AN: I know it's been ages since the last update. It's my last semester of college (three lit classes, a thesis paper, a thesis project [a collection of short stories], a boyfriend, a job, plus a couple publication projects) so things are understandably a little hectic. Right now I OUGHT to be writing a paper, my first draft of my thesis, and the last story for my thesis collection . . . but it's my spring break and I am doing my best to update when I can, so I decided to write this instead!
Initially this and the next chapter were going to be one chapter, but I really wanted to create a sense of time, and I didn't feel I could do it all justice to cram it into one. That said, I'll really try to get the next chapter up ASAP so you can get the fully journey. :)
Chapter Thirteen
It was so quiet in the forest. Dry grass poked through a thick coat of dry leaves that crumbled into red and gold shards at the slightest touch. Sunlight filtered through empty branches and splayed across the ground in patterns neither moving nor warm. The bark of the tree against her back was rough and cold to the touch, the tree's roots sticking out of the ground and digging painfully into her back as she lay gazing up at what little of the sharp blue sky she could see. The air carried neither warmth nor sound within reach.
The world felt suspended in time.
Charlotte sat slowly, her face flushed and head spinning. She hadn't fallen and she didn't remember waking up, yet here she lay, undeniably far from the Pevensie's living room. She glanced around for a few minutes, letting her head settle and trying to decipher where she was and what she should be doing.
But of course there was little question as to where she was, because Charlotte knew instantly, knew as though Peter had taken her hand and led her here himself.
She thought about where she had been and what she had been doing. Peter had come in . . . she had dropped the ornament . . .
"Peter?" she called, carefully pushing herself to her feet. How welcome would be his presence in this world of which her knowledge was limited to stories whispered by the firelight and a solitary painting in a gallery. But there was no response to her call. Even birds erupting from a tree at the sudden noise would have given her some small comfort, but there was no one.
"Well I suppose I ought to find Aslan," she mused, hugging her robe tighter around her body. She was in Narnia, and that was that. It was all she could possibly think to do: to search for Aslan and hopefully he could give her some answers, such as what she was doing here and how she could get back.
Or if she should even go back.
But how in the world was she supposed to find Aslan? He might be at Cair Paravel, or there might be somebody there anyway who could help her, but how was one who had never been in a country except at the urging of their imagination supposed to find their way about? If she just started walking she might walk in the opposite way in which she intended and end up in a neighboring country -- perhaps not a friendly one!
"Well calm down," Charlotte ordered herself, the sound of her own voice helping as much as her actual words. "Get your head on straight and think things through. How does one explore?" The final word, like a directing cue, sent her mind spinning back to yet another world she had long ago left behind, that of the fields and dirt roads of Oklahoma where, once upon a time, she had run quite wild with Ashley and Julian. Though the smallest, she'd been the bossiest, and on many occasions led them on long expeditions with a stick held high in her hand and her skirt held around her knees. By the time she was ten, she'd explored as far as one could walk in a day and knew the layout like the freckles spotting the back of her hand: she knew exactly where her family's property ended and how far each of their neighbors' stretched; she knew that if you followed the stream at the edge of the Hollin's yard you'd eventually hit a cool pond that was perfect for summer swimming or fishing so long as you didn't get caught by the Molers, whose land it was on; she knew that if you followed even the slightest slope, you'd be able to see forever in such flat country.
"You used to be the roughest and toughest of country girls," Charlotte teased herself with a short laugh. "So what would be useful now? What do I remember about the layout of Narnia?"
Counting off on her fingers for no reason other than organization, Charlotte instructed herself: first, she should climb a tree and see if there were any rivers around because she would need water and should keep to it, even if it took her the long way. Two, she should keep her eyes open for nuts, berries, or onions as she walked because she was going to get hungry soon and since she wasn't much of a hunter and there wasn't anything alive around to kill, and she'd be terrified of killing a talking animal anyway, she was going to need all the vegetation she could find to keep her strength up. Three, Cair Paravel was far in the East, so once she'd happened upon a body of water, she should follow it East and against the current. The Great River would be her best bet for finding Cair Paravel and she was counting on her ability to recognize it -- it would be the biggest, after all, and have many tributaries. Chances were she would happen upon a tributary first, though, and walking against the current would lead her to the Great River. There was the danger of walking against the current of the Great River and leading herself out of Narnia, but she would just have to cross her fingers and hope for the best.
Of course, what would be easiest was if she happened upon a resident who might be able to give her directions and outfit her in something better than the dressing gown, slippers, and nightdress she was currently wearing. Sticks jabbed her feet as she walked, and the morning dew would soak right through them assuming she spent the night outside. And though the breeze didn't bother her so much as she began walking, it would once she stopped to rest.
She walked for a few minutes to judge the trees and which one might be the best to climb. The one she chose was taller than most of the neighboring trees and had many branches beginning low enough that she wouldn't need a boost up. Worried that her dressing gown would get caught or torn or dirty, she slipped it off and folded it on top of her abandoned slippers.
Then, for the first time since she was twelve, Charlotte climbed a tree. It was much more painful than she remembered; the bark scraped her feet and palms which had become delicate after years of dainty shoes and lotions. Twigs snagged her hair and tugged it from its braid or else aimed for her eyes, which she dodged only to waver unsteadily on her perch. It took more strength than she remembered to reach for a higher branch, test its stability, and then tug herself upwards, her feet searching for the next branch or else scrambling up the rough trunk. Despite the pain, though, Charlotte found that the higher she climbed, the more exhilarating the experience became. By the time she had reached the highest secure branch, she was almost in tears with laughter, her ears and nose pink and her body aching but her spirits soaring. How fun this was! And to think of all those years in which she hadn't climbed a single tree, first because there was too much work to do, then because there were no trees in the city, and then simply because it wasn't fitting for a lady.
"Poor Lydia has probably never climbed a tree in her life," she laughed to the wind, pulling her hair entirely out of the braid and letting it slash around in the stronger wind. The trees had not grown this high where she had grown up in Oklahoma, though of course she had been smaller and so they had seemed then as big to her as this tree did now. But despite the distance to the ground and the way the top branches swayed slightly, and even aware of the fact that, were she to fall, there was no help to come, Charlotte felt perfectly at ease. She let herself be rocked by the branches and closed her eyes, welcoming the slight warmth of the sun and the caresses of the wind. Why did anyone ever choose to live in cities when the trees were outside of them?
The climb had left her thirsty, though, and supper would only sustain her for so long, so she refocused. The sun was behind her and she kept an eye on it as she waited in order to see if it was going up or down. Meanwhile, there were two rivers that she could see which looked about equal distances from her. Behind her, beneath the sun, were nothing but trees as far as she could see. There were more trees to her right and then boulders so large she couldn't see what lay beyond. Both of the rivers looked to lay outside of the forest --that is, she could see flat terrain around them and probably wouldn't have been able to see them at all if they'd been buried in the woods.
After a while longer happily resting at the top, she had decided for sure that the sun was going down behind her. Peter had never mentioned the sun moving a different way here, and so she could only assume that was west.
"That's the way, then," she declared, pointing as though for someone else's benefit. Carefully she picked her way down; it was rather a bit scarier than climbing up and took a good deal longer as she sometimes had to let herself swing down for her feet to reach the next lower branch.
Eventually she reached the ground, though, and was disappointed to find no life had come creeping out in her absence. She slipped her robe and slippers back on and, reiterating the direction, set off.
There were nuts on the ground that she gathered as she walked, but the only berries she could find were small red ones that she didn't know whether to trust or not and so avoided them. She made a basket of her robe and collected as many as she could find until the forest had disappeared behind her. The trees had become skinnier as they thinned out, and she was glad she had climbed when she did, because the branches here didn't seem strong enough to support a squirrel, much less herself. There were more red berries but no nuts.
Onward she walked through a field where spiny weeds scratched her ankles and poked through the gentle fabric of her slippers. The dry grass reached to her knees and snagged at her nightdress and gown. Her eyes were on the lookout for green among the brown, though, and on the occasion she would find such a thing, she would tug it up and smile at the pearly little onion on the bottom. She was proud of herself for guessing the vegetation, or perhaps thankful that it seemed at least similar to home. Of course, she hadn't the faintest idea how she was going to eat the onions since raw they wouldn't be very good and she hadn't anything with or in which to boil them. Still, she collected them, adding them to her apron where the smell soaked in.
"I'm going to smell like an oniony nut," she laughed to herself. Nobody heard it. Still, it wasn't too bothersome, this being on her own. She couldn't remember a time in her life when she had really ever been alone except for that short time in Paris, and even then she had constantly been in cafes or sitting outside. Loneliness had always terrified her, but now she found it liberating. There was no one to boss her around, no one to interrupt, no one even whose needs or opinions she had to take into account. She stopped to rest when she wanted to, pried open a couple nuts with one of the many rocks littering the field when she wanted, but mostly she pressed forward.
The sky was a brilliant orange when at last she reached the river, and though the water was awfully cold, that didn't stop her from yanking off her slippers, laying her robe with its cargo down, and running into the water, her gown held to her thighs. The bottom was covered with smooth pebbles which made it difficult to stand against the strong current if she waded too deeply, so she remained at the edge, sighing as the cold water rubbed away the soreness from her feet and ankles. It was difficult to make out her reflection in the bubbling water, but she could make out the her the redness of her face and the mane of curls framing her face, teased into a frenzy by the wind.
"I do look wild," she laughed. Her heart felt light at the freedom. She drank her fill of the water, which tasted crisp and clean. Timothy had taught her to only ever drink moving water, and that if it tasted funny to spit it out, but this tasted wonderful, and anyway, if she didn't die of poisoning she would die of thirst anyway. But in reality, death seemed impossible here.
With night falling silently around her, Charlotte wandered a bit further until she found where the river, when it was higher, had carved a sand bank, and here she settled herself for good. The stones were too cool on her skin, but the sand wasn't quite as cold and she nestled against the short wall of the bank after staring over it at the setting sun until it was all dark. She ate more nuts, drank more water, and then had no difficulty at all in falling fast asleep. It had been nearly bedtime when she'd come here, after all, and there was nothing like a further afternoon of tree climbing and hiking to wear one out. Besides, what was there to fear? There weren't even any fish in the water, much less any other animals, dangerous or benign, to be seen.
In the morning, Charlotte splashed cool water on her face, ate some of the nuts, redressed, and set off down the river. She wondered if this might not be the Great River itself, since even following the current she was heading East. Her confidence in this was so great that even when the river shifted markedly southward, she continued along it. All day she walked.
About midmorning, she came to a tributary which blocked her path. She had no choice but to swim across the river, and realized she should probably walk along the eastern side anyway. So, since there was no one around, Charlotte slipped all her clothes off, held them above her head, and swam awkwardly across the river with her one arm held high. On the other side, she was too jittery at being completely nude in the open to wait long to slip her nightdress back on. It meant she was damp for the next few hours, which was uncomfortable but what was to be done?
By afternoon, the absolute silence surrounding the cold chatter of the river was beginning to wear on Charlotte. It would have been different, surely, if there were at least birds singing or something, but there was nothing. So she sang as she walked, recalling every song she had ever learned to keep her spirits up as the nuts failed to satiate her hunger and her feet and legs really began to complain something fierce. That night she ate some of the onions raw in addition to nuts to see if the change in taste would quiet her stomach, but all that did was make her feel ill and she spent the night restlessly tossing and turning.
The next day she happened upon a fruit tree. She spent the better part of the morning smelling and scrutinizing the fruit in an attempt to sniff out if it was edible or not. They were small reddish-purple fruits, sort of like plums but smaller, lighter in color, and with larger pits. Finally, on the verge of tears at the thought of eating a single more nut, she fell upon the fruits and gobbled as many down as her stomach could hold. She rested for a while, felt no ill effects, and so decided she would rather be full than warm. Her dressing gown was dedicated entirely now to carrying the rest of the nuts and as many of the fruits as she could carry.
This sustained her for the next two days of walking, but by the third day she was so sick at her stomach from too much sweet fruit that she covered hardly any ground and spent most of the day lying by the river, her voice too sore to sing any more songs. She watched the clouds, listened to the river, and wished desperately that she had just one companion. Even Peter would be better than having no one, though she suspected Lucy and Edmund would probably the best companions. Susan she loved, of course, but it was difficult to imagine Susan being in her element outside of the city.
When Charlotte had decided she could eat no more of the fruits -- and they were going soft and mushy, besides -- she began tugging up any new sort of shoot she passed, and in this way found a sort of small round potato. They were too hard to eat raw, but that night she built a cage for them out of stones in the water, and by the time she had woken in the morning they were soft enough to eat, though they tasted like dirt and grass.
The following day, she came across her first signs of active life: fish! At first the idea of eating one horrified her, but her hunger got the best of her and she decided that if she could only catch one, she would try to speak with it before she ate it. If it talked, perhaps it could let her know she was going in the right direction. Otherwise, she would once again call upon the country girl she had once been, who had roasted snakes and squirrels and gutted fish without the slightest grimace.
However, catching fish didn't prove nearly as easy as it was represented in the books and films, and though Charlotte spent the better part of a day trying everything from building a trap with rocks grabbing at them with her bare hands, it accomplished nothing except making her frustrated, hungry, and eventually putting her in tears.
"I'm tired of being alone," she sighed as she curled into a ball to sleep that night. The river had turned northward and the nights were growing cooler so that she frequently awoke in the dark shivering and frightened. She slept restlessly, dreaming she heard voices only to wake and find no one. She couldn't remember how many days she had now been in Narnia.
The next morning there were birds, but when she called to them they didn't respond, and they didn't sing. They just flitted among the branches of the trees and fled when she yelled greetings to them. Even when she begged them not to go, they ignored her pleas and she thus decided they must not be talking animals -- or if they were, they were very rude. The knowledge that now there were animals around her, though, offered no comfort and actually put her nerves more on edge. If there were birds, might there not be larger predators? And predators of the non-talking variety, maybe, which would probably feast upon her without reserve.
Gone was any remnant of peace Charlotte had felt before. Hours and days rolled together until Charlotte could hardly tell what was up anymore. Her feet had given up on complaining and now were forever numb, and her legs stumbled along without any real commitment to their steps. Her hair had tangled and matted itself to her neck and shoulders no matter how many dips in the river she took; her nightdress was torn and filthy; she was always hungry and tired and, above everything, lonely. She had even given up talking to herself because the sound of her own voice only annoyed her. She was sick of herself. She wanted just one friendly face to talk to, one night of sleeping in a soft warm bed, one good meal without a single nut or fruit or potato, one good wash with even the roughest soap. How nice it would be to brush her hair! If only she had ever mastered the ability of making a fire -- Ashley could do it just by rubbing two sticks together, but try as she might, all she did was rub her hands raw.
And then, as though her wish itself had sparked it, Charlotte saw a warm glow emitting from the trees to her left. With the twisting of the river, she had once again been walking on the left bank of the river, and had just that morning come across yet another wood, though she was too disheartened to explore for some new sort of tasteless vegetable or disgustingly sweet fruit.
But this glow was different and attracted her like the coldest of moths to the warmest of candles. Without a second thought, she abandoned the river and ran through the trees toward the glow. It wasn't a mirage -- there was an actual fire! The forest itself wasn't aflame, as she had momentarily wondered, but an actual campfire was burning, crackling, dancing in a stone pit.
Charlotte collapsed on the ground inches away and thrust her fingers and toes towards it, just out of reach of the licking flames. She sighed and closed her eyes, almost sobbing to as warmth crept back into her bones. Hunger and exhaustion took the backseat as she felt herself melt into the ground. She wanted to hug the fire, hold it close, whisper love to it. Had she ever been so glad for warmth? Had she ever been so cold before?
Finally, once she trusted the fire not to disappear when she opened her eyes, she did so.
A face grinned back at her from the flames and greeted, "Hello."