These are the generations. . . .
~ The Bible
XIII.
Telmar
The Thirty-fourth Year of Chief Belisan
Lady Gree wanted to give her bed to Peter and Lucy, but Peter declined and climbed the ladder to the attic, where Peridan slept. Lucy would have followed him, but Gree insisted and Lucy insisted back and they shared the bed. Next morning they carried water from the well for the lady and ate bowls of buckwheat porridge while she told them about Telmar—the knife they had seen, the Cutlass, was the symbol of the Chief, as were the great antlers. "But the Cutlass more," said the lady. "Many chiefs have been killed with it by those who wanted their power, their cattle, their women." The log structure the chief lived in was called Kahuna Lodge. She did not know whence the Telmarines had come. "We—they—have lived here always, I suppose, but no one knows. Telmarines do not value their past. They do not care who your grandfather was, who your grandmother was. If there is game to eat and beer to drink, and for some if they hold the Cutlass, that is all they care. It is different in Narnia, no?"
"Yes," said Lucy. "In Narnia we tell stories to remind us who we are. But you wish to hear of Narnia?"
Lady Gree took their empty bowls and handed them a loaf of bread. "For your dragon. Now is not the time. Go, and Peridan will show you the livestock and the fields. The Chief may see you again today."
So they went and saw the women milking the cows.
"Remarkable cows," said Peter, and they were really far better than the few scrawny animals Narnia had. A woman with long black hair and a bright red skirt told them how they pastured the cows in the summer and fed them alfalfa hay in the winter. When they had finished, she gave them a bucket of milk for Chrysophylax.
They looked at the horses next, and the contrast was impressive. It was a small herd, and where Narnia had tall, glossy horses, these were small, rough-coated, and stocky. "There's never very far to go," said Peridan, "and ponies aren't much good for hunting in the mountains, but I've heard of some young men stealing better and faster horses from Archenland." Indeed, King Lune had complained to Susan of that very thing.
The Winged Horses said they had passed a fine night, but would not wish to stay more than a week away from Narnian grass. The Wolves and Clearscry had gone hunting again, and Chrysophylax settled down to sun himself in the pasture, promising to stay away from the sheep, which were "too fluffy, anyhow." The sheep were kept mainly for their wool, which was acceptable, but Lucy thought of the fine Felimathian wool and said nothing.
Long-legged jackrabbits bounded past where the grass was tall, and gophers and prairie dogs scurried away into holes in the the ground.
Peter looked at the fields with interest. "This is as good as Archen wheat, as far as I can tell. I haven't seen buckwheat before."
The short plant was alfalfa, Lucy learned. "I think they might have some in Archenland," she said. The cows certainly were thriving on it.
So they passed the morning, and Peridan stopped in at Kahuna Lodge on the way back to his mother's cabin. "The Chief will not see you today," he said when he came back. "Queen Florima has given birth to her fourth son. He sends his apologies, and wishes to speak with you tomorrow."
"I'm glad," said Lucy, taking Peter's arm. "I mean, I know we ought to work out a treaty, but it's rather nice to just wander around today, don't you think?"
"Yes, I think so," said Peridan.
They walked back through town, the men nodding to Peter, the women smiling at Lucy. "They're friendlier when Chrys isn't with us," she whispered to Peter, and he chuckled.
Lady Gree met them at the door and ushered them inside, where the cabin was filled with the savory smell of something roasting over the fire.
"You are speaking with the Chief today?" she asked.
"No, mother," said Peridan.
"Ah!" she said, and her face lit up with a weathered smile. "I have found us a suitable dinner. Let us talk story."
XIV.
Narnia
The Eleventh Year of King Drake
The visitor was Lady Celia, Melina's mother and Althea's dear friend. She was over a decade older than Althea, and had often counselled and comforted her, though there had been little time for meeting and conversation in the last year. They lunched together on wheaten bread from the southern slopes of Archenland with stewed Narnian pumpkin and venison. The conversation was brittlely light, relieved only by the laughter of the Princes, playing with Celia's youngest, a girl two months older than they.
At last, as Althea poured the tea, Celia said, "Madam. What troubles you?"
The Queen's hand shook so that she spilled the tea. "Winter cometh," said she quietly, setting the pot down, "and all Narnia in an uproar." She lowered her voice. "They have cut down the Tree. Naught standeth between Narnia and the Northern Evil." Even she knew little of what that Evil was, but it loomed in the northeast of her mind, darkening like a blizzard cloud. She took a trembling sip of tea. "Ye are . . . wise, to leave. A dark day cometh, with great trials." She paused.
"When yonder princes were born, a Centaur prophet did bless them, with a prophecy that through the elder should come the restoration of this land, when that day hath passed. Yet also did he foretell that I . . . that I shall not live to see it." Another choking swallow of tea, and Celia's hand upon hers. "Three days past, he sent me a second message, given him by Aslan for me and for the land. A 'pallid Queen' cometh with winter, and I 'no more am seen.' Celia. . . ."
The other woman squeezed her hand. "The Northern Evil—?"
"I believe 'tis so. Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve are in great danger, and shall be in greater danger yet. I placed the last apples of protection about Ravenswood, but Aslan alone knoweth how long they shall be preserved when I am—gone, or for what span of time he shall preserve the King and those related to the King."
"Does Aslan in truth—?"
"In truth, he doth preserve those who call upon him, yet thou knowest my lord the King calleth not upon the Great Lion."
Celia nodded, and Althea pressed on.
"I pray thee, Celia, help me."
"How?"
She drew a deep breath. "Take my son Glen with you to Archenland."
Celia sat back suddenly.
"I have sought counsel from the prophet. I have petitioned Aslan the night through. Let not the last true-born son of Narnia's King fall in this overwhelming flood."
"What of your other son?"
"As the prophet telleth me, the heir and Crown Prince may not leave the land until all is lost. Mayhap 'twill all be over quickly, and thy family can return with Prince Glen. Mayhap—I know not all the future holdeth, but I ask thee, take my son with thee and—and love him—love him as thine own."
And when Lady Celia vowed to do so, the two women embraced and kissed and wept long together. Then Lady Celia returned to her home, and when darkness fell, the Queen with many tears and blessings bid farewell to her younger son, entrusting him to Sootquill the Owl, who bore him to the lady. Within three days, the lady and her family, with the Prince, crossed the border from Narnia into Archenland, and no more is known of them to this day.
XV.
Telmar
They sat on the three-legged stools, and Gree brought out her "suitable dinner"—an oblong slab of oily, pinkish meat. "This," said she, "is roast beaver tail, nearly as delicious as the tongue of the buffalo."
Lucy shot Peter a look of horror. Beaver? They were going to eat beaver? Peter, his face blank, was telling Lady Gree how wonderful it smelled, and Lucy swallowed. She had learned long, long ago the difference between Talking Animals and dumb beasts, between friends and food. There had been a time when she had abstained from meat entirely, before they went hungry their first winter in Narnia, before they consumed the last of what grain sprouted that first spring and survived until harvest. When a friendly Wolf brought a haunch of venison to Paravel, she had taken a long look at it and found her mouth watering.
But she had never eaten beaver.
She took a long look at the beaver tail. Lady Gree had gone to a good deal of trouble to procure this delicacy for her honored guests. Lucy put a determined smile on her face and asked, "How do you prepare it, Lady Gree?"
Peridan carved the—the meat—while Lady Gree described how beavers were trapped in the western mountains for their thick, feltable fur. This beaver had been trapped and brought to her by her younger son, Casp. The tail had to be blistered an open flame until the skin came off, and then roasted carefully, and it all was a long (and Lucy thought, smelly) process.
"But this is not talk of Narnia," said the lady at last.
Peter smiled. "No, indeed, and we did promise. But tell us first, you said your family is not Telmarine. Who are you?"
"I am Gree," said the lady, placing food before each of them. "As the Telmarines would say if they remembered their generations, Gria Arla, Arlia Olvin, Olvinian Glen, Glenian Drake."
The names rang through the small room, and there was silence for a moment.
"What does that mean?" said Lucy.
"I am Gree, daughter of Arla, Arla daughter of Olvin, Olvin son of Glen, Glen son of Drake."