Chasing Truths
My Dear Lucy,
I wrote this story for you, but when I began it I had not realized that girls grow quicker than books.
As a result you are already too old for fairy tales, and by the time it is printed and bound, you will be older still.
But some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again.
-C.S. Lewis (The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe)
"I won't. Because my father isn't the man you think at all." Calla replied. The door creaked and shut behind her. Calla felt her palms dampen. She clasped them as she walked through the halls, anticipating what could he mean by that. She shrugged it off, thinking no one could be sure. Of course her father was innocent. He was certainly kindest man she had ever known.
Or was he?
Calla shrugged the undesirable deliberations away from her mind, keeping them at bay until time would tell if she would question those thoughts again.
"Morning, Lily." A feminine voice greeted her. Calla spun around to find Prudove gazing at her, carrying parchments on her hand.
"Lily?" Calla repeated at the unaccustomed label.
"I found a lovelier way to call you." Prudove said. Calla nodded her head, not really welcoming the pet name because it had sounded so absurd. "Just out of curiosity, you have not seen High King Peter around have you?"
Calla pointed her finger across the hall. "He's right in there, just moments ago." Prudove followed Calla's vision.
"Thank you." She hurried onwards towards the hall, the laces on the hem of her robes moved swiftly along with the beats of her feet. Prudove creaked the door open with her hand sliding just along the rim of the door. Her vision met Peter's figure, which was sitting with his back facing hers. Peter was scrutinizing the delineations of the Narnian battlegrounds, carefully planning the movements of the army, and what tactics they were to engage.
"Your Highness?" Prudove broke the momentary silence. Peter's body suddenly shook, startled by her voice.
"Oh! Princess, you alarmed me," He stood up, rubbing his hands on his golden tunic. "What is it?" Prudove took a few steps towards him, her hands outstretched with the parcel.
"I had been walking by the gates and a messenger, a scribe, I believe, divulged that I present this you." Peter took the parcel wrapped in secure linen.
He began to laugh. "You took orders from a scribe? That does not seem like a monarch from Archenland," He placed the parcel on the table.
"I did not mind. In fact, I was more than privileged to deliver for the High King. I did not have much to do," She explained, wrapping herself with the extra cloth dangling from her waist. Her eyes began to drift with the architectural structure of the room, seeing designs, plain and melancholy. "Is this the famous chamber I've been hearing about in my homeland?"
"The War Chamber?" Peter said. Her eyes rolled back to him.
"Yes. Stepfather admires this chamber. It had more than the war strategies but the history of battles as well." Peter nodded at her assumption.
As Prudove inspected the maps, she discovered there was much history as navigational. There was the progression of the famous battle of Beruna, as well as the White Witch's invasion hundreds of years ago. She could follow their movements across the country.
The patterns of the maps were fascinating to her. In the earlier clashes of Caloremen with Narnia, in which the latter had sought victory, Prudove wondered how Narnia had won when the enemy had been greater in numbers and forces. Why this army's success when the more powerful floundered? Why had Caloremen taken this path of invasion when the narrow sea routes could have been more tactical?
Prudove pulled herself away from the charts to examine the walls, the paintings hung to depict the different battles of Narnia. One wall was covered with the tools of war. Suspended in the air were the dark, ancient figures of swords of all lengths. There was the hint of blood marked on their blades. It was the contradiction of warfare. Strategies had been partnered with brutality.
She shivered and moved with Peter across the wall where the significant paintings had been hung.
One painting caught her eye significantly; here se could see a young king lifting his sword in pursuit of an enemy, an enemy cloaked in lion's fur. Beside the king was the figure of a large, fearsome lion, roaring in victory against the fallen rival.
"That is the Great Battle of Beruna," Peter said to her with his hands on his back. He gazed at the painting as she studied each mesmerizing detail. "And my favoured battle, in all my years."
"This was your first battle, was it not?" Prudove asked.
"Yes. A victory at that." He chuckled. "How's King Tarquin? Is he well?"
"Stepfather is not really in the brightest of moods. Mother is doing whatever it takes to keep his mind off the holocaust." Prudove replied, gazing at her feet.
"And your step brothers? Cor and Corin?"
"Corin, or Thunder-Fist as we now call him, is taking quite an interest in boxing. The hobby is earning him countless gashes from picking fights. Cor is arranging a marriage with Aravis." She grinned. Suddenly, the word 'marriage' dashed through Peter's head in a bizarre manner. He didn't know why he was troubled that Prudove could be forced to something no one deserves. He turned towards, concern written all over his face.
"Did you really agree to this?" Peter asked.
"To what?"
"To the union? The marriage?" Prudove shuddered at his words. Her heart and mind were constantly chasing conflicting impulses. Peter grew puzzled when she hesitated to answer.
Her jaw clenched. "Mother says I have to, if we were to help each other battle Caloremen. I understand what is at stake."
"Don't they consider how you feel about this?" He said in a tight voice, leaning towards her.
"My duties are bound to the fate of my people. My feelings are no matter, your Highness. I simply wish to be loyal to my affairs." She answered thickly. Something in her voice stopped his breath—strength, fearlessness. Her loyalty to her people was astonishing to him that she convinced herself to marry someone she did not love. A small, petty voice told him he was jealous. He felt that way because of the stirring quality in her words. She was here as a pledge of Archenland.
"You are willing to be loyal to your affairs than yourself?"
"The truth can destroy us." She said quietly, risking a glance at Peter. Her pulse stuttered when he met her gaze.
"If we deny who we are, we destroy ourselves." Peter said. One would think twice to counter the King's words such an adversary would do so. But why had he been acting this strange? His attitude had gone bizarre in the face of his contemplations, but did his words mask his true desires?
"Your Majesty, we exist as a legacy of our country, and just as quickly can we be condemned as heretics. We couldn't serve our people as we must without their aid. It's a sacrifice I'm priveleged to endure."
He nodded his head in response. "I understand." The word 'jealousy' kept flicking through his mind. He didn't know why his pulse jumped at the sudden thought of marriage between Edmund and Prudove. Then, he suddenly knew why.
He was jealous of his brother, Edmund.
It had been two days since she had told Peter she would one day prove her father innocent. She was running out of time. That night, she lay in her bed, and could think of nothing for proof. Edmund had been doing his best to avoid her, which caused her a sense of anger, and relief at the same time. His reputation and strict demeanor just intimidated her so much.
The previous night had been strenuous. Calla did not know why she could not sleep. She had been tossing the whole night, engulfed at the events of the day of the Stag Hunting. Her mind would not stop thinking about how she could prove herself to the High King. She eventually had slept though, but when she woke up, her sheets were in a crumple of mess, and the pillows were thrown about in the room, to show how restless the previous night had been.
The morning wasn't as torturous as she expected. She sat on her bed, and her feet tingled at the touch of Bane's fur.
"Calla? Are you all right? I want apologize that we had gone out of the woods first and not waited for you and his Highness. Sabine was worried the High King would be asking questions if none of us returned earlier." Call shook her head.
"I understand, Bane. I'm alright." Calla replied, scratching her head to reduce the sore feeling she had been experiencing the entire night.
"Listen, Calla. I need to tell you something," Bane started, as he jumped on the bed. Calla shifted towards him. "It's about a dream I had. I was meaning to tell you earlier, but I couldn't divine the meaning. You might think I am being ridiculous."
"Hush, Bane. I would never," She said.
"Alright, well. In my dream, Aslan said that he would grant me something that has never happened before. What could that be?" Bane asked, his ears eager to hear an answer. Calla frowned at him.
"Bane, it might just be a dream. It could play nasty tricks on your mind." She grimaced. "I don't want you to get your hopes up over the realisation that some lion in a dream told you he would grant you something surreal."
"Calla," He began, his voice more stern. "I cannot believe you talk about Aslan as if he is some dumb animal." Calla sat down beside him, sighing heavily.
"I'm just saying it just might be some delusion, toying with your mind and making you senseless. How can you even be sure that lion is Aslan?"
"I don't know. He just seemed so real." Bane cast his gaze down.
"This is reality, Bane. Don't let it addle your brain. I need to go." Calla told him. "We don't have time for fantasies, or stories of make-believe. We survive here. The world is dark, selfish and cruel."
Calla didn't realize how much it had hurt Bane. "She doesn't know what she was saying, Aslan. She'll learn if you'll help her." He sighed, staring up at the sky filtered in mullioned windows, its prisms catching sunlight, throwing infinite rainbows along the stone floor. He had hope. The world isn't how Calla sees it. Bane uttered his closing prayers to the great lion.
"Dear Aslan, let someone show her how beautiful your world really is." He whispered.
Calla shook her head when she found out the door had been locked. Clearly, they weren't too keen on trusting her out of this castle.
She thought of an idea, and stuck herself behind the door, and waited for Gruben and Hark's arrival. They were supposed to come around by seven. Then, she heard keys clanking on the knob of the door. Gruben and Hark opened the door, and found no one in front of them. They stepped inside, casting suspicious glances on the room. It did take them long to realize Calla was there behind the door, and had already slipped out while they stared motionless at her chamber. She sneered, clapping her hands in victory at the clueless guards.
"Hmph! 'The best at what they do." She rephrased Peter's words.
Calla hated telling Bane what transpires on her thoughts, but she didn't want Bane to get hurt by the pathetic hopes and fantasies. They were living in a world that had not been impartial to them. His spirit would only get crushed if his expectations were too high. She wasn't a pessimist. She considered herself a realist.
And reality had a whole lot of downside.
As Calla kept walking, she caught glimpse of a familiar slightly opened dim interior. It was the door she had been forbidden to enter. But what did it had that made it so restricted? She had heard even the maids and servants did not dare enter. Maybe that had been the reason it smelled ancient, even swirls of webs had grown in the pillars. Yet, one would wonder why torches were lit, extending towards a distant hall.
Her desire to search the room attracted her, like carnivorous plants using vivid blossoms to snare insects.
Suspicion pooled Calla's mind as her hand pulled the slightly opened flap. Remaining near the door, she searched the corners of the room before finally venturing her foot in. No one was there. Not even Floyd.
Her hands lingered to the torch that stayed lit beside her. She yanked the torch, releasing it from the handle. Drawing a long breath, and with no actual intention, just to satisfy her curiosity, she egged on forward. The hall's waft had resembled a crisp, damp, cold morning; only it had been slowly growing into night. Her limbs shivered at the eerie atmosphere.
The long corridor was bombarded with menacing statues that hung just on the rim of the walls to make use of the immense space. It was filled with stone creatures: rearing horses, screeching griffins, roaring chimeras and winged gargoyles that looked as if they were about to spring.
Somehow, she longed for something warm. Something she had felt just too recently. Memories flit through her mind, remembering Edmund beside her on the trench when her head had been pacified to sleep out of exhaustion.
"How do you think we'd get out of here?" She asked. Edmund shook his head, lying down beside her.
"I'll think of something. It's best if you let your wounds have a breather. I don't think help would be coming any time soon." He replied. Calla nodded, before bending her head down to rest on the rock. She winced when she realized how the rock made sharp rigid edges, despising the standards of her head which needed something warm, soft and gentle.
Her head switched back and forth, finding a suitable surface to lay her head. Calla smiled when she felt something soft against her cheek. Finding contentment and relief, her head dropped lower, finding itself on something hard but warm. She stirred, cuddling herself in satisfaction. Slow, steady heartbeats gently lulled her into a peaceful slumber. It was perfect. She didn't know why she had felt so at ease. It was something she longed for in a very long time.
It reminded her of her father's warm embrace. And she suddenly knew she wanted this moment to last as long as it could. She missed him greatly. The way Reth's nose would scrunch when he'd laugh. Those beautiful languid eyes that told her tales of magic every night. She had taken granted of him, now she would give anything to hear her father laugh, or at least hear his voice again.
For the first time, in a long, long time, her heart unclenched, and her muscles relaxed to the sound of quiet breathing.
It wasn't until she felt strong muscular arms wrap around her shoulders when she shivered in the coldness. Calla gasped when she found out she had been sleeping on Edmund's shirtless chest. He had been sleeping as well. His hand had clung onto her waist, while the other had dangled sluggishly to his side. When she stirred, she felt a piece of clothing draped on her, and Calla realized it had been Edmund's tunic. Gently, she moved her way out of his clasp.
And she soon regretted it. The very minute his touch left her, was the moment she felt like there was something taken from her. Her father's departure, Bane nearly dying, and her panic inside the trench made her stiffen. The lingering memories that taunted her mind, the way it would make her go senseless, made her feel what was it like to be separated from something so dearly loved.
But why him? Of all the people, why did the touch of the Just King made the hair on her skin rise? She grew angry with herself for a minute, for even considering something so scandalous, especially to a king.
Edmund opened his eyes. Calla's hand extended towards him, handing him his tunic. "I thought you were cold."
"I'm fine." Calla denied.
She shook images of her and the Just King, recalling that he first wanted her imprisoned. He was a king, and she was nothing more to him. Her memory waking in his arms had seemed startlingly vivid.
But he seemed so different now. And why did she seem so interested whenever his name popped into her head?
Just then, she realized she had drifted so far in her thoughts. The light of the fire had extended towards the dead end of the hall. Her hands ran through the hard, soil aged wall. Why would they forbid anyone to enter a room, of which only nothing possesses? In it, she found a signature carved.
Fabian Ramses. Year 990.
"Twenty years ago?" Calla whispered. The darkness closed around her while the light of torch bobbed and winked in her trembling grasp. She could see only the pale white cloud of light revealed by the fire—the column's tight coil, the rough stonewall. Calla placed the torch on an empty handle, and began examining the wall. Maybe there could be a passage of some sort
She bent down, rubbing the rotting leeks of some corroded form of a pillar. Her hands suddenly felt the cool air emerging from the gap underneath the wall. There must be another room.
Calla went to retrieve the torch. Her hands pulled onto the handle, but it seemed stuck. She gripped on the handle, and began pulling down. Suddenly, the lever dropped to an angle, and a small side of the wall, where the air was coming from, had flung open.
She breathed hard, while a smile played on the curves of her lips, satisfied at her discovery. She left the torch, since the opening had been so small, so she decided to depend upon her instincts. Slowly, she crawled inside the tunnel towards the dim interior, smelling the scents of ancient markings, sultry barriers and preserved relics that mingled with her breath.
Who was Fabian Ramses? Why would he build a tunnel down here? What was he to Narnia?
It wasn't long before she could see light illuminated from a barrier. A carving of a flower, crossed by two swords, outlined the light that met her eyes. She felt her hands examine the barrier. She realized the tunnel had led to another chamber. Calla peeked through the carving hole of the flower.
She tried prying the barrier off with her hands, seeing it was made of a different material than those around it. Her hand slipped towards the hole, trying to wrench it out. Calla sighed in relief when the metal barrier had unsealed. She began crawling out of the cramped tunnel. Her eyes bulged when she had seen the chamber. Though devoid of furniture, she could see the room was ringed with art that ranged from exquisite porcelain vases, lining with suits of armor grasping fierce halberds and wicked staves in their gauntlets. There was a long table stretched in the middle of the room draped with elongated linen that pooled the floor with stunning lace trims.
Then, Calla heard voices approaching the room. Her head looked back to see shadows rippling towards the entrance door tinted with glass. The louder the footsteps had gotten, the more frightened she became. Callas slipped under the huge table, letting the long pieces of linen hide her completely.
When they had entered, Calla could see their shadows rippling against the piece of fabric of the table. She could only see their waists down to their feet. One of the figures was carrying a pouch, it's contents looked heavy, and their shapes throbbed out of the fabric, making it appear to be money.
"How much did you receive? Is it enough?" One of the figures asked, his voice croaky and deep.
"Aye, it is better than the coins that he gave last moon. He had me twenty of pieces of silver." The other man exclaimed, shaking the contents of the pouch.
"Were you careful? Are you certain nobody has seen you?" The first man asked, fixing a hard stare on the other man.
"Certain, my friend." He replied. Calla squinted her eyes, trying to make out what the second man was holding. It looked somewhat golden, glistening in the light.
"You are well aware of the punishment for theft?" The first man asked.
"You worry too much! I have it all under control," he complained, shaking his head as he held the pouch, mesmerized.
"Do you?" He clutched the shoulders of the other man, snapping him back to reality. "I need a full guarantee we would not be caught. My lord will have my head if our covers are compromised."
"I have not even met the Chief, you brute! Who is he, truly?" He glared at him.
"I cannot tell. His identity is sworn to secrecy," The man released the other with a hard shove against the wall.
"As this crime is." The man regained his balance, facing him with a cold stare. "A grave offense it is for stealing the property of one of the monarchs." The man continued, rubbing his chin.
"The Valiant Queen's collection of evidences is very informative. It seems she knows too much. But not to worry, she shall not fret over our stealing one measly binder. She will never know."
Valiant Queen? Lucy? Collection? There were tons of questions flooding her mind. Could it have been possible that they were the ones who took her 'missing' binder? What did Lucy research that had seemed so valuable that these men have stolen it?
"What is it with the Queen's binder our master is so determined at possessing?" The second man asked.
"She is close to figuring out all that she is not supposed to know. Our Master cannot afford her knowledge of his plans. We had to steal it to keep her from knowing the truth," He answered.
"And if she finds out?" The man let out a sly grin.
"If anyone finds out, we have no choice, but to dispatch of them." A rasping cackle escaped the man's throat. Calla cupped her mouth, horrified at her discovery. Her sudden panic caused her head to collide with the wall at her attempt to flee for her life. It had caused a noticeable thud. The first man craned his neck at Calla's direction, eyes darting warily around the room.
"Did you hear that?" The first man murmured. He drew out his dagger, ready to slay anyone else he might see.
"I heard it alright. I think it came from 'ere." The other man inched closer towards the end of the table where Calla lay motionless, any sudden movements, and she is as good as dead. She cursed Bane who told her to trust her instincts. Yes, and that might be the reason she will not live to tell him that he was being ridiculous. Another thud reverberated from across the hall, louder than the noise she had made.
"There is someone." The words were barely off his lips when rapid pounding sounded nearby.
"Over there! He must have run out!" The first man ran to the other door, along with the second until finally, they had exited the room. Calla waited until she knew she was completely alone, before poking her head out of the table. She went back to the wall, and opened the barricade, slipped inside, and went back. The minute she stepped out of the tunnel and took her torch, the wall closed. She passed through the eerie hall of stone statues and opened the door, careful to see if anyone had been there.
There was only one thing she had in mind. She needed to tell Lucy; that there were thieves in her own castle, but who? Why would Lucy even believe her? No, she had to. This might be the way for her to finally earn their trust.
She went outside to find Queen Lucy, desperate for her to find out the truth.
Calla had already searched the entire rockeries, since this was where Lucy had loved to hang about in the last few days she had been here. She passed by the stables, when the sound of blades hissing caught her attention. Calla opened the stall doors, and followed the sound that had her intrigued. Who would be fighting at a stable? Her eyes grew wide when she witnessed the person handling the blade.
Lucy brought her sword down without warning and her blade whistled through the air, successfully halving her rival. Even though her enemy was merely a kirtle, the way she had conducted her blade was remarkable. The kirtle stuffed with hay, now lay in pieces, with bits of golden debris floating around in mid-air. With another blow, she swung her blade down in a broad arc, while the horses that stood watching in their stalls whinnied for her victory against the defenseless poppet.
Her sword caught fire when she held its surface against the sunlight, while Lucy admired the beauty it showed. Lucy yelped with joy upon seeing her fallen enemy. Then Calla's voice turned her yelp of joy into a shriek of horror.
"Lucy?" Calla found her voice, stunned by what she had seen. The minute Lucy had seen her crouching behind the stables; she sheathed her sword and pursed her lips in anxiety.
"Calla, its not what you think," Lucy started.
"Are you jesting, Lucy? That was brilliant!" Calla stared at her disbelief. "Why did you not tell me you were into sword fighting?" Lucy looked at her in disappointment.
"That's the point. I cannot tell anyone. Peter had forbidden me to learn about this," She skimmed at the remnants of the poppet.
"Why?" Her brows knit together.
"He fears for my safety. Peter insists war is not apt for me, since it had been a perilous task. But I don't care, I love the art." Lucy did not mind the calluses she gotten from the constant gripping she held on the sword's hilt. In fact, she would rather that than stay in the castle as a subordinate Queen.
"But you're gifted, Lucy." Calla insisted. She saw Lucy's grip tighten on the hilt of the word.
"You cannot tell Peter, Calla. He'll take my sword away." She stared at her blade that she had kept veiled in a small niche she had dug in the stables. The sword was unlike anything Calla had ever seen. It was rimmed with golden edges and its hilt was made of golden spiral handles, distinct to the dull swords of the other generals, more particularly knights.
She never looked happier, when she clasped the blade near her jaw.
"If I were Peter, I'd be jealous." Calla grinned, as Lucy tucked her sword away to the compartment she had dug for it in the hollow. She kicked the stall door and forced a smile.
"Why is it that you came here?" Lucy asked. The minute she asked, Calla hesitated to answer. Two voices kept whispering to her. One urged her to tell Lucy that something was horribly wrong, and that she knew someone had stolen something vital. They did say Lucy had been working on it for years. But the second voice compelled her to keep it a secret, at least until she knows who those people were.
If anyone finds out, we have no choice, but to dispatch of them.
Calla shook her head. "Nothing."
"Well, come on then. Let us go help Prudove." Lucy said, taking Calla's hand as they strode out of the tables.
"Prudove? Is there something wrong?" She asked Lucy, who was tittering in delight.
"No, she has to prepare." She answered.
"Prepare for what?" Calla asked with a grimace. Lucy swung around, her cheeks completely flushed.
"The whole castle is raving on about it! Haven't you heard? King Edmund is going to court the Archenland Princess today!"
3/29/13
IMPORTANT: I just want to clear something up, thanks to SweetSunnyRose.
There has been a horrible mishap, and I'm turning things back to their course.
I thought the Tisroc was the King of Archenland. Apparently it was the king of Caloremen. Curse my amateur labeling skills.
I have replaced "Tisroc" to "King Tarquin" and "Lady Tisroc" to Queen Calissa.
The Tisroc is the enemy, and the King of Archenland who is named King Tarquin is Narnia's last hope to win the war against Caloremen.
If you are wondering where King Lune is, he IS already in the story, but with a different name. His true identity will be revealed at the end of the story.
King Tarquin has two sons, Cor and Corin (who are still the same characters they are in the book) and when his first wife, Queen Calissa was murdered, he had a new wife some years later, Queen Ileana, who already had a daughter. So basically, Prudove is King Tarquin's stepdaughter.
Anna the Viking: Thanks! You'll find out if you'll (hopefully) stick around till the end!
Guardian of Imagination: Hello! I'm glad you loved it!
LettersUnwritten: Patience, young duckling.
DJ: Welcome to the story! I hope you liked this!
Reviews will be adored