Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia or any characters you may recognize from the books or the movies, I wish I did but I don't... I also don't own the Narnian Calendar. It belongs to Elecktrum who was kind enough to let me borrow it for my story. Her own stories are awesome and you should go read them too.

Summary: A sorcerer challenged by Aslan. Love and friendship alike are tested by his presence. And the Gentle Queen faces her own challenge when the sorcerer's true colors are unveiled.

A/N: If you have not read the first eight stories in the A Light in the Darkness main story arc (Awakened, Shadowed, Revealed, Concealed, Rekindled, Refracted, Reflected, and Veiled), I highly recommend you do so for the full experience. However, I have included a quick summary of the previous stories so if you want to give this one a whirl on its own, you can.

Chapter Five: Questions without Answers

24 Greenroof 1009

"Hey-ho! Hey-ho! To and fro! To and fro! Sing out did the Lion! Sing out did He! Call out you and me! Out from darkness and to the light! Out from darkness to His Sight! Hey-ho! Hey-ho!"

Markus grimaced as the song continued, penetrating the thick veil of sleep. He opened his eyes then blinked in surprise at the brightly glowing shapes above him, not orbs but glowing men and women who danced in intricate patterns. The Leopard, the Ship, and all of the other Narnian constellations were being danced across the ceiling. He could sense no magic but, to his chagrin, he was forced to admit that it was unlikely he could sense any magic now that his own was blinded.

The singing mercifully stopped and a low laugh filled the air. "Ah, awakes now the stubborn one." Markus heard wood strike wood, a hollow thumping sound accompanied by lighter footsteps. He sat up instinctively and reached for his magic. It didn't come. Pain lanced across his chest and a groan escaped as he pressed his hand against the bandages swathed around his torso. "Ah, stay still wise it would be, my friend."

"I am not your friend."

"But your friend Oberon is," the crazy old man grinned as he raised one gnarled finger and laid it against the side of his nose, "and even the stubborn one you are cannot halt Oberon in that."

"I do not want your friendship," Markus snapped, ignoring the pain when he took too deep a breath. Ignoring his body's protestations, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and shoved up. The room spun but he ignored it.

"Easy to ignore the warnings. Foolish, though, very foolish." The man moved with surprising agility, hitting him over the head with his staff. Markus flinched instinctively as he reached up to rub his head but Oberon ignored this as he tapped the staff against his shoulder. "The question for now is this and simple it is—will you continue? Ignore warnings and go you to your doom foolishly? Or will his ways the stubborn one change? That question asks the Great Lion."

A hot retort sprang to Markus' lips but it found no release as he stared into brown eyes that suddenly seemed piercing. This man who was not a man, he remembered now watching from the shadows as Medea raged over Oberon's continued existence. The man who was not a man. No more a Son of Adam than Markus himself but even Medea did not know what he was, only that he served the Great Lion. And Markus, who never feared to meet Jadis' eyes, found it impossible to continue to hold the strange elder's gaze. He looked away. "He should have let me die."

"Which time?"

He tensed then forced the bitter words out, "Both. I am not worth saving."

"Who is?" Oberon smiled knowingly when he looked up sharply. "None are but the Great Lion, says He the worthless are His and worth beyond measure He gives you and me. The One who saves we who are nothing called you He has. What answer give you?"

ӁӁӁӁӁӁӁӁӁӁӁӁӁӁӁ

28 Greenroof 1009

"What answer give you?"

Markus shook his head, seeking to expel the memory of those words but still they burned him. They burned more than magic itself as they secreted their way into his thoughts during the day and his dreams in the night, constantly there, waiting, watching, searching, weighing him. He rolled his shoulders then swung his arms, attempting to avoid knocking into any of the precariously piled stacks of books. It was nonsense, of course. Mere words could not weigh him. No matter the power hidden within Oberon.

The man looked up from his work recording something in a very thick book. "Get you outside."

"What do you mean?"

"Mean?" Those brown eyes twinkled with hidden knowledge. "Get you outside Oberon means. Get ere Oberon his staff take to the stubborn one for books toppling."

Markus continued to stare at the elder. "I am your prisoner. Prisoners are not allowed outside."

"Not mine. Not His. No, not by Him or me be you imprisoned."

"You speak nonsense." Markus turned on his heel to leave this house and its peculiar occupant far behind. He would go somewhere else. The islands perhaps. Yes, they would be better than retreating into the wilds with the Fell when he could no longer defend himself, could no longer put them in their place. But he stopped before he had even rounded the corner of the nearest bookshelf. Turning around, he narrowed his eyes. "Whose prisoner am I then?" When Oberon did not immediately look up from scratching at the parchment, he took three large strides closer to the cluttered desk. "If I am not your prisoner and if I am not Aslan's prisoner, whose am I?"

"Why think you are a prisoner, Markus?"

He stepped back then pressed his lips together as he raised his chin. "My magic is gone. I am no more free to go than if I were in chains."

"Ah, Oberon see now. Imprisoned Markus is by Markus."

"Impossible." But something inside felt a pang. Markus turned away running his hand over the beard roughening his jaw as he searched for the source. It did not come from his magic, that was still cold and empty and dark. He repressed a shudder at the reminder of his powerlessness. No, the pang came from somewhere else.

"But feel it you do. In heart Markus feels the truth."

The pang came again along with the longing to ask for confirmation of…of what? Forgiveness? Markus silently scoffed at his own foolishness. The Great Lion had already judged him.

"Judgment delayed Aslan has. Given time you are to make you this choice. Called you He has. What answer give you?"

Markus opened his mouth, shut it, and then strode out of the room, not slowing until he stood in the sheltered glade. His breathing was harsh to his own ears but this he dismissed as a result of his healing injuries, never mind that they had already healed to the point that they should not have affected him. He clenched his fists. The old fool knew nothing. Nothing of him or his deeds. For if he did, then he would know that it was too late. He had done too much, spilled too much blood, and lain too long in evil's bed to ever be forgiven. He no longer had a soul. He could not be rescued. He had fallen too far.

Markus dropped into a crouch and attempted to clear his mind. He needed to work on battering down the barrier the Lion had placed between him and his magic. His magic was his life. Even his skill as a warrior would not be enough if he could not regain his magic, not to live in his world. He slowed his breathing, listening to the sounds of the forest. The birds chirped and twittered to each other, squirrels scolded, the wind rustled through the leaves of the trees. He reached for his magic, feeling his way along the barrier, searching for a crack he could expand. "What answer give you?"

His eyes flew open and he gasped. It had not been Oberon's voice nor the hissing, soft voice that had so often urged him to pursue the harsher course of action, that had promised his magic would be freed if he killed Narnia's Kings. The Voice had been rich, golden, and swept over him with a sense of light that he both yearned for and wanted to hide from as it shone piercingly bright. Nothing would remain hidden. He would see and He would know every little thing Markus had done. He already did know. And yet…and yet, Oberon expected him to believe that Aslan wanted him.

Him. The sorcerer who had sought the destruction of His chosen. The sorcerer who never believed in Him save as the Enemy. That was asking far too much. The bushes rustled and Markus tensed. Moving cautiously, he tugged the large ax out of the stump next to the woodpile. The bushes rustled some more and then a graceful doe stepped into the glade, her leaf-like ears twitching and swiveling. She paused to look at him with her liquid brown eyes but then she flicked her tail and picked her way across the glade…towards him.

Markus' hand tightened around the ax's haft as she came closer, sniffing. Quivering but unafraid as she nosed his free hand. He looked down at her, at her long white neck. It would take nothing to kill her, to use the doe's fresh blood and pain for a blood magic spell. It should be strong enough to break the seal. But the ax slipped from his grasp, landing in the grass with a dull thud. The thought of using a blood magic spell made his mouth turn dry. He had never cared for using those spells in general, too risky, but this felt different. It felt as though the very fiber of his being rebelled at the thought of such foul magic, the kind that came not from inherent talent but from others' pain and suffering.

The doe nudged his hand again and Markus reached up to scoop out the feed corn he had watched Oberon set out in the bucket atop the woodpile that morn. He offered it to the doe and she ate without fear. She should be afraid to be in the presence of such a monster as he, though.

Perhaps he no longer knew himself. The thought was most uncomfortable.

ӁӁӁӁӁӁӁӁӁӁӁӁӁӁӁ

33 Greenroof 1009

"You cannot have it both ways. It is impossible for evil to be redeemed."

"Though corrupted good may be?" Oberon chuckled as he took a long draw of his pipe and then exhaled smoke rings of varying sizes. "If corrupted good may be, so too redeemed may evil be. Hope it gives."

Markus frowned as he scrubbed the large pot the crazy old man had been using earlier to mix poultices. "False hope. Some fall too far and can never be redeemed."

"Only when that decision they make or run out of time they do. Calls Aslan does then our task it is to choose how we respond."

"What of Jadis? She could not be redeemed, could she?"

Oberon's kind features hardened and he scowled as he leaned forward, pointing his pipe stem at him. "Her choice before Narnia's infancy that Witch did make. She chose death. Long in coming, but claimed her it has."

Markus looked down and scrubbed harder. "We came from the same world. Is my fate not as sealed as Hers?"

"What answer do you give?"

There was that question again. It both appealed and repelled though Markus was beginning to find that it appealed more than it repelled. That was not what he should feel. Not where Aslan was concerned. He had been trained to hate the Great Cat, to set himself against Him and His chosen. He should cast his lot with Jadis and Her kin. But that way lay only death and destruction and despair. His mind called up the way he had watched the dark-haired King and Lew's Daughter defy Medea, defy the darkness even though each of them had been touched by it. But surely the grip darkness had on those two had been less sure than the one it had on him. The younger King had been Jadis' puppet, though. She had owned him…until the Lion redeemed him with His own Life.

But surely that was not for him. He, Markus, had done too much for far longer than that boy to be worthy of redemption. How was redemption even possible now?

ӁӁӁӁӁӁӁӁӁӁӁӁӁӁӁ

A/N: Please Read and Review! Soooo the sorcerer is starting to ask some very important questions. Leave a review and let me know what y'all thought about this one.