Disclaimer: I own nothing of Narnia, none of the characters, none of the ideas, none of the places, none of the anything. The only thing I own is my OC. Everything else is the property of the estate of CS Lewis.
Imagination, Reality, and the Space Between
Chapter Seven: Flight
Once back at the dam, Mr. Beaver burst through the door shouting: "Hurry Mother, They're after us!"
"Oh! Right then." she said. With that, Mrs. Beaver set to laying out sacks and stuffing them full of a variety of things.
"What's she doing?" Peter asked, but Mr. Beaver just shrugged and shook his head.
"Oh, you'll be thanking me later. It's a long journey, and Mr. Beaver gets pretty cranky when he's hungry." She said. "Now, Mr Beaver, if you'd reach down and get some of that ham. Oh, and some one get two or three loaves of bread from that crock in the corner."
Everyone looked at one another confused before they began grabbing things as she called them out. It was the general opinion that they should all get out as quickly as possible, but they weren't going to leave without Mrs. Beaver either. Most of the packed items were foodstuffs, which prompted Susan to ask the question: "Do you think we'll need jam?"
"Only if the Witch serves toast!" Peter said patience obviously threadbare.
A moment, the sacks were full and being doled out (by size) to each person in the room. As each was given a load, they all could hear snarling from outside the walls of the dam.
"Hurry!" said Mr. Beaver, opening what looked like a pantry door to reveal a hole in the ground just large enough for them to all fit in with a rope dangling in the center.
Mr. Beaver lowered himself down first, followed by Peter, then Lucy, then Susan and Marilyn, and lastly Mrs. Beaver who pulled the door to behind them. Being small as she was, Mrs. Beaver slipped around the others, to come up behind Mr. Beaver.
As they ran along, Mr. Beaver commented that he and Badger had built the tunnel and that it ended up near the Badger's house. Mrs. Beaver had been indignant, apparently having been lied to about the destination of the tunnel. It was then that Lucy tripped; causing three heads to whip backwards and two people to stop dead. What they heard in that moment of impromptu silence was the sound of wolves – in the tunnel.
The group picked up their pace (as much as they could with each carrying a sack of food in the small tunnel) and before too long they reached the end, all frightened and in a hurry. There was no rope at the other end but rather a hole in the ceiling of the tunnel that one had to shimmy up to reach ground level. The Beavers went first, and easiest, after which Susan climbed out just as quickly.
Lucy reached for the inside edge of the hole but came up just shy of being tall enough to get a proper grip to pull herself up.
"I can't reach it!" She said, straining her arms out. The barking and growling of the wolves was growing closer.
Peter passed the torch he had been carrying in one hand to Marilyn who stood to the side and gave Lucy a boost and the climbed out himself. Marilyn dropped the torch, and reached upwards, shimmying through the hole in the ground. It was a tight squeeze, especially since she was still carrying the sack given to her from Mrs. Beaver, but she was able to pull herself out once her arms were well and good on the other side.
Once they were all out of the tunnel, Mr. Beaver and Peter worked on blocking the tunnel, in the end all they could do was overturn a barrel over the hole. As they were turning away, Lucy fell over, having lost her balance, and landed on an assortment of stone animals. Mr. Beaver looked around, and his face fell. They were in what looked to be a small village. Marilyn extended a hand to Lucy, who took it and pushed herself up into a standing position once more. They all walked in silence, around the corner into a circle of houses. Worse than the fact the entire village was silent was that in the center of the little ring of burrows and houses was a stone badger with a raised paw and a pained expression. There was an immense feeling of sadness that hung in the air; the Witch had been here already.
"He was my best mate." Mr. Beaver said sadly, walking up to touch the statue.
"This is what happens to those who cross the Witch." said a voice from out of nowhere. The girls scurried to stand behind Peter, and Mr. Beaver marched up to the owner of the voice (a fox, who was now visible) threatening all the way.
"If you come any closer traitor, I'll chew you to splinters."
"Relax! I'm one of the good guys." said the Fox as he jumped down from atop one of the houses.
"Well, you look an awful lot like one of the bad ones." said Mr. Beaver argumentatively.
"It's an unfortunate family resemblance. But we can argue breeding later; right now we have to move."
At that moment, they could all hear snarling and howling along with a persistent scratching coming from behind them.
"What did you have in mind?" asked Peter without any hesitation.
The fox sent them off in a vague sort of direction, in which the Beaver assured the fox there was a hiding place for them. The fox swore to send the wolves in the wrong direction, which would distract them for at least a little while. The group went off at a breakneck run, the sacks each one carried slamming against their backs (For Mrs. Beaver had tied the two strings that held them closed together so that everyone could sling the bag over their shoulder so that it didn't take one hand to carry them) as they went. If felt as though they had been running for hours when they finally reached a stopping point, a cave Mr. Beaver said was a hiding-place for beavers in hard times. The cave was very small, hardly big enough for all four of them.
In all honesty, running away from the White Witch was not exhilarating or even terrifying most of the time like it was in the penny-dreadful that Marilyn had read once just to spite her mother who thought they were worthless garbage(her mother had been right in hindsight). It was simply exhausting. As they all crammed into the tiny cave, putting their sacks together in order to have some sandwiches to eat, Marilyn wished that she was back at home. At least at home she could have dry socks. From all that running in the snow, her socks had become soaking wet and were only now beginning to dry out in the freezing cold air. However, she made a marked attempt not to complain, as if her worst problem was that she had cold feet due to wet socks she really had no reason to. After all, her brother hadn't been captured by some wicked Witch with a murderous tendency when it came to humans.
As such, the only thing she said once they were all settled and had their sandwiches was: "I do hope that the fox that helped us is alright." It was a sentiment to which there was general agreement but little else was said that night. Mr. Beaver passed around a flask, from which everyone took a sip, and from there they slept, all in a little row, with Marilyn on one side of the cave and Peter on the other, with Lucy and Susan in between.
Morning came far too soon for all of them. They set out across a vast white plain, all of them still exhausted, seemingly except Mr. Beaver, who kept insisting they hurry. They plodded on until near midday listening to his insistences that they hurry. Susan had been taking the lead (as far as the children went) then Peter, while Marilyn hung back with Lucy.
"Are you alright Lucy?" she asked for the third or fourth time.
Though the other times Lucy had merely nodded and kept going, this time she mumbled out a response before continuing to troop forward. "I don't think I can walk very much farther."
Not a moment later came another prod from Mr. Beaver. "Come on humans. While we're still young."
From ahead of them, Lucy and Marilyn could hear Peter complain. "If he tells us to hurry one more time" here he knelt so that so that Lucy could climb on his back, which she did tiredly shifting the sack full of food around to accommodate. "I'm going to turn him into a big fluffy hat."
"Do you think that if we dropped these sacks on him, he'd stop for a little while?" Marilyn asked quite annoyed with the Beaver's rushing herself.
Lucy giggled.
"Probably not." Peter said honestly.
"You're probably right." She said resignedly.
They hadn't even gone ten feet before the Beavers called out again. "Hurry up! Come on!"
Lucy crinkled her nose distastefully. "He is getting a little bossy."
"No! Behind you! It's her!" shouted Mrs. Beaver. They all turned and saw what looked to be a sleigh in the distance.
"Run! Run!" Mr. Beaver said, taking off on four legs instead of two.
Peter let Lucy drop to the ground and the children picked up their pace to a run out of sheer terror. They ran, until they reached the edge of the forest, where within sight Mr. Beaver and Mrs. Beaver stood by what looked to be a short drop off of the ground. They all went down the drop off, where there was a niche in the ground just barely large enough to fit all six of them. They sat in the little niche for what felt like hours but was actually only a few minutes, just sitting and waiting still terrified that at any moment that the White Witch would suddenly see them. After a moment, the sound of the snow shifting had stopped, and there were footsteps. A long shadow was cast out over the snow in front of them. Marilyn stifled a gasp as she watched the shadow warily, sure in that moment that they were done in.
After another moment, the shadow was gone.
"Is she gone?" Lucy whispered questioningly.
"I suppose I'll go and check." said Peter, moving slightly in the snow.
"No! You're no good to Narnia dead." Mr. Beaver said, stopping Peter and going himself to see whether or not the Witch had gone. Mrs. Beaver protested, but that didn't deter Mr. Beaver in the least.
After what seemed a very long while (it was really only about five minutes), they heard something that settled a feeling of dread over all of them. They heard voices. However, the voices were quickly followed by Mr. Beaver popping his head over the edge of the little niche so they could see him.
"It's alright. It isn't her. I hope you've been good, 'cause there's someone here to see ya!" He said excitedly.
Though they were all confused, they trooped up the snow bank to find just who their visitor was. There was a sledge and there were reindeer, but inside of the Witch, inside the sleigh sat a huge man in a bright red robe with a hood lined with fur with a great white beard.
Lucy had no trouble accepting that Father Christmas was standing there not fifteen feet away from them.
"Merry Christmas, sir." she said happily
He laughed. "It certainly is, Lucy, now that you have arrived."
Marilyn, however, blinked, and shook her head before blinking again. How could Father Christmas be here? It was hard to take in. Susan seemed to be having the same trouble as Marilyn, as she spoke, more to Peter than anyone: "Look, I've put up with a lot since I've got here but this…"
The thought was never completed, as Peter interrupted her to address Father Christmas. "We thought you were the Witch." he said.
"Yes, yes, I'm sorry about that, but in my defence, I've been driving one of these longer than the Witch." Father Christmas said, pulling off his gloves.
Susan stepped forward slightly. "I thought there was no Christmas in Narnia."
"No, not for a long time. She has kept me out, but I have gotten in at last. Aslan is on the move, the Witch's magic is weakening. Still, I dare say you could do with these." Father Christmas said, hefting a large bag from the back of the sleigh.
"Presents!" Lucy cried happily running up .
"Yes, Presents. Now, for you Mrs. Beaver, there is a new and better sewing machine. I shall drop it at your house when I pass, and for you Mr. Beaver, your dam mended and finished, with all the leaks stopped and a new sluice-gate fitted."
The Beavers were pleased beyond words to hear all of this, and they stood in open mouthed in thanks since no words of thanks would come to mind.
"Now, Lucy, Eve's Daughter," he said pulling a small glass bottle and sheathed dagger out of the bag. "This is the juice of the fire-flower, one drop will cure any injury." He said, passing the little bottle to Lucy. "And though I hope you never have to use it." He added, placing the dagger in her hands.
"Thank you sir, I – I think I could be brave enough."
"I am sure you could, but battles are ugly affairs." He said, smiling at her.
"Susan." He said next, taking a bow and quiver of arrows out of the sack. "Trust in this bow, and it will not easily miss."
Susan looked at him questioningly. "What happened to 'battles are ugly affairs'?"
Father Christmas merely laughed and handed her a horn that looked to be made of ivory. "And though you don't seem to have a problem making yourself heard, blow on this and help will come no matter where you are."
"Thanks." Susan said quietly, staring at the objects in her hands.
"Peter." Father Christmas said, holding a sword and shield in hand. "The time to use these may be near at hand."
Peter drew the sword, the silvery metal of the blade glimmered in the light. "Thank you sir."
"These are tools, not toys. Bear them well and wisely."
Marilyn watched the goings on in silence, unsure if she'd receive anything, as the longer they travelled, the more evident it became that she was a mere bystander in a story, that if told on the other side of the wardrobe would be the sort with heroes that always won, for they always fought for what was utterly right, rather than their own ends.
Therefore, when Father Christmas turned to her, she was more than a little surprised.
"And lastly, Marilyn, Daughter of Eve." Father Christmas said with a light smile in the words.
"Yes,sir?" She said uneasily, stepping forward haltingly with her eyes fixed on Father Christmas' face.
He pulled forth a silver chain, and placed it softly in her hand. Attached to the chain, there was a small glass crystal ball that contained what looked to be an apple seed in the center.
"Remember that this is your journey as well. Do not forget yourself along the way."
She nodded silently, placing the necklace around her neck and watching as he pulled two sheathed long-handled knives from the bag.
"Am I to fight?" she asked in a small voice, feeling very much frightened at the idea.
"You will find out for yourself soon enough. Trust your heart; it will not lead you astray."
She nodded, stepping back.
Father Christmas sighed in that sort of contented manner that people do when they are aware they have work to do (at least when its work they enjoy).
"Well, I must be off. Winter is almost over, and things do pile up when you've been gone for a hundred years." He said, placing the sack of gifts back on the sleigh before climbing onto it himself. "Long live Aslan! And Merry Christmas!" He said before taking the reins and cracking them.
All six of them took up a call of "Merry Christmas!" in return until Father Christmas had disappeared from sight. At that point, Lucy turned to Susan, with a look on her face that was as close to snide as Lucy could possibly get.
"I told you he was real." She said.
Peter stared after him silently for a moment, looking very hard into the distance where they had been able to see the sleigh mere seconds before.
"What is it?" Marilyn asked.
"He said winter is almost over. You know what that means." Peter said.
The others merely looked at him curiously.
"No more ice."
Author's Note: I just had to do the movie version of the arrival of Father Christmas because I absolutely love the bit about Peter turning Mr. Beaver into a hat. I never fail to laugh at it, and just couldn't leave it out (I tried honestly, because it's really pointless, but I just kept itching to write it in, so I did). And the description of Father Christmas is taken nearly verbatim from the book, because to be honest, I've no idea what Father Christmas is supposed to look like, after all, all I've ever known is Santa Claus, and I do realize they're different.
Please tell me if you don't get the necklace bit. (EDIT: To make this simple for the readers who have not read the entire series, the necklace is a reference to The Magician's Nephew.) I was going for a little, well, not so much irony as symbolism, I guess. The knives are of course for protection, even if she doesn't actually use them, rather like Susan's bow or Lucy's dagger. In fact, tell me if that whole bit 'felt' right, please. I'm not so sure about whether it does or doesn't. (Note the accented if. I'm not telling you whether she does or doesn't.)
In any case, if you've read this far, please do read and review. Thanks and happy reading,
ESG