The red sun was harsh. The temperature was exceedingly high that morning. Yet Zinnia trudged on knowing that collecting water at least today was necessary. She had after all, procrastinated as long as she could. Any more and she would have risked survival. That's all her life seemed to circle around. It was slightly better than dying anyway—which seemed to be the fate of all those around her..
Right since her childhood, her life was marked by the growing decadence, war and the predicted end. Everyone, even those who lived in it believed the land deserved it. It had committed crimes and now it must pay. Even those who were innocent and had no role to play. Somehow it centered itself around the fact that one day, one dreaded moment the land would start to rot, cut away itself from others, dying with the disease it created for itself. No one would be there to rescue it—a self created curse couldn't be outdone by another. The least it could do was to remove itself from others so that its disease wouldn't spread.
Its predicted demise came true—though more painfully than required. Continuous war had rendered half the men dead, women widowed, and children orphaned. Many starved and died. The royal families were marked by treachery, debauchery and scant concern for its people. New and vicious diseases left the people more weakened and wary of each others. The land and rivers had slowly become barren. The air was always fraught with tension—people created trivial differences and paid for it with their life.
Zinnia thought about these long, abstract processes absently—even her family had belonged to one of the families affected by it. She had belonged to a tribe which had lived along the drying river and had protected it fiercely. Needless to say one night a separate tribe, with better weapons came and attacked them. She was twelve years old then and escaped by the skin of her teeth along with her four year old brother. It had been due to the sacrifice of her mother – she had fallen at the feet of the armed youth, intent upon destroying the family, while the children ran away with a few supplies to a dugout. After sometime the soldiers (or something they liked to call themselves) had found them and turned them over to the richest family who in turn had made them into servants.
Thus her life had proceeded for many years as a servant. She learnt various bits of housework along with the patience of putting up with a cantankerous mistress--who thought herself to be one because her tribe had bestowed her with usurped land, material and helpless children who had no one turn to, and so were obliged to work for her.
Thus she was a witness to much of the loss and decay in the tribe itself in the usual way—how many of them died in war, how many poisoned and killed each other while the rest perished in the dreaded diseases which came in the ever increasing heat.
Eventually the only people who survived near the river were Zinnia and her brother Halo. The other survivors lived far away, in a few pockets and numbers. Some lived immediately near the Palace (or the ruins of it anyway), some others in the dry fields while the rest were either homeless or had been abandoned.
As she walked along the hard, cracked stone roads her eyes fell on the ruined embankments. She felt like one of the only remnants of that civilization, once great and prosperous. … now it consisted of just those who were the most resistant, the most alert.. or the most merciless..
Her mother had thought her to possess all these qualities. She had talked to her through many mean nights and had explained to her that the goddess of Charn had told her that her children Zinnia and Halo were to survive. To resurrect the lost glory of the land, the happiness of others.. to bring an end to the misery..
Her mother. .
She was ten years old and it was Halo's second birthday. It was a big day for him— his second birthday meant he had survived all those threats which plagued the newborns and infants of Charn—namely unforeseen events or incurable illnesses.
Now he was older, with a greater degree of resistance. He could be expected to live into adulthood.
Both children skipped alongside their mother who was going to buy them presents. They happily anticipated new tunics and sweets.
They reached the embankment where many tradesmen displayed their goods—bales of cloth, grain, weapons, toys and sometimes even jewels. Jewels were harder to come by. After all, they were in exclusive custody of the royal family and not many commoners could afford it.
Finishing their purchases they walked back home sucking contentedly on flavored sweets.
"So what are we going to do now, mother?" asked Zinnia excitedly.
"Let's see" replied her mother mysteriously, with a slight smile playing around her mouth.
"I want to stheep.. I am vewey thired" came Halo's plaintive voice. It was true—walking all the way to the market and back had tired out the two year old.
"Don't be a wet dishcloth. . its your birthday!!" scolded Zinnia.
"Come now Zinnia, my baby's so tired! Well, Halo would you like to do something else?" asked Mother picking him up in her arms.
"Nooo..onny stheep!!" cried Halo
"All right, all right. Now listen to my song and try to sleep" said his mother.
She started to sing. Her mother's voice filled Zinnia with a calm… similar to that of winds which came after the rain..
"Lonely is the
Palace of the mind
Waiting for the
Chime of the bells.
Lonely is the
Tune of my harp
Waiting for the
Angel of love.
It maybe morn or eve
Memories are always alive
The angel never leaves me
She never broke that bond
She always smiled..
She says the flowers are blooming
The bees are humming,
The birds are singing
She never forgets me.
Call to me,
Call to me,
When the flowers are blooming
When the bees are humming.."
Her mother's songs were typical of Charn's style of singing—a background, two characters and the role of memories..
Slowly her brother dozed off, and she learnt a new song.
"You must never forget these songs. They are as old as this land. It is said that when the people were good and kind, Aslan himself came on festival days to hear them." explained her mother, as she tucked in Halo.
"Who's Aslan?" whispered Zinnia.
"A great being , full of goodness and power. He created our land and taught us how to rule.", replied her mother.
"Where is he now?"
"He roams many worlds, creating new worlds and rewarding those who are good.", said her mother.
"Why doesn't he come here anymore?"
"The ways of the people have turned wicked; they care nothing for others' pain. Aslan isn't pleased with the fall of a once great and peaceful world. Also they don't believe in him anymore"
A silence. So this Aslan was someone who was noble and helped those who believed in him. He also taught the difference between good and evil.
"Has he abandoned us, then?" asked Zinnia after some time.
"No.. But we have abandoned his path.. His faith.. We have abandoned him" said her mother, looking at the large red sun sinking out of sight…
Memories .. Whatever left her these wouldn't—for better or for worse. She trudged on…in her mind she was ten again and singing as if happiness were forever.
Call to me, call to me…. Lonely is the palace of the mind…
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The Valiant queen sat in the library of Cair Paravel, looking for books to complete her latest batch of homework. Yes, homework.
Being the youngest of the four, she was the last to complete her studies. Subjects ranged from political science, logic, literature to even dance and music.
She didn't mind the last two but pouted when she thought about her siblings who were busy attending their royal duties, free from this obligation. Well, anyway only a year was left-- she should try her best. A smile came to her lips when she remembered how Peter and Susan had paced the libraries so many times, trying to learn for their final tests—so much so, that the guards had thought that somebody had broken in.
Edmund, on the other hand, found his studies quite simple, and took only four years instead of the usual six to master them. Needless to say, the others kings and queens quite envied him for this.
Lucy sighed. This was going to be a long report. Or, rather it had to be a long report—on the "Cultural Practices of the Different Worlds of Telmarine, Ettinsmoor, Narnia and LoneIslands." She wondered how in the "world" it was supposed to be related to literature, but then the Professor had threatened to give more if she didn't hand in the report within five days.
"But sir, how are cultural practices relevant to literature? Wasn't it part of Social Knowledge?" asked Lucy, when the professor wrote down the assignment on the large black slate of the Royal Study.
After all she hadmastered that subject two years ago, along with History and Mathematics. She consideredthatan achievement in itself. It was well-known that the third year of studies was usually the most taxing.
"Your Majesty, to understand Literature, complete with its nuances, it is imperative to understand its cultural background. Take for example, the folk tales of Lone Islands, where pirates are frequently given moral roles.
Without context, it will seem absurd to attribute such qualities to pirates who lawfully are understood as something against civilized society. But in Lone Islands, they were responsible for providing contact with the other worlds and employment, security etc. Hence, they are given benevolent images." said Professor O'Brien.
"But sir, such cultural differences are known to me. Why do I need to do it all over again?"
"It must be understood in context of literature. That is why I am setting you this task, Your Majesty."
"But Sir.." protested Lucy.
"I am sure Your Majesty will do her best. If not, I will have to test your capability in a few more assignments this term, all in the context of literature." He said with a twinkle in his eye.
Lucy knew it was no use arguing. He might seem kind and "twinkly"(as Susan liked to put it) but usually stuck to his word in such matters.
The upshot of it was that she was spending a lovely afternoon shut up in the dark, silent library to complete her assignment.
However, she was absorbed by it, in sometime. It felt good to brush up her knowledge about what she already knew. Maybe it wouldn't take so long. Then she could go riding on the new white horse, pick apples with Susan, and roam the forests with Peter…
Her mind trailed. She was looking at the pictures of people celebrating the harvest festival in Ettinsmoor. They were wearing new clothes and giving banquets for the benefit of the poor. At this time, matchmaking took upmost ofthe time of many families….
In the present picture, younger siblings stood at the end of a balcony looking over on their elder sister who was busy with her fiancé. Quite a familiar sight that was-- she and Edmund surveying the latest lovestruck admirer of Susan with a slightly disapproving Peter in the background...
Background-- that suddenly brought her back to her work. Few minutes later, she was about to complete Narnian cultural practices. That was fast, thought Lucy excitedly. Now she had a lot of time to do other things...
She picked up the books hurriedly and proceeded to stuff them back in to their shelves. In the hurry , she dropped one of the books, tripped over it and landed heavily on an old dusty trunk. She picked herself up, putting the books back.
She then turned to look at the trunk, which had broken her fall. She noticed that there was not just one trunk but a whole row of them, lined up right behind the last bookcase in the library.
I wonder what's inside them.. why aren't they on the shelves?, thought Lucy.
She opened the first one. It had an old velvet lining, patchy with age.