X

A hushed silence fell over the animals, as Susan sat there, fighting the emotion which would eventually lead to tears if she let it. At last the weaver spoke up, “Our friend here speaks with wisdom. I am satisfied.” A few creatures nodded their heads slightly in agreement. Those who had raised the questions in the first place shuffled uneasily. Akadis looked towards Loopel, licked his lips with his forked tongue, and then spoke up, “That's it then. We're going to accept that she speaks the truth? That she's a Daughter of Eve, the one of whom the prophesy speaks?

Ratel was about to confirm her assent, when Susan stood up again. “Look here, I told you I am a daughter of Eve, and that is the truth, but I know nothing of your prophesy. I never claimed to be the person of whom this prophesy speaks, and I dare say it was intended for someone else. In fact, I'm pretty sure of it...”

“Oh great,” interrupted Loopel, “I told you she couldn't be the one. This meeting has wasted enough of my time. I say we adjourn this meeting and get some sleep so we can get back to our work first thing in the morning.”

He was already standing up and getting ready to make his way to his sleeping mat, when the weaver admonished him. “Don't be a fool, Loopel, sit down and let the girl finish what she was staying. This meeting will continue until we have reached a consensus.” Turning back to Susan, he addressed her, “Tell us dear, what makes you so sure you are not the one of whom the prophesy speaks.”

Susan was uncertain how much she should say. This whole situation was so strange, so unreal. Last time, in Narnia, she had had her siblings to help her make decisions, now she was on her own. Sitting again, she began to explain. “I...I don't think I'm the one, because it was not I who was supposed to make the trip here. My cousin, Eustace, and his friend, Jill, they were the ones who should have come. After they were...unable to make it, I came instead.”

“I don't understand,” said Vixel the fox, “Who were these others, and why could they not come?”

“Eustace is...was a Son of Adam, and Jill a daughter of Eve. They were on their way wh-when they were killed in an accident. I knew that they had planned to come and so came instead. I did not, however, know their reason for coming.”

“And how exactly did you get here?” asked Hedegar, watching her with curiosity. Susan knew she had to tell the truth, not that she could think of any other explanation for how she had ended up on top of a mesa. “I came by magic,” she answered.

There was a sharp intake of breath and the animals glanced at each other with growing uneasiness. “I used the same magic, the other two would have used,” she quickly added, hoping it would ease the tension a little.

“It has been a long time since any practised magic in this land.” said explained Hedegar, seeming almost apologetic for cold response to the word. “The last magicians were expelled for delving in the black arts. But we could have expected such. Do the rumours not say that old Bragold himself practised magic, and it was he who first uttered the prophesy.”

“But the magic he practised was of a different kind to that of the magicians, so the legends say,” argued Vixel. A number of animals nodded. There would have been yet another awkward silence, had Hedegar not said, “But we interrupt the girl's story. She was telling us of these other two. So, you believe that they are the ones we have waited for all these years, but that they are now dead and you have come as a messenger?”

“No, not exactly. I don't know that it was them, I'm just guessing, since they were meant to use the magic. I'm still trying to figure out for myself what happened, and one of the reasons I came was to look for answers. There's something important I need to know. What is the name of this place, of this world? Is this the world where there is a country called Narnia?”

“Do you mean to say,” asked Vixel with surprise, “That you are not from this world? That your magic has brought you from another? No wonder we have never seen any of your kind before. We always assumed the children of Adam and Eve would come from beyond the sea.”

Ratel spoke next, as all the animals stared at Susan with awe, “As to our world, it has no specific name – it is simply 'the world'. There have always been some who believed, as you suggest, that there are other worlds out there, but ours is the only one we have ever known. The name of our land, from the Western Sea to the impassable Frosted Mountains is Crestfaulen. Our home, the valley through which the Kloof River runs is called Phairdayl. Of a place called Narnia, I have never heard, though it may beyond the sea.”

“It is not,” spoke up the weaver, and all turned their attention to him as he spoke with such confidence. “Among the bird folk, there are many who have travelled further than ever a weaver bird could. Some of my friends have passed over the sea and visited the other lands in this world. Among the councils of birds no such name has ever been uttered, it's a name I would not have forgotten.”

“Oh,” said Susan, suddenly puzzled. Despite the landscape, despite the strange creatures, she did not realise till now, but she had been certain that she was somewhere in the world of Narnia. She remembered what it was like returning to Narnia that first time after thousands of years. They had not recognised it then, and she knew it would not be inconceivable that she had arrived once again after thousands of years. None of the Pevensies, not even Eustace and Jill, from the rumours she had heard of their northern adventure, had travelled to the furthest North. She had been convinced that she was now somewhere in that region. This changed everything.

As far as she knew, it was a Narnian man who had called to the friends of Narnia during their final gathering. It was certainly some human-looking apparition. And these creatures claimed not to have seen humans before. If this was not the world, not the place to which Eustace and Jill should have gone, then who was the prophesy about? And what about Narnia? Were they still in trouble?

Why had the guinea-pig pointed her to this pool, if it this not Narnia? Was she wrong about him, was he simply a normal guinea-pig with no knowledge or intelligence beyond those on Earth? As these questions began to fill her mind, she suddenly felt very foolish, very lonely and very afraid. She felt the sudden temptation to slip on the yellow ring which was still in her pocket. But the weaver was watching her with that intense gaze, and she knew she could not remove it from it's bag without him noticing.

The moment passed and she felt instead that the safest thing to do was to learn more about the prophesy. She could always escape at a more convenient time should she feel the need.

“What's wrong, dear,” said Gelinda speaking up for the first time during the meeting. “Uh...I think I was wrong...about Eustace and Jill, about this land, about everything. Would you mind telling me more about the prophesy? I no longer know who this prophesied person is or was or should be, but perhaps I can help you figure it out.”

The animals looked at each other. “This is a strange situation,” spoke up Vixel, “but if all are in agreement, I think we should tell her. I don't know much about prophesies and magic and other worlds, but I believe there is a reason she was brought here.”

*-*-*-*

The tortoise, who until this time had been so silent that Susan had forgotten he was even there, was the one to take up the story.

“Many years ago, when my grandfather was still young,” he began in the slow but firm voice of one reciting a tale, “the Phairdayle valley was very different in appearance from the way it is today. Amongst the thorn trees grew another taller and fairer tree. It was known as the breaknut tree. It was a special plant, and encouraged the growth of many other plants that have long since died off. The valley was much greener then. Shrubs, with exquisite flowers thrived, and there was many a grassy dell. In those days, the vegetation was not so limited to the river valley, but but spread even to the foot of the mesas. There were many more creatures living in this valley back then. It was a happy and prosperous time.

“The breaknut tree was the livelihood of the valley community. It was not only a source of shelter and the staple food, but the plant was used in every aspect of valley life. The wood of the tree was used for building various things – especially rafts. River travel was important in those days. While every part, even the leaves, were useful, the fruit was by far the most valuable part of the tree. It had a hard outer shell, resembling a large nut. But inside, there was a rich, juicy and nutritious flesh. The inner seeds produced a precious oil, used in medicine and in giving light amongst other things.

“Perhaps the most important properties of the tree, were medicinal. It was said that the breaknut tree could cure any ill: the leaves, in a broth, could break a fever; the roots, crushed, relieved pain; the flowers produced an oil which could be applied to scratches and burns; small branches and twigs could be chewed to prevent teeth rotting and toothache. The seeds were the most potent of all, and an individual tree's value was based on the amount of fruit, and therefore number of seeds, it produced. There was often a debate among the valley dwellers as to the ratio of seeds used for medicine or oil versus those planted to produce new trees. There would come a time, however, when the debate would become void, as a struggle for survival led to the death of the trees.

“In those days, there was much trade between the dwellers of the Phairdayle valley and the rest of Crestfallen. The breaknut tree was endemic to the valley, and try as their neighbours might, the plant would not grow elsewhere. As a result, our forefathers sold off parts and products of the trees at very great prices. They became some of the wealthiest creatures in the land, but it would seem that their wealth was in vain. The breaknut tree was slow in the growing, and it became apparent that between their own use of the plant and that of their neighbours, the number of trees could not be sustained forever.

“It was decided by the ruler of the time, a honey badger named Creole, that all trade in breaknut trees and their products must cease. The neighbouring creatures were not at all pleased and accused the Phairdaylers of hoarding the plant for themselves to increase their own power and wealth.

“One night in a daring raid, the creatures of Vencoshi, the next valley over, made their way into our valley. The trees had always been allowed to grow naturally, but the Phairdaylers had begun a modest plantation in the hopes of increasing the alarmingly declining number of trees. The Vencoshites entered the plantation, which no one had thought it necessary to guard, and stole twenty saplings. Since the trees could not grow in their soil, these plants would have benefited them little, as they were not yet in flower. Not satisfied with their theft, the Vencoshites then set fire to the rest of the plantation. They lost over 200 trees in one night.

“The loss of almost half the breaknut trees in the valley was only the start of the Phairdayers troubles. That summer would be unusually dry. It was believed by some that the ash of the burning breaknut trees had polluted the air and somehow contributed to the dry and murky weather. The Kloof River became only a trickle and many of the tributaries dried up completely. It was a blessing that the fruit of the remaining breaknut trees, which continued to grow despite the drought, was not only good for food, but contained enough liquid to prevent complete dehydration.

“Swift on the heals of the drought, however, came a deadly disease. It was a mysterious plague which swept through the valley – and it had only one cure.

“What was to bring survival to the Phairdaylers would mean the perishing of their beloved trees. A brew, made from boiled seeds of the breaknut tree could be used to treat those who were sick, but very many seeds were required to create the desired strength, and there were very many sick creatures. For some time, the physicians experimented with other versions of the treatment, but time was little, and when lives were on the line, these could not be easily tested.

“One day, almost by accident, they had a breakthrough. In the core of the breaknut trees, was a sap that contained the same substance which was in the seeds. The sap could be extracted from the trees by boring a hole into the core.

“The sap contained a stronger concentration and more plentiful amount of the liquid – but drilling the tree meant its death. Once the sap was gone, the tree could no longer live. The number of surviving trees was already less than eighty at this time, when a second wave of the plague passed through.

“Creatures who had recovered from the first bout, fell ill again. At first, the Phairdaylers continued to use only the seeds of the trees, but the number of seeds in storage continued to decrease. It reached a point where, once a tree had been stripped of its fruit and seeds, it was considered more prudent drill it for its sap than to wait until it bore new fruit.

“It became apparent that the trees would not hold out. The animals were now in survival mode. What was the point of preserving these trees if no creatures survived to enjoy them? Lives were a priorty, and the trees would be used in whatever way they could to save lives. Other places lived without breaknut trees, if they could only survive the plague until the autumn rains, they could continue to live on without them.

“And that is what happened. Not a single tree was spared. In the end, every spare seed, every tree was used up. The story goes that the day on which the last tree, long stripped of its fruit, was bored for its sap, was the day that the rains came.

“The rains brought not only refreshment, but cleansing. Within a month, all trace of the plague was gone. Though some were lost to the plague, many valley dwellers had survived and they did not regret their decision to choose their lives over those of the trees. Life continued, and they learnt to adapt to a new kind of lifestyle, one in which the breaknut tree would play no role. In time, they noticed that a number of other plants began to die from the lack of protection offered by the breaknut tree. But even then, not all was lost. The thorn trees, rarer in the past, began to thrive and take their place. The age of the breaknut was over, and a new one had begun for the creatures of the valley. It is to this new age that we all were born.”

Everyone was sitting in silence, enthralled by the story. Susan almost got the impression that some of those present had never heard the tale in its entirety. That made sense if they had simply grown up with snippets of it told to them throughout their lives. It was a legend contained by a common memory rather than a fixed and full account. It seemed, however, that it had been passed down through the tortoise family, and they could recite the tale in full.

“This is all very interesting,” said Susan, suddenly realising that the group had grown quiet, and thought perhaps she was expected to reply, “But what does it have to do with a daughter of Eve or son of Adam? How are we to bring back an extinct tree – there is no such tree that I know of in our world?”

“It has everything to do with you,” answered Scaltard. “For though Creole and the rest of the creatures believed that every tree and seed had been destroyed, this was not the case. Before the last tree was bored, Bragold the Old, believing that the creatures were wrong about being able to live on without the plant, took a single seed and hid it somewhere in the valley. He told no one where it was, but committed the location to writing. When he died, the parchment on which it was written was passed to his son, who in turn passed it on to his. It has remained in the keeping of the long-eared hedgehogs ever since. Hedegar has it in his keeping today.”

Susan looked at the first friend she had made in this place and began to understand why he had been so excited to find her. “But still don't understand,” she said, “I'm guessing Bragold was a hedgehog and not a Son of Adam. I still can't see where we come in.”

“The location,” answered Hedegar, speaking for himself, “is written in a script that none of us can read or decipher. While the page was passed down through my family, the knowledge of how to read it was not. It was said that one day, a Son of Adam and/or a Daughter of Eve, would come to the valley. And that they would be the ones who could read the script, and restore the legacy of the breaknut trees”.