(3,769 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.

pages 16-19

The Narnians

"The lion, the Witch, the Wardrobe and Beyond"

~~~ Chapter5 ~~~

Today

Fain's outcry caused the specter to press the satyr's shoulders firmly against the rack.

"Fain? Fain listen to me dear,' the hellish apparition hovering over him mocked. 'You must do as I say. Do you understand me Fain. Try not to move around. Take slow shallow breaths dear, it won't hurt so much that way."

Something in him, Fain was not sure what, forced him to comply. He did as he had been told and the pain in his chest did slightly abate, with just a dull ache and the occasional lightening bolt of pain left behind. His eagerness to obey the demon's command left Fain with a deepening sense of revulsion towards himself. He was betraying everything he believed in, everything he ever fought for. He'd taken the first steps on a path to becoming a supplicant of the dark lord but he would have done anything to put an end to the agony he suffered.

Tears streaming from tightly closed eyes, Fain could only wonder, 'What did I do in the other world to deserve this?'

Peering up through slit eyelids at the creature bent over him the brutish features of the demon began to take on a more serene aspect. His vision clearing, the face he now gazed upon was that of Helria, Kinoe's mate. Relief filling him Fain realized he was in the Inn at Midway village.

It dawned on Fain what he had taken for a rack was a plank his comrades had used to carry him here. The bonds used to restrain him to that rack, just straps used to keep him from falling off the litter. The torture he was subjected too, injuries he had received somewhere out on the trail? The fire and brimstone burning his throat where just the ordinary smells of the room mixing with a small amount of coal smoke that had leaked from the stove the last time it was recharged.

The act of trying to lift his head brought on a fresh torrent of pain. Dropping his head back down on to the plank with a knock of horn on wood, Fain gasped, "How? Why?"

"You banged yourself up pretty good dear,' Helria gently advised. 'You need to lay quietly and try and get some rest. Later, we'll see about getting a warn meal into you and before you know it you'll be up and around quicker then two shakes of a faun's tail." She said with confidence but the concerned behind her eyes threaten to betray her true feelings.

Helria began her examination with Fain's head and neck before moving on to the crude battlefield dressing use to immobilize his chest. Satisfied with what she found, she ran a hand along Fain's right arm down to a firmly bound wrist. she was taken aback as her fingers touched his cold, blood starved right hand, leaning over she checked on the condition of Fain's other hand.

Helria unbinding Fain's wrists looked over her shoulder, inquiring curtly, "Did you have to make them so tight."

Two cloth wrapped boxes used to immobilize Fain's head blocked his view of Kinoe, who answered in a plaintive tone, "It got him here didn't it?"

"A lot of good that have done him if he lost them too," She said accusingly.

Helria drew a sharp breath and silently cursed herself for possibly having revealed too much about the condition of her patient.

Scooping up Fain's right hand she began vigorously massaging it in hopes of restoring a measure of blood flow. A sensation like a thousand tiny needles pricked the inside of Fain's finger tips as fresh blood began again to flow freely through his hand. The ability to move his arms, if only at the elbows was a relief. Holding up a blood deprived left hand Fain tried clinching together his near useless fingers but it felt to him as if the hand belonged to someone else.

The seed of a thought germinated in Fain's mind. Lost them too Helria had said. That thought grew into a question. 'What else have I lost,' Fain wondered. That question would bear fruit in the form of an answer. A fruit that would prove too bitter for his taste.

Steeling himself for what he might find, Fain reached out with his tactile senses. Probing down pass pain racked chest through a hunger knotted stomach he came up against an impenetrable barrier of nothingness. The will to live went out of him with the realization he had no feeling below the waist.

"O, why didn't they just leave me out on the trail to die. A meal for the scavengers is all I'm good for now," He lamented.

Looking down on the broken body of one she held so dear, Helria, more then most, could understand the abject desolation Fain must be suffering. Sitting there holding the hand of the stricken satyr, Helria's thoughts drifted back to those days not so long ago when filthy, half frozen and near starved to death, she too had longed to know death's merciful release.

She was wrenched back from her musings by Fain trying to wrestle his hand free of her grip.

"Oh. I'm sorry Fain, was I squeezing too tight," she asked in her gentle way.

Casting eyes in her direction he slowly said. "No Helria, I said let me go. Helria, let me die! You have the power to set me free from this."

"Fain, please don't say that! You've got to believe you'll get better," She chided him, sure in the conviction she could never do what it was he asked. "Don't talk like that dear," She pleaded.

"Helria - Helria your my friend aren't you? You always said you were my friend. Please - Helria please, you don't know what it means to be a satyr." Twinges of pain shot through him as he shook the hand she held so firmly. "This, this is nothing. I could lose this tomorrow or an eye... I could lose a hand and an eye tomorrow and get by just fine with out them but my legs, a satyr's legs are everything to him!"

"Dear, try to stay calm. Try to relax and don't think about that right now..." but she didn't get the chance to finish what she was going to say.

Fain put great emphasis on each of the next words he spoke. "Yesterday - I... could... have... leapt... up... on... to... the... roof... of... this... building. I have... as part of my training harried the wild cheetah for it's pelt. I can - A satyr can trot along all day and never weary, that's just a few of the things a healthy satyr can do with his legs."

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"Know what I am now Helria? I'm a worm, just a worm wiggling on the ground. No, not even a worm, even worms have purpose. I - A crippled satyr is nothing more then a burden on those around him. A waste of precious resources better spent on the young and the elderly, even the old are of more value, they have wisdom to pass on to the generations. What could I possibly offer now," He ranted.

Pausing to Lick some moisture back into his lips he continued. "I... Know what becomes of a satyr when he can't use his legs anymore? The Will goes out of him. His spirit and pride wither like an old grape. He'll shun his loved ones and stop caring about anything. He'll drag himself off to some dark corner where he'll eventually rot away into a lump of putrid, disease-ridden flesh. Slowly going mad until someone, a friend or loved one takes pity on him and puts him out of his miseries... if he's lucky. Helria, will you be that friend?"

"Fain dearest listen to me, we owe you so much Kinoe and me. We'll never let you want for anything, ever," she promised in a weak voice.

This pronouncement only caused Fain's hart to harden more. Staring up at the rafter lined ceiling a bleak future was all he could see spread out before him.

His torment caused him to lash out. "Oh, I see how it is now. You've no kids of your own so I'm going to be your substitute. Some helpless babe you can wash and feed and fuss over. Well - no thank you Helria, just go away and leave me alone," Fain ordered.

Nearby, a massive hoof scraped ominously on the slate tile floor.

Fain for a moment felt regret for the hateful words he had spoken but just as quickly his dark mood returned and he was not sorry in the least bit. He wanted to make them all feel glum. He wanted to drive them all away so he'd not have to suffer their pity.

Helria's eyes filled with tears. Tears not for Fain's hurtful words but for the anguish he must be suffering. She was losing this battle for his soul using kindness so she decided to try a different tack.

In an authoritative voice she demanded. "Fain son of Tem, what would your father think if he could hear you?" The question however had unintended consequences.

"Father - yes father! where's father? Helria, get father for me, he'll know what to do. He'll know what I'm going through. Helria,' Fain implored, 'pleeeeese bring father here."

Helria's shoulders slumped under the weight of this new setback.

"Fain, I don't… I don't know how to..." She hesitated searching for the right words.

The rafters over her head disappeared as Kinoe leaned in. Taking her by the arm he gently coaxed her off the seat.

"Don't you think the willow bark tea has steeped long enough dear," Kinoe asked in a soothing voice, hoping to extricate the light of his life from her dilemma.

Helria having been liberated from this most unpleasant task gazed into his eyes. "Yes, I think your right dearest, thank you so much," she said in a weak voice.

Rolling her shoulders against the invisible weight of fatigue, Helria turned and shuffled off to take up her customary place behind the bar.

Those three little words, willow bark tea bought Fain a small measure of relief. A wave of nostalgia broke over him fondly remembering it's bitter taste.

That simple home brewed concoction his mother use to give him had been the treatment for all manner of aches and pains since the days of King Frank the first. Regrettably, the tender bark of the willow had long sense been harvested to near extinction due to the endless winter. The source of the potion now days was only to be found in distant Archenland.

Kinoe to the accompanying sound of a stool or perhaps a wooden crate being dragged across the stone floor sat down next to the youth. Placing a hand on the satyr's shoulder, he asked. "Do you remember how you came to be here Fain or anything that's happened since this morning."

Having gained consciousness just a few short minutes before to a host of unwelcomed thoughts and feelings, he had little time to think of anything.

Fain struggled, "I remember...I remember climbing the cliffs on the Archenland side of the mountains and I can remember crossing the ice fields.' He paused to take a few short breaths before continuing. 'I remember... I remember a snowstorm and camping for the night at Robbers Roost at the foot of the ravine. I remember meeting up with you and elder Grunram and I remember scouting along the ledge on the wall and I remember... I remember." He hesitated, shadowy specters dancing in the back of his mind.

Images began to take shape inside his head, the trail, the valley floor, his father and the others and, and. A fresh wave of pain nearly overwhelmed him as he lurched up against the rope restraints. A face of a wolf, jaw gaping, rushed at him. A memory so vivid it superimposed itself across his perceived image of Kinoe.

" the wolf," he rasped.

Insanity might have claimed him right then had it not been for the minotaur's firm reassuring hand pressing down on his shoulder.

"Fain, calm yourself and I'll tell you what happened. We were jumped by the White Witch's forces. Fain. You deserve to know the whole truth." Kinoe fighting back tears took a deep breath. "Your father,' he slowly let the breath out the rest of the way... 'didn't make it. I'm sorry.' He finished in a low voice.

His pronouncement drew an unreadable silence from the youth so the minotaur continued. "Your father sacrificed himself for the rest of us. Truly, it was a hero's ending. Taking on the hole pack single handed the way he did, it gave us a chance to get ready and that's probably what saved us."

Inwardly Fain struggled to keep his emotions in check. 'He was not going to weep,' he thought to himself. 'He would not cry. He would be strong like father,' but he could feel his resolve slipping.

He noticed for the first time the blood stained strips of canvas wrapped around Kinoe's torso, quite similar to the ones bandaging his own chest.

page18

Fain in a flat voice asked, "How fairs the rest of the gang?"

"I'm a little beat up but I'll get over it. Tobruk, Merbos and the fauns are fine but Grunram got a nasty bite from a wolf but he'll be alright," Kinoe said hoping a little good news might cheer Fain up.

"Regrettably, it looks like Azron will have to retire. He got his foot chewed up pretty bad. He'll surely need a walking stick to get around from now on," the minotaur said.

"If it helps any fain, Tem's death has been avenged. You should be very proud of your father," the minotaur fondly added.

"I always have been, Kinoe." He said fighting back the tears.

"I can't think of a better way to put this Fain. I guess what I'm trying to say is, what happened to your father, well I guess it's all part of Aslan's plan. We're just to shortsighted to see what that plan is," the minotaur offered.

The satyr lashed out, "Aslan. Aslan, why don't you grow up Kinoe. 'Aslan, Tash, their just fables mothers tell their babes to scare them into behaving. "If your good Aslan will bring you a 'love'elly spring day but if your bad, Tash will come and drag you away to his pit," Fain said in a mocking voice.

"Look at me Kinoe! Aslan. Where's your Aslan now? What kind of a sovereign lets his people suffer so and does nothing to prevent it,' Fain ranted. 'Oh no Kinoe. Tash, Aslan, they're just myths but you know what's real Kinoe. The White Witch - She's real, she's here - now. You can see her, you can touch her. She might even use her powers to help us if she so chooses. What more could you ask of a Ruler? Know what else Kinoe,' Fain raved, ' maybe her followers are right. Maybe Jadis is just trying to set things right and we're the ones getting in the way."

The already quiet Inn became still as a crypt. One does not invoke the name of The Witch lest one wished to attract her attention or so the legends say.

"FATHER" - Fain cried out, the muscles of his chest suddenly constricting around broken ribs. Laboring to draw breath the pain in his chest caused him to arch his back up away from the pallet. Gulping air, he desperately searched for something, anything that would distract him from this new torment.

His head thrown back, Fain could see hanging from a nearby post his bow and falcata along with father's cutlass. The pain in his chest seemed to diminish slightly at the sight of these cherished mementos.

He with a deep sigh settled back on to the plank. The darkness gathering around him Fain heard in his mind Helria's earlier inquiry. 'What would father think of you now?' A long forgotten memory surfaced in response to this query.

...

He found himself standing in the dimly lit world of this surreal vision. His throbbing right hand stuffed under an armpit, the practice staff still clattering on the floor at his hooves.

Glaring angerly at father for having inflicted this pain and humiliation on him, the youth hissed through clenched teeth, "I thought you said this was going to be practice, Da?"

Tem's uproarious laughter did little for his son's self-esteem. Taking a step forward, Tem grabbed his son's bruised hand holding it up in front of Fain's face.

"It hurts doesn't it my son," Tem asked.

The child nodded his head vigorously in the affirmative.

"That's all right son, try to imagine pain as a friend, well not a friend exactly, more like a servant. A servant who's job it is to alert his master to issues that need to be addressed but understand this, you must not let the fear of that pain take control. Fear, not the pain, is the real enemy. Fear of pain, fear of failure, fear that keeps you from even trying to take action. These are things that will prevent you from reaching your full potential. There are going to be times in your life when you think you can't go on. These are the times we've come here to prepare you for," Tem averred.

"I can show you many things I know about weapons and fighting but the most important lesson, I can not teach you. You alone must discover in yourself those qualities that define who you are. The best trained sword, wielded by the most powerful arm in all the land is of little value if that arm belongs to a coward. The finest of intentions are meaningless if they benefit one's self first," His father said.

Son can you look inward and find that spark that pushes one beyond the limits they set for themselves? Does it fill you with pride to know you put the welfare of others ahead of your own," Tem asked.

"Courage and kindness, these are qualities I've tried to instill in you son. These elements will, over time, lend strength to your arm and add mettle to your backbone. When the day comes and it will come, that you must face failure. Face defeat with pride and dignity knowing you did your very best son and you will have turn that defeat into another victory. Now Fain, show me what your made of," Tem commanded.

Fain took a deep breath, his mind whirling with a myriad of questions. The youth had only partially understood his father's words but he would try to comply. He now understood much of his pain was an allusion caused by his fear of getting hurt. The actual pain that was left behind seemed to him more like a reminder then a hindrance.

Looking down at his hand, Fain clinched his numbed fingers into a throbbing palm. He felt mostly pain but the stunned hand still worked and it longed to wrap itself around the staff and once more take up the battle. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth and understanding burned in his eyes. His father had revealed to him a powerful truth.

Tem's chest swelled with pride for his son. Learning this first critical lesson showed Fain had great promise and Tem would do everything within reason to nurture it.

With a hoof, Tem flicked the practice staff up off the floor, snatching it from the air he tossed it to his son.

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"I will teach you the things you've come here hoping to learn but understand this,' His father advised, 'Like most things in life learning the use of weapons is more a matter of rote. I'll give you exercises to build up your strength and endurance. Exercises you'll have to repeat over and over again."

"If you came here expecting to learn some outlandish moves like the hero in a bard's tale, forget it. All the fancy foot work in the world won't matter a tinker's dam if your opponent can just brush aside your attacks. This training will grow as interesting as gathering firewood but learn well these lessons, son and in the future when your called upon to defend clan and country they will serve you well.

"Now," Tem bellowed as he swung his quarterstaff lazily down. Fain raising his weapon just above his head, fended off the attack with a clatter of wood on wood.

"Now middle!" Slowly, the bottom of the staff was jabbed at Fain's midsection. His weapon making a klunking sound, Fain turned aside the attack the way he had practiced in mock battles with his village brothers.

"Now, down," came the command. Tem again poked the end of the staff at his son, this time aiming between his legs. The staff swinging lethargically upward, Fain stepped to the side knocking away the shaft with the accompanying dull peal of wood on wood.

Tem again roared. "Now up. Now, middle. Now, down and again now up. Now middle, now down. Again, now up and middle and down," Tem repeated the cadence over and over, a little faster each time.

Fain began to feel lightheaded as he practiced the drill. Lightheaded truly, for the top of his head felt as if it was being drawn upward. Upwards, yes upward towards a light.