Disclaimer: I don't own any C.S. Lewis stuff.. but I do own my story..

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It was pitch dark. The sun had set long since Zinnia left her house. But the sky was still red. She walked feverishly calling out for her little brother. She felt as if his sleeping face, which she saw every morning, was of another lifetime.

Why isn't he replying?.. Why did you run away? ..

"Listen to me Halo .. Halo.. please.. Where ARE you..??" Zinnia had called out till her voice had become hoarse. She had walked to whatever place she knew. He was not near the dried river bank. He was not on the rocky cliff. He wasn't behind the palace grounds either.

She remembered how the few inhabitants of the river bank looked at her with a known sadness – such disappearances were not uncommon. She could hear the weak voice of Hrehaan, who was old, bent but of womanly structure, who told her not to look for him.

"He has gone to the Gods. He will be dead but will be born in a better world." Hrehaan said grasping her arm tightly.

"Go away. I had just asked if you had seen him. I don't need your advice". Zinnia struggled free of her grasp.

"He will go to the new worlds. Do not stop him. Why are you such a selfish sister?" The old crone screamed some more oddities till Zinnia had walked away.

What does she keep talking about? What worlds? … How dare she say such things about my only... family??Curse you!!

She had inadvertently walked to the river bank again. "Halo!! Halo!!" . She looked across the barrier. Under the dark, red sky, the sand looked light pink. She remembered his face when he was born. His cheeks were flushed pink, with a rosebud mouth.......

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"So he is a little brother. So, that's what he is. But he still looks like a blob." She was eight, sitting in the center of the bed with a warm, shapeless bundle on her lap.

"Yes, I guess that's what he is. He is your little brother." Her mother said to her from the edge of the bed.

"When will he talk?" asked Zinnia.

"Soon".

"When will he walk?

"Soon"

"When will he love me?"

Her mother smiled. " He already does."

Her chin rested on the ruined brick barrier. Her vision blurred. Tears stung her eyes and rolled down a cheek. She still clutched the dinner which she had wrapped and climbed over the barrier. "Come back." She sobbed, each breath hurting her chest."Come back.... "

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Lucy slowly unclenched her hand around the doorknob and took unsteady steps to her table. She stretched out her arm and touched the pages of the book.

The pages were smooth, white and when she lifted a page, she saw that the pages was extremely thin. Through the translucence, she could see her candle burn with a steady yellow glow. The flame had an unearthly strength -- it didn't even seem to flicker.

She sat down and traced the pattern of verses on the page. A sigh of wind blew through her window-- it was the damp, soft breeze reminiscent of a storm. The pages fluttered and she quickly pressed her palm to the pages, so as not to lose the page the scorching air had laid open. They still moved, as if it were breathing.

What did I touch?.. Each page seems to move as if they were alive.. Is it magic?The letters were joined with each other, but some had symbols drawn above it. What are you trying to tell me? ..I can neither read, write nor understand you...

As she thought this, the temperature around her dropped-- it became fragrant of the earth and resembled that of spent gale. This was strange as the storm was yet to start.

Lucy put the book aside and picked up another one. As she ruffled through the pages of this one, she felt the same throbbing of life under her fingers. Unlike earlier, the books didn't burn her. It seemed to channel an alien life which hummed softly under her gentle fingers. Its small motions moved with trepidation. Yes, they were glad to be alive.

Time passed as she leafed through every book. Each one was the same-- thin pages, dark ink, and verses. Its continuity, thread of language remained in its verses. What could be so mystical, so unknown?, thought Lucy. In all of literature and legends, she didn't come across something so powerful yet vulnerable enough to be stored in simple leaves. And what is its purpose here?..

The wind sighed more than ever. It howled around her tower with a melancholy she couldn't understand. The grief was deep, but had an understanding of its resolution. Its not grief.. its sorrow,thought Lucy. Yet, its restraint made sure the sadness didn't pierce.

Leaving all the books open, she moved to her window seat. She had sensed a strange thread between the air and the books. Its as if.. the air gave me the moods of those leaves..

"Tell me.. I want to know you.. Call me..I am waiting.. " murmured Lucy as she looked at the light rain which had now started. She could picture many drops falling on leaves, which then moved with a shiver. The water trickled from trees to bushes, to undergrowth , to the grass and then finally to the ground. Again, the scent of wet earth flooded her senses. She closed her eyes and breathed. Apart from earth, wildflowers had given their trace to the soft wind.

Call to me, Call to me..

The wind had a language of its own. The melancholy was now fragmented with silences of the falling rain and of isolated keens. Lucy opened her eyes fixed her gaze on a distant tree, which yielded to the gentle ministrations of the cool, invisible winds. It seemed to play with it. When it blew this way, the tree hastened to do so, but as it started to move, the wind moved in another direction, which threw the branches into confusion. The meandering of the two was akin to the admirer dying to please his dream of love.

Waiting for the Angel of love..

Wait.. What?...Did I think that? She looked up at the sky surprised and remembered her thoughts. Yes I called..only to be called.. "What games do you play with me, churning sky? Why do you echo my thoughts?" she said aloud.

The sky responded by increasing the pace of its shower. With a muffled crack, the clouds rained swift, icy drops. The hiss of the rain drowned the howling of the wind. You're so still now.. What is it that you can't confide in me??.. as she thought this, she turned her back on the window and looked at her open books.

Lightning flashed. The lone candle was was lost in its sudden brightness. Lucy has felt the stillness of the wind and the iciness of the showers. If the natural elements were related to these books, then.. "You speak of long forgotten happiness... Will that cause you such sorrow??".

She hugged one of the books to her chest, and tried to think of forgotten joys. So many instances flooded her. It was as if a part of her heart had locked them safely into corner which could only be opened by remembrance.... ...

She had opened the wardrobe and stepped into icy snow. The contrasting, unfamiliar dark and light fascinated her. Pure , bright snow.. Dark, smooth barks..a lamppost, cast a faint glow on the air around itself...

The winds started to blow ever so softly. The books started to leave a faint scent around her. It was so fresh, yet it smelled like nothing she knew.. Lucy took it in....

She had made friends with Faun Tumnus. When he started to cry she gave him her handkerchief... "you need it more than me.."

The more she breathed, the notes of the fragrance became clearer. A leafy , tangy presence was followed by something musky, woody. She started to feel dizzy. The scent was intoxicating...

Edmund had been rescued from the white witch and was standing, looking pleadingly at his siblings. His lip was cut and he looked pale. She ran to him and hugged him. She had only one thought..."You've come back at last.." His smile lit up his face...

Her hair flew around her as she tried to shake her head free of the scent. Her room appeared in shades of purple as the lightning flashed again. The candle was put out long ago.....

A girl with two long, black braids shook a bright rattle at a baby. She uttered a squeal of delight as the baby clutched at it. It put the rattle into its mouth and gurgled contentedly...

The picture was so real, but she knew it didn't come from her. The light of that frame was too bright, the lines too clear..." Who was that ?.." .. Lucy gasped as she found breathing becoming more difficult. She could feel the perfume enveloping her.. ..

"Help.. " Her voice came in a heavy whisper.. "What are you doing to me?? ..." Another image flashed at her wide, dilated eyes. This was no memory....

The girl was waiting with outstretched hands for the baby who came to her with faltering steps. With a cry she received him as he completed his short path and fell into her arms...

Lucy fell with a thump on her pillows. She was sweating....

"I wanth tho pffl.. pffl.. pfllaay somefing..." Young Lucy pouted and swung her too short legs which were dangling of the high chair. A chubby Edmund gave his hand and she climbed down. "Alright.. We will play hide 'n' seek."

"Whaths thhat?" asked an astonished Lucy. "I will show you.." said Edmund and his brown eyes glittered with excitement....

She was still breathing with effort. She didn't even know that she had this memory. As she drifted in and out of consciousness, she thought about the dark haired girl. Who was she? Just as the thought entered, another picture flashed under her eyes...

Dark hair flew around as she lifted the baby in the air and twirled on the spot. "Be careful.."came a voice. "Mama look!! Halo's halo!!" shouted the girl as she lifted him to the sunlight. His peach fuzz caught the sun and seemed to glow. The girl cradled him as he gave out a stream of nonsense. He gurgled again... ....

She blinked helplessly as her mind glimpsed another corner of itself....

It was one of the days when she woke woke before dawn and expected her brother to do the same. Peter sat with Lucy on his lap on the window seat. "Hey, Lucy. The sun is rising.." she pressed her face to the window as the first rays of the sun filtered through. Peter gazed at it, not realizing that Lucy had turned and now watched him and not the sun.

"Your hair is shining!!" she cried as she touched his hair. "Goldilocks!!" she said as Peter smiled down at her.

Her breath steadied. Dimly, she understood her link with the texts. She put an arm across her forehead. It was burning hot. She tried to sleep but couldn't. She felt drained and allowed whatever was happening to unfold in herself....

Suddenly, she was consumed by those many clear, sharp images. She no longer tried to keep aware of herself. It seemed that her helpless consciousness escaped from blackness to a searing white......

…

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Edmund was drenched but still didn't feel like leaving the creek. He had sent back Philip quite a while back. He knew that however faithful was his horse, he didn't extend the same towards getting wet, especially in the rain. With a sigh, he contemplated on the creek.

The ribbon of crystalline water had given way to the arrows of rain. They came in sharp, disturbed showers and broke the calm of the stream. It now resembled a sword, whose edges rippled with constant, jagged movements.

The rain made small spheres which at first dipped , then resumed to calm which again broke to mild turbulence as the drops of water hit it again. And again. And again...

It seems each drop tries to touch the heart of creek, but just can't.. thought Edmund, pensive in the chill which had now descended.

He relished the chill as the wind blew in short, swift gusts. It seemed so gentle but menacing at the same time. With every gust it gave a glimpse of its hidden passion and intensity. It warned Edmund of its moodiness, and speed at which it could change itself into something he couldn't begin to know. He smiled and thought..... I couldn't begin to know you...

The leaves, which trickled the surplus watery pearls on his head, gave another message to him.

He was assured of peace and companionship. After all, the trees were used to the whims of the windy rain, as she gave them the very thing they craved. Love. Life.

He got up unsteadily as the grass was slick with water. His boots were wet and water dripped even from its laces.

With a rueful smile he remembered Susan's indignation as he muddied the many corridors of Cair Paravel till he reached his tower. Well, she wouldn't be here tonight. Somehow that that thought didn't give him relief.

His conscience told him to return. It was late and Lucy was alone in the castle. Also he had a council meeting tomorrow and couldn't retire as sick. Still, the vivid blue and flashing purple of the woods around him tugged at his heart. This is so difficult.....but I will be back, he promised to the creek.

Edmund felt the soft, cold splashes of the raindrops on his face as he trudged through the woods. The trees whispered goodbye from every branch , while the grass danced in a pattern characteristic of the rushing air.

Now they were free to enter into a private dialogue with their companion, the wind.

He could make out the faint, gray outlines of Cair Paravel as he came closer to the castle. No light shone from Lucy's window. His brow creased .

It was unusual for her to sleep so early. It wasn't as if she was a late sleeper but she always said goodnight to everyone before she retired. Well, maybe she was tired. But even then.. well he would talk to her in the morning. Maybe it was a particularly harrowing piece of homework.

He had reached the top of a low hill that signaled that home was near. He stopped and looked back. From here he could see both the castle and his favorite place, the creek.. Lightning flashed. The waters of the stream shone with a pearly pink color, while the woods around had shed their dark green momentarily for robes purple.

He walked on. He could see the pale moon playing hide 'n' seek with the clouds. Hide 'n' seek. He laughed suddenly when he remembered how he taught Lucy the game. They had played that for the first time when a rather annoying friend of mother's had called. With one of them hiding while the other met her, both mystified the woman greatly.

The rain sang in quiet hisses and cool breaths as it fell down with greater force. Despite that, it felt like naughty tricks which thrilled the skin immensely. However, its transparent coolness wasn't enough for Edmund's insatiable need to thrill himself, to feel alive...

He couldn't imagine what attracted him towards storms or rain. All he could admit was to a pull which defied sense or feeling. His normally logical mind was shut itself away whenever he heard the first strains of the dark, mysterious invisible music. His thoughts, feelings, moods --- all converged and sang with the gale. Even then, storms weren't something which filled him with happiness or peace. It gave him the sense of dangerous control and freedom.

He marveled at how the uncaring wind almost never touched the tiniest of grass and saplings. Its passion was only towards its elders-- the trees, forests and mountains. Storms made him glad to be alive. It pushed him to experience and remember. His thoughts bowed to something so beautiful and terrible. He wondered if anyone could give him this inexplicable, complicated sensation....

The guard curtsied respectfully as he reached the castle door. "Goodnight , Your Majesty."he said as Edmund walked into the hall. He nodded in return.

A flash of lightning momentarily lit up the suits of armor which lined the wall. He could see the door of the library firmly bolted. Its been long not reading in there, he thought. After all, he had started to send for books in his office or tower since he had assumed full responsibility of a Just King. He knew it was quite late, but didn't feel sleepy or tired.

With a sense of purpose, he unlocked the library and walked into utter darkness. The wind had blown out the torches.

He fumbled for a candle and matchsticks. Finally, he managed to light one.

The reddish brown binding of the books gleamed in the candle-light. His eyes fell on his favorite section-- cultural literature and customs of the many lands.. An unusual choice, since his siblings weren't particularly fond of it or for that matter even his tutors. Except for professor O'Brien who could go on about a tiny village for ages. He pictured the classroom in his head.....

"Some towns and cities are rumored to form only through the strength of many souls. These souls were believed to be mystical forces of nature. They were channeled mainly in written or spoken form. Also these cities or places are ancient enough to be turned into legend."

"How is that possible? I mean, such forces are angered by the mere thought of being bound to service. How did they serve the bidding of others?" asked Edmund.

"It may not apply if such forces are convinced by the extent of need. If they feel it is justified by some of their own standards, they may heed the call." replied Professor O' Brien as he traced a map on the board. For example, it is generally true that they would heed Aslan. Why do you ask?"

"Because.... Aslan himself unleashes these forces. How could then anyone channel them ?" persisted Edmund.

"Some people through intense faith and knowledge did manage channel them. And 'channel' means pleading with the forces to hear their call. Such calls are even said to be felt by Aslan himself. You seem to feel channel meant imprisonment." His tutor's eyes twinkled as he peered at him through his glasses.

"I... umm.. yes.." stammered Edmund.

"Well it seems you are very interested. Your assignment is to look for such written or spoken material." said the Professor as he gathered his things.

"But Sir, aren't these texts hard to find? I mean you said they were ancient...." protested his student.

"I asked you to look for them. If you don't find them, it is alright. I daresay the library will prove useful. And so would the dryads."

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