A/n: Sometimes inspiration comes a little late, y'all.
When I wrote Images last year, it wasn't just for fun. It was my contribution to the Adventures in Narnia challenge, where you write a short story every day for 30 days. Every day you get a prompt, such as "Include a pun or joke in your story," and you have to write a short story inspired by the prompt. That means you can't just write anything; you have to write something that fits the prompt, if only just.
That's the battle I was up against. When I finished Chapter 4, I left a massive cliffhanger but wasn't sure how to follow it up. So when Chapter 5 came around, I didn't know how to continue where I left off; I had a few ideas but wasn't sure if they would work. So instead of trying one and seeing what happened, I glossed over that plotline and moved on to the next chapter.
A year later, I finally got an idea, and it turned out better than I imagined. First you'll see the cliffhanger, and then you'll see the follow-up.
Enjoy.
PREVIOUSLY IN IMAGES...
The falcon was mangled and ripped up, blood crusted over the skin where half its feathers used to be. Its feet were detaloned, the bones snapped and broken. There was no letter or note inside the bag—just the smells of feathers and blood.
"Poor sod," said Peter. "Who was he?"
The faun shook his head. "I don't know...and yet, I might."
"What do you mean?"
"Look at the book. The illustrations."
Peter went all confused, but turned back to the book and flipped to the ink drawings. Sure enough, there was a bird, looking grave and stern and terrible.
"By the Lion," said Peter. "This fellow was from Bákurad."
"But what's he doing here?" said Edmund.
"I think I know." Peter's voice went its most alarmed yet. "Zhevagojne barakoja has two meanings: 'Here is your bird,' and 'Here is your poison.' What if they're trying to poison us? That bird might have been diseased. And now we've brought him into the castle, like a bunch of fools."
And the library grew even quieter as Peter turned to the rest of the group.
"Quarantine the castle. Get a doctor over here now."
† Quarantine †
The Journal of High King Peter the Magnificent
31 March 1001:
By the Lion, I've already muffed it up.
After I ordered the quarantine, I told my royal brother and sisters to put a positive spin on the thing. Instead of telling everyone we've got a diseased bird, tell everyone we are just being courteous and cautious. Unfortunately I said it a little too late. Oreius told his brother Lucanus about the quarantine, and he told everyone in Beruna, and Beruna's spreading word, so now the whole country knows. We've been isolated for twelve hours, and already the whole of Narnia is about to panic. Even though I keep telling them this is a precaution, no one is hearing me. They already know about the diseased bird from Bákurad, so now that's all they're hearing.
There was one thing I did right. Tumnus and I tracked down everyone who was within 20 yards of him. We've isolated them in the infirmary (which is really the drawing room, the study and a spare room used for Heaven knows what). Unfortunately that's about 40 Talking Beasts. Forty Talking Beasts who might not make it out of this alive.
And, yes, for the record I'm following Aslan's orders: No using my sister's cordial. Why the blighter won't at least let me try is beyond me.
2 April 1001:
Well, now I know what doctors mean when they say "latency." It means when you get a disease, you don't come down with it right away; it takes a day or two to settle before it starts wreaking havoc. It's like an army mobilizing on the outskirts of a city before it launches its assault.
Two dogs and a badger just told the herbalist they're having trouble breathing, and a tiger and his wife say they're feeling sick and lost their appetite. And Lucy and Susan are telling me they're feeling lightheaded, and Susan could barely walk down the hall last night.
Now that I'm thinking of it, I'm not feeling too well. I wonder if it's just my fear or if it's the real thing.
5 April 1001:
I woke up to the sound of someone gasping, and then I realized it was me. It feels as if someone pushed a pillow into my face and tied a band around my chest. Just when I thought I was getting my breath back, I started coughing something up, and when I looked in the sink, it was blood.
The guards have their hands full, the poor souls. They're trying to tell everyone to remain calm, and they're relaying messages to the Talking Beasts. Fancy, ruling from your chambers and passing down judgments while you're queasy and perched over a sink. I can hear all the fear and distress in their voices; they just want to see their leaders, and they want to be sure we're well.
Twenty-three Talking Beasts in the infirmary are now ill. They're all gasping and fainting and being sick. The herbalist says he hasn't seen so much vomit in his life, and I assumest thaa wee-
Sorry about that. Guess it was my turn to be sick. That soup I had this morning tasted fine on the way down but awful on the way up. And now every joint in my body feels like it's been hit with a hundred hammers. This is what all our Talking Beasts are in for; this is what we've unleashed on them. They could all die in agony because of us, because we had to let that diseased bird into the castle.
Feck the Lion for all I care. The bloke's a total wanker as far as I'm concerned.
7 April 1001:
[This entry is being written by Queen Susan of Narnia in her royal brother's stead.]
We're about to lose control of this situation.
Last week when Tumnus brought the bird into the castle, he passed two pumas in the eastern hall. Today we found out they left before the quarantine began. One of them went back to Beruna and the other to Glasswater, and now 33 people in those towns are ill.
Fortunately Beruna took precautions last week, and everybody who lives and works in the town proper is still being told to stay in their homes. Unfortunately Glasswater got the news too late, and two horses left for Archenland before they heard of the quarantine. They're not coming back yet; they've fallen ill in Archenland, and they're staying in the stables in the town of Pinehaven. That's another 100 people who are in quarantine.
My royal brother Edmund is bearing a lesser load than anyone else here. He was lightheaded and could barely breathe, but he's able to eat and drink (for now). Lucy and I are faring worse; we've had every ailment and more, and I've never imagined such a headache was possible. But Peter says he's felt the worst, and I can tell it to look at him. He's lost so much weight and looks so pallid, it's a wonder how he will make it through.
And now, the illness is taking an even more frightening turn. We're bleeding from the nose and mouth, and every joint and muscle is in agony. It's as if our own bodies are on fire.
Our herbalists are saying they're close to finding a remedy, but we all are uneasy, as they have tried dozens of treatments and none of them seem to have any effect. But we can still hope. We have to.
10 April 1001:
[This entry is being written by Queen Susan of Narnia in her royal brother's stead.]
The situation is out of control.
As of 9 o'clock, more than 750 Talking Beasts have fallen ill. Every town in Narnia is ordering its healthy to stay in their homes, but even they are coming down with the disease. We're being told help is on the way and a treatment is coming soon, but no one knows what that means. Perhaps even the herbalists don't know.
Last week, we were telling Talking Beasts not to panic. Now, none of them are coming around. I wish they were; it would mean that some of them are healthy, or at least brave to run about. Narnia feels like a cemetery, full of Talking Beasts who are yet to die.
O Lion, please help us. Help us!
18 April 1001:
[This is written by High King Peter of Narnia, in his own hand and in his own words.]
The herbalists kept telling us help was on the way. Last week it finally came.
On the 11th they gave everyone in Cair Paravel a concoction of magical herbs and potions, and it's already starting to have an effect. After the first few hours, people's stomachs were settled; after the first day, their heads were feeling clear and heavy again; after the first three days, everyone was breathing again. Yesterday, it was given to all of Narnia's towns and villages, and they're already reporting an improvement.
And here's what's truly stunning: We weren't too late. All 1,263 Talking Beasts survived this thing. All of them had to be pulled from the edge of death, but Aslan said that's how it has to work; apparently the medicine only takes effect when people are in their darkest hour. I reckon I can buy that; I took it when I thought I was dying, and it didn't help, but it worked when I was about to breathe my last.
I still have a bone to pick with him about Lucy's cordial. Why it wouldn't have worked is beyond me. But the Lion said there are some things even the cordial can't cure, and I figure he's been telling me straight since we got here.
And that part I wrote about fecking the Lion and calling him a wanker? I know I should be scribbling that out, but I don't want to.
Not yet anyway. I reckon there are no such things as impossibilities...