XVI

“David,” said Susan, making her way down to where he sat on a rock overlooking the river from which he was watching the sunset. He turned to her and smiled, breaking some personal reverie. Why was he always like that? The way he turned his attention to people when they spoke made them feel like they were the most important person at that moment.

“It seems you were right about the meerkat,” she ventured, “At least he hasn’t led us into any traps thus far.”

She sat down on the rock next to him, and shielded her face with her hand against the sun’s brightness.” Watching her, he smiled and gave just a simple nod.

They sat in silence for a while.

“How do you do that?” she continued, at last.

“Do what?” he returned

“Make decisions...on whom you can and can't trust?” she answered, trying to find the right words to express what she was thinking.

David frowned, “You mean with the meerkat? How did I decide he could be trusted? He seemed like a decent fellow and his story made sense. I was just going by what instinct told me. I could be wrong.”

“Yes,” answered Susan, still focussed on his question, “I mean...no. That is what I meant, but more generally. How does your instinct know when someone is telling the truth or not? It's...like you have a gift for knowing what you should and shouldn't believe. I wish I could have your confidence in judging people.”

“I'm not so sure about that,” he laughed, “I've made a few major errors of judgement in my life.”

He looked at Susan again, and realised that there was more to her question. Something was bothering her. He had a feeling he knew where this might be going. If he was right, he'd have to make a decision – a decision his instinct wouldn't be quite so helpful with. Dare he tell her the truth or should he hold back a little longer? An uneasy feeling settled in his stomach. He wouldn't be able to put it off much longer.

He liked the way Susan looked up to him, it made him feel good. He really didn't want to diminish her opinion of him. Those beautiful innocent eyes (innocent yet scarred with pain) looked up at him with a sense of awe and admiration that he treasured. He kept telling himself that it was for her own well-being that he'd not been honest with her much sooner. But he knew it was really his own selfishness and pride.

Susan spoke up again, finally finding the words she sought. “David, why did you believe me? That evening, at Margaret's house, when I told you about the rings and Narnia? Why didn't you laugh at me like Margaret did? How could you simply accept what I said without question? You had no logical reason to believe me.”

Ever since that first meeting with the animals by the old thorn tree (and if she was honest long before that) Susan had been wrestling with questions about belief and trust. But she realised as she was speaking that she had another motive for questioning him. She could think of only one possible answer to her questions. She felt her cheeks grow hot in the firelight. Surely that was the same reason David had come here after her when she'd asked him not to; the same thing she saw in his eyes when he looked at her. It was selfish, she knew, but she wanted to hear him say the words. More than she'd wanted to hear them from any other man; in Narnia or her world.

“Susan,” said David solemnly, “There is something I need to tell you.” Her heart beat faster, as she listened expectantly.

“I haven't been completely honest with you.” She frowned. Not exactly what she was expecting, but she continued to listen.

“You asked me about how I could trust you, but you are giving me far more credit than I deserve. In truth, you were more trusting than I was that evening. You dared to tell me the truth; despite the fact that I probably wouldn't believe you; despite the way you had been treated by the last person you told. You took the risk and shared with me things you weren't even sure you believed yourself. I should be asking why you trusted me.”

“But,” began Susan, recovering from her initial disappointment (at least he was flattering her; that was a start), “But the fact remains that you had no reason to believe my story. I had the hope that you would humour me and pretend. But I knew from the start that you weren't pretending. What serious person believes in rumours of other worlds reached through magic? It would have made more sense for you to think I was insane. Instead, you believed me.”

David allowed a few moments of silence before replying. He knew now that he had to tell her the truth, even if she hated him for it, if she refused to believe him or never wanted to speak to him again. He really didn't want to alienate her, of all girls, but he knew that it was dishonest to make her think he had believed her simply for her own sake.

“Susan,” he said with his eyes lowered, “It is easy to believe an unusual story when you have heard the same tale before. The reason I believed you so easily is that you were not the first person to tell me about other worlds as though they were real; as though you could actually travel to them. I'm afraid you were wrong about me. I believed your story only because it was not new to me. I was the one who didn't trust you. Not enough to tell you that. I'm sorry.”

He hung his head with a dejected sense of shame. It was the first time Susan had ever seen him like that. Mixed emotions welled up inside her. She had no idea where this was going and it scared her. She wanted him to explain further. He owed her that at least.

“David, what do you mean when you say you'd heard talk of other worlds before? Do you know someone else who travelled to another world? You...you don't mean to say you've been to another world yourself?”

David slowly lifted his head, “Oh no Susan, it’s nothing so concrete as that. When I speak of having heard such stories before I just mean that I had heard stories. My mother used to tell me tales of worlds which could be travelled to, and of an in-between place from which all worlds could be reached, from the time I was born.”

“Okay,” said Susan, mystified, “It's not uncommon for parents to tell such stories to their young children. But they stop when the child is old enough to realise that they are just stories.”

“Except,” answered David, his voice serious, “these weren't told as stories and she never stopped telling them. They were told to us as fact, as history, as part of the family heritage passed on through generations. Susan, did the Professor ever tell you where his uncle got the rings from?”

“I think he said he made them himself,” she answered, puzzled.

“Do you know how he made them,” he prompted further.

Susan thought for a while, she wasn't sure she'd ever been told that. “Wait...I do remember; apparently he made them from dust. They had something to do with a box of dust he'd inherited from his God-mother. I believe the crazy man thought it had come from Atlantis!” Susan laughed.

David looked at her but didn't laugh, didn't allow even the faintest hint of a smile. At last he spoke. “Susan, he was telling the truth. The box did come from Atlantis. As did the tales my mother told me of worlds and worlds between worlds.”

Susan studied David's expression. Was he playing with her? Was he teasing her? Why had he really come after her? And if he'd wanted to make fun of her, why wait till now?

“What exactly do you mean,” she asked with an unsteady voice. He replied confidently, “Atlantis was a real place, Susan. As real as Narnia or this world or our world. The reason I believed what you told me that night was that I had heard tales of a time when travel between the worlds was far more common.”

“And how,” asked Susan, with conflicting emotions rising “How exactly did your mother come by these tales, and believe them as true long after the rest of the world had forgotten about them?”

“I've already told you,” answered David, “They were part of our family heritage. My mother was descended from the Atlanteans. I am descended from Atlanteans. I've dreamed my whole life of recovering the secret of world travel. And now I have found it.” He carefully took the green ring which he had got from the guinea-pig out of his right-hand pocket and held it up with a glint in his eyes.