"That," said Doctor Cornelius, "is the greatest and most sacred treasure of Narnia. Many terrors I endured, many spells did I utter, to find it, when I was still young. It is the magic horn of Queen Susan herself which she left behind her when she vanished from Narnia at the end of the Golden Age."
1
Cornelius sat by the side of the stream for three days.
On the first day, he did nothing but listen. He listened to the stream and the trees; he listened to the birds and the animals; he listened to the wind and the sky. That night, he dreamt of the forest. In his dream, he heard whispers around him, so he went from tree to tree, one blade of grass to another, every rock and brook and twig and flower, listening; but he never found the source of those whispers.
On the second day, Cornelius awoke with the dawn. After eating a few berries and taking a long drink from the stream, he pulled out a little book from his pouch and began to write. He wrote everything that had happened to him on his travels, describing the witch, and the stories the soldiers told each other, and the spells he could remember from the book. He wrote everything Shay had told him, about the Talking Animals and the human kings and queens and the White Witch and Aslan, always about Aslan. He also wrote about the new king Miraz, who had been crowned a few months before Cornelius had set out on his travels. He wrote about the rumors that only a few dared to whisper that his pledges of caring only for Narnia and his orphaned nephew were nothing but lies. When the sun began to set, his hand ached, so he set aside his book and lay down to wait for the stars.
That night, he tried to read them as Shay had, but he could not find their secrets. He picked out a few familiar constellations, and pledged to himself to study all he could of Astronomy when he was finished his quest. When he finally closed his eyes and slept, he dreamt of Narnia the way it was. He saw the two kings and two queens (just children, Shay had told him), and the Fauns and Centaurs and Dryads and Giants at court, and the Talking Animals bustling about the kingdom. He dreamt of their last great hunt, when they disappeared from Narnia forever.
On the third day, Cornelius pulled out a map of Narnia. He traced his finger from Telmar, in the West, to the castle built during the reign of Caspian II, which Miraz now occupied on behalf of his nephew. His eyes moved over the strongholds built around Narnia for its protection, one outpost after another. All of it Telmarine, all of it man-made, and all of it utterly foreign.
Then he pored over the mountain ridges, and the twisting rivers, and the boundaries of the forest. It was inside these, he knew, that the secrets of Narnia lived. But where to start looking? Where? He could not continue walking aimlessly through the forest. Old Narnia was too good at hiding for him to find it by chance. There must be somewhere to look.
Shay had told him of the two kings and two queens, who lived in a castle next to the sea. He followed along the shoreline with his finger, and stopped on a small island just off the coast. It was haunted, or at least most people believed that. There were no traces on the Narnian coast of an old castle, but could it have been on this island? Cornelius did not know if it was haunted or not, but he doubted there was a nation of Narnians living there. How could so many survive on one small island and never be seen? However, the island might be the best place to start looking for signs of Aslan, if he had truly gone to this father over the sea.
Cornelius then wondered where the kings and queens might have disappeared. They had come from the West, near the very edge of Narnia, in the Western Wood. There was a section of the forest that was uncharted, north of where the Telmarines had entered Narnia. Could Old Narnia have retreated here? Cornelius folded his map. It was in this unknown part of the forest that he would search.
2
Cornelius walked for days and days. The wood became wilder and wilder, so much so that sometimes it would take Cornelius a day or two just to find a path that was manageable. He began to wonder if he would spot a Talking Animal, or perhaps a Faun or a Satyr, so deep in the woods. He never heard a sound or saw a sign of them.
However, this did not deter him. Cornelius was sure in his new plan. He walked through the woods beginning at daybreak, only stopping for a quick meal and a sip of water. Sometimes he would sing to himself. Sometimes he would imagine himself a part of the hunting party accompanying the kings and queens, dressed in his finest, knowing that a great feast would welcome them when they returned to the castle. And sometimes he would just listen to the forest, pretending he could hear the voices of the Dryads, and he would talk to the trees and the brooks when he stopped to rest.
Every night, Cornelius would stretch out on the ground, looking up at the stars. Once in a while he would record the pictures the stars made in his little book. Most of the time, however, he would just stare up at them, trying to find patterns and messages as Shay had done. He wished over and over he knew more about reading them. One night, there was a star shower, and he stared in wonder as the stars shot across the sky, racing one another to some unknown finish line. He took this as a sign that he was going in the right direction.
3
One morning the sun did not appear. Dark, dangerous clouds filled the sky, turning it a deep gray color. Cornelius pulled his cloak tightly around himself and hurried to cover as much ground as possible before the storm broke and forced him to take refuge somewhere.
The rain started slowly, just a few fat drops here and there, as if the clouds were about to overspill. Cornelius spotted a rocky section a few yards to the side, and made his way in that direction, hoping to find an overhang. To his luck, there was a crevice in the rocks, and being so short he was able to fit himself easily into the little cave.
And just in time: as soon as he was inside, the sky opened, and the rain began to pour. The wind whipped the drops into a frenzy, and Cornelius backed in as far as he dared to keep from being splashed. The cave was dry enough, but there was a foul smell coming from inside. He figured it must be some poor creature that had crawled inside and died. Cornelius shuddered and huddled against the wall of the cave. Murmuring a few words, he conjured a little fire that made a little heat and cast long shadows on the walls.
Cornelius thought that he must have been dozing when he heard a noise from the rocks. He blinked his eyes and looked towards the mouth. The rain was still a steady sheet outside. Cornelius snuggled back against the cold cave wall and closed his eyes.
The noise came again: a low rumbling, too musical to be thunder, but too deep to be human. Quickly Cornelius whispered a few words, and the fire went out. His eyes darted through the darkness of the cave, listening to the thudding in his chest.
Cornelius had just begun to hope it had been the storm after all when there was a scuffling to his left. Slowly he turned his head towards the sound. There was a pair of eyes looking at him, glowing green like a cat's in the darkness. His breath caught in his throat, and he felt frozen, unable to move.
The rumbling came louder now, longer, and to Cornelius' shock and horror, began to form words. "Who are you?" it said to him. There was another low growl, and then, unmistakable: "Dwarf."
Cornelius bolted. In less than a second he was out of the cave, completely soaked, and running blindly through the storm. He could see no more than a few paces in front of himself, but Cornelius did not dare to slow down. He stumbled over rocks and was knocked in the face and arms by low-hanging branches. But it did not matter: Cornelius knew that whatever that had been in the cave, it would have killed him without a moment's hesitation.
There was a great clap of thunder, which gave Cornelius such a jolt that he stumbled and went crashing into the ground. He dared to look over his shoulder, but could see nothing through the rain. But he thought he heard the growl again, so Cornelius scrambled up as best he could and took off running.
He crashed through a line of trees and caught sight of something strange on the ground. He looked over and stopped short when he realized what it was: a little hut, about three feet high.
Cornelius lost his footing on the wet grass and leaves and began to slide. He knocked into something solid and tumbled over, and little rocks fell on top of him. He covered his face with his arms to shield himself.
Panting, he laid back on the ground. The rain was still coming down, but he was inside a little ring of trees that served as a natural umbrella. Wiping his brow, he turned his head and saw a squirrel staring back at him.
Startled, he jumped back up. The squirrel did not move. Wondering what kind of creature would stand still in a storm, he leaned in for a closer look. What he saw caused him to gasp: the squirrel was made of stone! He carefully picked it up. It was heavier than it looked, and Cornelius grunted a little with the effort. But when he brought it close to his face, Cornelius' heart skipped a beat. It was more than just a squirrel—it was a squirrel with an expression that could not be mistaken for anything other than sheer terror.
Shaking, Cornelius looked around for the other rocks that had fallen on him. They were squirrels too—some with wide eyes, some with their hands shielding their faces. He could almost hear their squeals coming from their frozen mouths. Cornelius struck his foot against a larger stone, but this one was of a dog or fox, his long tail tucked between his legs and his ears plastered back against his head.
Next to him was a stone man, about Cornelius' height, with the legs of a goat, and long curly hair. The way he was standing made Cornelius think that he must have been just sitting, and was leaping up to face something, or someone.
Turning around again, Cornelius caught sight of one more statue. This was a head shorter than himself, very stout, the hairs of his beard carved carefully into the stone. His pulse thudded in his ears so loudly he could not even hear the rain any longer. Cornelius sat with a thud in front of the statue and bowed his head. Too terrified to move, he sat among the death, expecting his own to arrive at any moment.
4
Cornelius had begun to despair.
For days he walked, constantly looking over his shoulder, worried that the Warewolf (which is what he assumed it had been) had followed him and would leap out at any moment. He was also still thoroughly shaken from finding the petrified Narnians in the forest that even when he closed his eyes, he still saw their frozen faces. Cornelius had not slept in days. He thought of his mother, and his friends, and wondered if he would ever see them again. He thought of his father, and how he had failed him.
Cornelius had never felt so alone. He knew Old Narnia was out there—was surrounding him!—but he could not find it, and it would not reveal itself. Old Narnia did not want him. He did not belong, any more than he belonged in the Telmarine Narnia.
The sun began to set, and Cornelius did not even bother to find a place to camp. He simply sat against a tree, watching the sky grow darker and darker, until the stars came out. Even the stars remained stubbornly silent, refusing to give up their secrets.
As he sat in the darkness and silence, he noticed a flicker in the distance. Thinking it was just a firefly, he ignored it for a while. But then he realized that the firefly was not moving, so he stood and went to investigate.
What he found surprised him: it was a tree made of iron. It was very tall, and slim, and had roots at the bottom that spread out in a perfect square. At the top, instead of branches and leaves, was a small glass case, and inside was a fire that did not flicker.
Cornelius stared up at it for what seemed like hours. He walked around it, examining it closely, running his fingers along the long ridges in the metal. Then he sat in its light, which he thought was very beautiful, until he closed his eyes and slept.
In his dream, he was sitting under the iron tree, and there was a creature standing over him. He could feel the incredible heat from its body and the low rumbling of his chest. He wanted to stay there forever, feeling safe for the first time in its warmth. But it was not to be. The creature was urging him on, into the trees, and Cornelius followed happily.
The trees hung low, and he brushed their branches away from his face. He could just see the creature's golden color slipping among the green. He pushed forward, and suddenly he noticed that the branches felt strange: they were no longer made of sticks and leaves, but of fur and hair.
Cornelius gasped and opened his eyes. He turned around and saw that he was standing inside a thicket a few hundred feet from the iron tree. He breathed deeply, trying to stop the pounding of his heart. He took a step and felt something against his foot.
Cornelius looked down. There was a long, white horn, beautifully curved, lying on the forest floor. Picking it up carefully, he turned it to examine the gold detail, the initials placed on the side in delicate gold foil. Then he cradled it in his arms like a child, closed his eyes, and prayed his thanks to Aslan. His quest was over. He had found Narnia at last.
