(1,272 words)
(I draw inspiration for my stories from The Chronicles of Narnia in all it's manifestations, both canon and non-canon).
Disclaimer: The Chronicles of Narnia are the intellectual property of Clive Staples Lewis and his legally recognized representatives. We just come here to play in his garden.
Warning: M rated for violence and drug use but mostly to give me some wiggle room.
page 15
The Narnians
"The lion, the Witch, the Wardrobe and Beyond"
~~~ chapter4 ~~~
Yesterday
Fain standing next to his mother Yvette was feeling what best could be described as slightly disoriented. Wrapping a comforting arm round her son, she gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. He was a little frightened but at the same time thrilled by the idea of finally leaving their cottage, his home for all his eight springs to begin the next chapter of his life.
His father stood on the threshold, his bulk filling the doorway. "Say goodbye to your mother,' he announced in a cold, distant voice. 'It's time you were joining your brothers at the initiate's lodge to begin your training as is our custom."
Tem strode to the far side of the room and took the composite bow down from it's place of honor over the mantel, it was then Fain got his first inkling all was not as it should be. He could see someone had neglected to unstring the bow after its last use.
Holding the weapon by its lower limb Tem knelt down on a knee before his son.
"This is yours now Fain. It's my hope you'll one day get the opportunity to pass it on to your son as Landus my father passed it on to me, as Gallus his father passed it on to Landus. Father to son back to a time long forgotten when a deed by one of our ancestors so impressed the centaur they gifted him with one of their most prized possessions, this relic," Tem said as he handed the bow to Fain.
Fain was enraptured by the tale woven with so much passion by his father.
"The centaur of the west decorate their weapons in commemoration of great deeds. This one as you can see by the grip is marked only with our village rune," Tem alluded.
"I would very much like someday to meet a centaur," Fain piped.
"If any still survive," came his father's dark retort.
Holding the weapon awkwardly, Fain flexed the bowstring sideways across his chest a few times when it unexpectedly rolled off his fingertips.
"Fain, you shot me! Why in the name of Aslan did you shoot me son," his father groaned.
Fain watched his father collapse to the floor with an arrow shaft protruding from his chest. The sight of his mother standing frozen in place in the middle of the room, a blank expression painted on her face only confused the child more.
He now realized what it was that escaped his notice. His mother's home had no fireplace and there was no mantel. The dwarf crafted cast iron cook stove, her pride and joy was missing, in it's place stood a stone hearth and crackling fire. The Fire! The fire wasn't giving off any heat.
Dropping the bow Fain bolted through the door and ran, ran faster and harder then he ever believed possible. Soon enough he was forced to use all his strength to check his forward momentum before it carried him over a nearby precipice. Skidding to a stop, Fain found himself standing on top of the cliff that marks the southern end of the smuggler's road.
He could see from this familiar vantagepoint the green blanket of fair Archenland stretching away southward. Beyond that, a hazy tan horizon marked the northern most edge of the Great desert.
A commotion behind him made Fain wheel round and face his mother's cottage but it was gone. He was instead met by the specter of the witch's horde pouring through the mountain gap that led north into Narnia. They were hunting him, of that he was sure. He was also sure that if they caught him it wouldn't be pleasant.
Fain had a decision to make, either meet his end at the hands of his enemy or - Fain launched himself over the edge of the cliff where gravity waited to pull him down, he had made his choice.
The sensation of butterflies fluttering in one's stomach grew as he hurtled towards the valley floor. Oddly his approaching end concerned him less then the fact the sun was going to bleach his bones in a land other then his beloved Narnia.
The land rushing up to meet him Fain could make out every tree and rock outcropping. Every bush, blade of grass and patch of dirt came into crystal clear focus just before the impact. Striking the ground hoofs first with all the force of someone descending a stair step he sank up to his midriff in a substance that reminded him of lukewarm molasses.
The hole he made in the ground immediately closed back in around his waist trapping him. The color and texture of the foliage leading up to his body seemed somehow stretched and distorted as if someone had swept a hand across a freshly painted canvas. He started sinking further into the morass when he tried to free himself. It continued to pull him down even after he stopped struggling. Resigned to his fate, Fain let the ooze drag him down until darkness completely enveloped him.
...
He was floating in a void, for how long, he knew not, perhaps a moment, perhaps a millennium. He had no way of judging time but he was sure of one thing, he was cognizant of his surroundings, now.
A sound sifting through the emptiness touched him filling him with an overpowering desire to seek it out. He heard the sound again and this time he was sure it had called his name.
The blackness around him slowly dissolved into a mottled gray color as indistinct shapes began acquiring more defined edges. Musty smelling air assailing his nostrils mixed with metallic tasting ash that burned at the back of his throat.
The sound came to him once more. "Fain, Fain Dear. Can you hear me?"
A hazy apparition to his right solidified into a grayish pylon that continued to arrange itself into a more recognizable shape. He saw in this construct an image of his mother. 'Some how she has found me' he thought.
"Ma'... Ma' where am I," he croaked.
The entity took a step closer, as it did it's features transformed from those of his mother into a wild eyed monster. Fain struggling to escape the specter was slammed back down by a sharp pain as if someone had thrust a spear in his chest. The effort proved useless anyway as his wrist seemed to have been bound to some kind of rack. Despair washed over Fain as he realized where he must be.
Tied to a rack, his mouth and throat tasting of cold slag. A demon towering over him, taunting and inflicting such horrendous pain could mean only one thing. Somewhere along the way he had died and now his soul was imprisoned for all eternity in the land of Tash.
Squeezing his eyes shut he bleated out. "Someone Save Me!"
A feeling of hopelessness smothered him like a blanket as the truth sank in. He was beyond redemption now and there was no one left who could help him.