want me to stop?"

He searched his mind, fumbling with all sorts of words, and finally one came out which he thought was right: "Pl – pleee - "

"Hmm?"

"Pleeeese . . ."

The clench lifted so abruptly that it made him collapse onto the floor and cough as he took in as much air as he could. Never had anyone done that to him – never . . . He looked up at the Raven and the realisation of what he was truly capable of hit him. He could have killed him. He could have died at the hands of this brute. No wonder the Dryads were terrified of him. The Raccoon's words all made sense. His gaze travelled back to the quivering Raccoon and suddenly understood his plight.

"Son of Adam . . ." said the Raven. "You have three siblings, have you not?"

John forced himself to nod.

"They have met up with the Dryads. What is their plan?"

Plan? He didn't know of any plan. He shook his head.

"What? You do not wish to tell me?"

"I – I – dunno," he replied shakily.

"Or do you?" the death grip returned to clench his throat again and John hacked and coughed and gasped in panic for air. He really didn't! Please, he didn't know!

"Oh, oh, my Lord Gurd," said Meridian unexpectedly in a moaning voice. "He is innocent of the traitors' plans. Oh, oh, he is. Please do not hurt him. He is a Son of Adam."

"And that makes him blessed in the eyes of that Lion, now, is he?" said the Raven with sudden ferocity and John soon heard the wracking gasps escape from the Raccoon as well. It isn't his fault . . . he thought wildly . . . the defiance grew stronger: "LETHIMGOIT'SNOTHISFAULTIT'SMEYOUWANTISN'TIT!" he yelled out in one breath. He felt his lungs failing and prepared himself to meet his end . . . oh, he was so sorry . . .

. . . when instantly his throat was released. John did not even have the strength to breathe. He fell to the floor, his cheek hitting the rough planes of cold rock, and from the sound of it, the Raven had released the Raccoon as well.

"Do not think I am pleased with you, Son of Adam," said the Raven in a clipped, steely-grey voice, "There is no Lion here to help you. You had best destroy your . . . nobility, for it disgusts me. And you, Raccoon, as long as you are an Animal, you are subject to my will. Am I understood?"

"Yes – yes, my Lord."

John couldn't bring himself to say anything. Fortunately the Raven didn't try to make him to. In a series of smart clicking the Raven was gone, and John felt his dark presence lift, but it was still there: the hopelessness and dread of everything, the sort of apprehension that makes you feel as if nothing will ever be all right again. He heard a shuffling of feet and a spit; then a yelp, and he turned to look at his right.

The huddled figure was taunting the Raccoon with a series of growls which he caught bit by bit: " . . . now you are not so great as you thought you were . . . always the clever one . . . more superior is who? I! I am! You are nothing but a fool! Fool!"

"Shuck off!" he hissed, and, probably because it didn't understand what he meant, the huddled figure, turned to him briefly, then shuffled off, breathing rapidly.

"Thank you, my true Lord," said Meridian in a broken voice. "And I am sorry. I should have known better."

"It's not your fault," he replied with a sigh.

"I should have stood my ground. I am a believer of the Lord Lion, I really am."

"Well, look where it's gotten you," said John, and after a pause, he said, "Why do you believe in him so much? What good is it?"

"This is a cruel world, Son of Adam," said the Raccoon slowly, "A cruel world where there is no room for kindness. Our only hope is in Him, the Lord Lion. And why? Why? Are we just mere martyrs? No, the Lord Lion stands for everything that is good; everything that is pure, alive and warm. Thinking of Him is comfort enough for us; a reminder that there were better times; better times that will come again just as they had come suddenly before. The sun will shine again. We will have summer once more. All we have to do is believe. The Lord Lion will save those who have faith in him."

Not a word had been exchanged at all after the owl, Whitter, had flown off. Mapha and Rathan led the way ahead, picking their way through trees and dry brambles and any obstacle that stood in their way. Before that they had crossed a delicate frozen river, during which they had all held hands.

The mood was sullen and painfully sombre. Laura had a dazed look in her eyes. William kept his gaze focused on the back of the Dryad in front of him and nothing else at all. Their demeanour frightened Anne. To make things worse, everything around them seemed to be freezing up. Icicles formed on the boughs of the trees and on blades of grass.

Anne's fingers instinctively reached for the whistle that hung around her neck. Even though everything else was cold, that alone was warm, and it was a real comfort to her. Her icy fingertips warmed at once when it touched the smooth metal. She looked at it and wondered if anything would happen if she pursed her lips around its thin mouth and gave it a nice, clean blow, just to hear that magical melody again.

"Anne," said William suddenly. She let go of the whistle at once and looked up hesitantly at her brother.

To her immense relief, he was smiling. "What are you afraid of, Anne? Do you think that I'll tick you off for touching your whistle?"

"Well," she couldn't help smiling, "to be quite honest, I thought you meant to. After all," she grasped the whistle and looked at it regretfully, "it got us into all this trouble."

"And it saved us," said William gently. He took her hand. Even though his hand was chilly to the touch, yet it felt oddly warm and reassuring. She smiled at him. "Thanks for understanding, Will."

"It's important that we stick together at times like this," he gave her hand a tender squeeze. She giggled. "Oh, William, you do sound like Dad when you say stuff like that."

"Does that make me a grown-up?"

"No," she grinned, "just a pain in the arse."

Suddenly, a murmur came up from up front. Anne noticed that Laura sharpened up to it at once. The smile dissipated from William's face. Then the Dryad who had been walking in front of them turned around to say, "We are stopping to rest."

"Oh, finally," Anne couldn't help but say. The Dryad smiled. "Yes, Daughter of Eve, at last. My feet are aching as well."

"Excuse me," said Laura, "but I hope you can tell me where exactly we are now. Are we any closer to the Stone Table?"

"We are close," the Dryad said simply.

"How close?"

"We will reach it by tomorrow when the sun is highest in the sky."

"Why the Stone Table?" Laura asked again. "Why there?"

"Because it is a place of ancient Magic," answered the Dryad. "In the stories, there was where the Lord Lion held counsel with the witch that had terrorised this land, and it was upon it that He had been reborn."

It made perfect sense to Anne.

Even though there was no sun in the sky, yet somehow the day darkened gradually and quickly with no shade of blue or orange or pink or purple at all. It increased Anne's appreciation for the sunsets and sunrises in her world. They took shelter in a little clearing in the woods. Laura marched up to Mapha and argued with him that it was too risky, but he shrugged and said that unless they were willing to walk all the way to the Stone Table, the one place where the Servants of Gurd did not dare trespass, then she was welcome to do so. After those words were out, he immediately bowed and said repeatedly that he was sorry that he had been rude.

"It's nothing, Mapha. I was the insolent one," she replied and turned away. When it was dark, the Dryads built a small fire. A watch was set to guard the encampment. The children offered to help but Rathan refused them, politely, because they had not the strength and endurance of the Spirits, and what he said was quite true, for after a simple meal of bread and warm water, the children nodded off to sleep at once.

Anne dreamt of a beautiful, open valley that was cut by a beautiful, roaring river. She was standing on top of a hill that looked down upon that valley. To her right, a wide body of water shimmered and a little further up from where the river flowed out into the big lake, there stood something glittering in the rising sun. And Anne realised with a wondrous joy that the sun was indeed rising. The land was full of colour, so different than the bleak world that she was experiencing now. The grass was green, greener than the ones in her world, and the waters were bright blue as a sapphire.

Suddenly she felt a warm breath on her shoulder and she turned around.

A great, golden Lion stood before her. It looked like one of the lions she had seen in the London Zoo, only . . . this was one was different, somehow. The Lion had an intense pair of grey eyes that looked meaningfully at her. Her heart seemed to both panic and calm at the same time. At first she thought of taking a step back, but the Lion spoke: "Peace, Anne."

Her eyes widened. "How did you know my name?"

"I know everything that passes in the worlds, everything that matters and everything that may not matter. I am Lord of all, yet I am not a complete Lord. I am who I am: a Lion. But no mere Lion."

"I didn't think so," she said quietly. Her lips felt dry, so she licked them.

"Do not be afraid of me, Anne. I am your friend. I am a mere illusion of my true self, my subconscious. Though I know all things, I do not know the meaning of that which you hold in your hand," his gaze travelled to her fist. Anne didn't realise she was gripping her hand so tightly. She opened it and the whistle was revealed. Anne suddenly felt the urge to explain what she had done with it and what had happened to them.

"Please, sir," she said slowly at first, but the more she went along the more she felt at ease, "I found it in the attic in Miss Pevensie's house. Once I found it I blew it and – and nothing happened at first, until one day when we were in the attic when we weren't supposed to and Mrs. Lafferty and Miss Pevensie were coming so we thought that we'd hide in a wardrobe that was broken before I had no idea why. That was the day I lost my whistle. Then when we went into the wardrobe there was a land, and there was a lamp-post and that was where I found my whistle. It – it rescued us from a salamander, and, apparently, called the Dryads and Hamadryads and we were rescued – but our brother, John," at that she sobered up, "he didn't believe them telling us about a lion and – and so he ran away, but he got into a scrape with a raccoon and now we're going to the Stone Table to try and patch things up and get him back."

"From who?" the Lion asked gently.

"From Gurd."

"Gurd?" it came out as a growl. "Who is Gurd?"

"He's – he's a Raven," said Anne, trying to recall what the owl, Whitter, had told them. "A Raven with powerful Magic."

"What has he done?"

"He's, quite simply put, claimed the land for himself and he's Lord of the land," she said, for there was no other way to explain what Gurd had done. She didn't mention the part where he killed even innocent beings when he meant to but Anne was the sort of girl who didn't like to badmouth people behind their backs.

A low and fierce growl escaped from the Lion. Anne jumped a bit. The Lion gave a heavy sigh and shook his head slowly. "I did not know of this – I had destroyed it completely." He looked at her as if she had the explanation for it. She remained silent, for she really didn't know what to say, and surely you can't expect a little girl like Anne to have the answers a majestic Lion like him needed.

The Lion seemed to realise it. He turned his gaze back to the whistle again. "It is because of the whistle." She did not quite hear it. "I beg your pardon?"

But he never answered her. The beautiful world suddenly spun and whirled and everything became a blur. The Lion faded together with that terrific mesh of colours and Anne panicked at once. She called out to him, who knew if he could hear her: "What's your name?"

It seemed to echo out through even Time itself . . .

. . . then it echoed back, resonating deeply like a voice of God himself: "ASLAN."