† Lucanus the Centaur †

My 23rd year was the most perilous I had ever endured. It was hard enough that a blizzard had settled over Narnia and kept roaring even through September, but a traitorous wolf named Geraug—a native of Beruna who sat next to me in primary school—was put in charge of the Secret Police. He ruled over Narnia as if he were the Witch herself; he arrested people on false charges, raided people's homes, even stole children on their way to school for the mere adventure of it. My foal wasn't going to be next, by the Lion, but my wife was still ill with the nameless fever, and I couldn't leave her alone with my boy.

The constable of Beruna was a bulldog named Fergus, a crusty old soldier who wanted things to be just so (and gave vent to his anger whenever his officers failed). He was the sort of chap everyone needed but no one wanted to admit, and unfortunately he wanted to hire people for a nightwatch but knew there weren't enough men who'd take up the charge. So he offered a tidy sum to anyone who was willing to put in the time. And when Tiana told me, "I'd feel better knowing you were out there," that was enough for me.

The first night, Geraug paid our village a visit. He crept up on a cheetah who had sat down for a late-night meal, and he stole the fish out of his mouth and made a dash for the trees. Ten miles in, the little traitor went into a snowbank, and the rest of his pack came around an hour later. They all brought food in from their hunts, and they were eating far longer than they had to. When they went back to the Witch's House, I went into the thicket and looked for the food. It wasn't in one place, it was everywhere: in the hollow of a tree, in a snowbank, in a pile of rocks, in another snowbank. Two weeks of fish and fowl and fruit, stolen out of the mouths and dens of their fellow Narnians.

Mind you, I wasn't against those traitors getting a meal—after all, even the scum of the world have a stomach—but there should have been sane laws against thievery and gluttony, and there would have been if we'd had a Queen worth the name. And there was no semblance of law or order in those towns where the Witch had the most control—like Beruna—which meant it was up to me to put things right.

Now of course I didn't know who owned what, but I reckoned I had to ask. Even when times were at their hardest, most people were honest enough; times were lean, and anything we ate was for survival not celebration. If I went back to Beruna and asked who owned what, they wouldn't lie about it. (And if they did? Well, at least the food wouldn't go into the bellies of the Secret Police.)

Unfortunately, I had forgotten a rule about the forest: Even the trees have ears. Some of the spirits and dryads had fallen in with the Witch, spying for her as the rest of the world went on unawares.

She didn't send the police out to arrest me; she did it herself. She rode in on her sledge, stormed into the trees, and screeched at me to get up. The whole village was in an uproar over it. Tiana started screaming, Antonius started squalling, and the rest of Beruna was shouting at her to let me go. When it was at its loudest, she whirled round and laid the tip of her wand against my neck and roared at the crowd: "If I hear one more word, every one of you will be turned to stone—and he will be the first!" Everyone fell quiet in short order, and she got back into her sledge, leading me down the road by the end of her wand.

When we got to her house, she led me into the courtyard. All around were dozens of statues, faces frozen at the moment of death. She charged me with theft and interference in a police operation, and threatened to turn me to stone if I didn't plead guilty and swear fealty to her. There was a moment—a mere moment—where I started to say, "Guilty." It was all I could do for my wife and son. Tiana was ill, and my son was just a foal; how could I abandon them in this? But that meant turning my back on all Narnia, and cursing my family with my cowardice. Even though I knew what I was in for, I pled the only thing I could plead:

"Narnia and Aslan forever."

For a moment, I started to wish I had plead guilty. If I thought I had seen her angry, this was a whole new shade of it. Just hearing the words "Narnia" and "Aslan" reminded her who was really in charge, that most of us weren't gullible enough to think she was really a Queen. And by the Lion, I'd never seen so much blood flow into such a colorless face before. And I knew when she took out her wand again, she was going to use it.

As soon as the magic hit me, everything went cold and blurry. I felt my tail going solid and my hooves turning to stone. I begged Aslan to give my family Lion strength and a semblance of peace over my doom, and once I prayed that, all was turned to naught.

When I opened my eyes again, I wasn't in Aslan's country. I was in the courtyard of the Witch's House, but the sun was out. The air had a different smell, a smell that's lingered in the faces of all us centaurs across the ages. It was the smell of grass and flowers and trees, their aromas set free by the light of a joyful sun. And wonder of wonders I beheld—it was the Lion! He was going around turning everyone back into flesh and bone. And then he was up on his hind paws and looking a Giant in the face and saying, "Just let us out of here, will you?"

When we were let out, we went out rejoicing. Everything that rushed past was alive and green, and best of all, the Lion was marching with our army. But none of us had time to take it all in. We had a battle to fight, and Narnia was going to win. After we did, Aslan set about healing everyone who had been turned to stone on the battlefield, and the younger Queen was going about healing everyone who had been wounded. When all that was done, everyone had sat down to a high tea, celebrating the victory that had just been and the coronation that was to be.

But some of us couldn't enjoy it. We kept being bothered by an unanswered question: How long had we been dead? Of course, it was different for us all, because we hadn't had been turned to stone at once. Above all, I wanted to see Tiana and Antonius, and the beavers and the tigers and all my other neighbors in Beruna.

One of the eagles in the army was a chap I had never seen before, and he was the first sign that something wasn't right. He was well into his twenties, so his memory was lengthy, but not enough to recognize any of the names I knew. Tiana, Antonius, Nigel Darkwood, Raja Whitepaw—they meant nothing to him. "My friend," he said softly, "all those names are before our time."

"And what is our time?" said I.

"Today is the twentieth of March, in the year 1000."

The words inched toward my ears and everything around me went deaf. My mind was filled with a million million images, of neighbors and friends I knew, of descendants and progeny I never met. And when it all cleared, I heard a thought forming into words, a half-whispered thing falling from my lips:

I was dead for 47 years...

Forty-seven years. Two generations. Two score and seven years of living, dying, freezing, and thawing had passed by me in a blink.

At once, I wondered how everything had changed. What happened to Tiana and Antonius? What about the tigers and the beavers and all my other neighbors? Did that blighter Geraug pay for his crimes? No one could tell me. All the records out of Beruna had been destroyed years ago. Far as anyone knew, I could have been making up a story, and there was no reason for anyone to think otherwise.

When my ears cleared again, a cup and saucer shattered on a rock. As soon as I turned around, all my breath was taken away. Standing before me was a centaur who looked just like me, as if I were staring into a looking-glass. He was handsome and well-built and proud and strong; I reckoned he was just like his father. But in that moment, he was wide-faced with astonishment, and a mighty longing deep within him had risen up within. "Dare I believe it?" he said, "Are you...Antonius?"

And that was when I knew. That was when he knew. The past had met the future, and common blood was reunited. "No, son," said I. "I am Lucanus, your grandfather."

And a look came upon the young man's face. It was a look of awe, and admiration, and a longing he never knew he had being fulfilled in a splendid way.

"Valiant sir," said the centaur, "I am Oreius...your grandson."

To be continued...