deepest_magic | the second occasion

"I think they do Christmas differently here," says Elizabeth. "At home people give each other presents, things we buy or make, but it sounds like the Last Present came from somewhere."

"Oh, people used to give each other presents, too, on Christmas," sighs Mrs. Beaver, "but what it means for there to be no Christmas is that Father Christmas hasn't been able to come."

"Father Christmas," says Bella. "Like - Santa?"

"Is that what you call him in your country?" inquires Mr. Beaver.

"Yes," says Elizabeth. "They call him Father Christmas in another country nearish ours, but in ours we call him Santa Claus, and nobody's ever really seen him that I know of. It seems like Narnia has a lot of things that we only knew as stories before we came here."

"Nobody to have seen Father Christmas! My goodness," says Mrs. Beaver.

"So he gave someone the cornucopia, the last time there was a Christmas, and it's been letting you all stay reasonably fed on things besides mushrooms, animals - that I assume don't talk? - which eat mushrooms, and I suppose pinecones, and fish?" says Bella.

"There are a few things that will grow by themselves in the winter," says Mr. Beaver, "some berries and some roots if you're careful not to kill the whole plant, but yes, that's about right. And of course the pigs don't talk."

"The robin that led us to you didn't speak either, but was smart enough to do it," says Bella.

"Well, there are a few in-between animals, but you needn't worry about the pigs, they're quite mute and simple," Mr. Beaver says. "Same as the fish."

"If you say so," says Bella.

"So... what are we supposed to do, exactly? To bring Father Christmas back and end the winter and all that?"

Mr. Beaver peers out the window.

"Ah," he says. "It's snowing again. Then we shan't have any visitors and your tracks will be covered up soon enough... Right. There's no saving Mr. Tumnus. I'm certain he's been taken to her house, and whether he's been locked up or turned to stone or given over to be her assassin's plaything I'm sure I couldn't guess, but even if you had some idea of it, it's no good. But now that Aslan is on the move -"

Bella leans forward; the name keeps stealing over her like the most glorious lifelong forecast of all time.

Elizabeth doesn't react so visibly, but she observes that the name seems to be doing the same thing to Bella that it is to her, although she suspects the details might be different.

"Who is Aslan?" Bella asks.

"Aslan! Why, how could you not know - he's the King. Lord of the whole wood, but not often here, you understand - not in my time or my father's time. But he's come back. He's in Narnia, right at this moment. He'll put things to rights, he'll settle with the White Witch, he'll save Mr. Tumnus and all her other victims."

"And I take it he's quite safe from being turned to stone himself," says Bella.

"Turn Aslan to stone! If she can look him in the eye without falling to the ground it will be more than I expect of her."

"Does that mean all we have to do is wait for Aslan to fix it? I have a feeling it doesn't," says Elizabeth.

"Well, I'm meant to take you to meet him," says Mr. Beaver. "Tomorrow, if possible, at the Stone Table. We do need you too, Daughters of Eve - there's an old rhyme about it - When Adam's flesh and Adam's bone / sits at Cair Paravel in throne / the evil time will be over and done."

"...Are you saying we're supposed to sit on thrones? Does that mean only as a - physical trigger for some kind of magic, or as a symbol that will be useful for some reason, or - the conventional reason people sit on thrones?"

"You'll want to speak to Aslan about that," says Mr. Beaver.

"And the Witch, is she not human herself?"

"She's been known to claim it," he says. "She'd like us to think it, it's how she bases her claim to the throne, but no, she's Jinn on one side, giant on the other. Not a drop of real human blood. That's why she's so wrong clear through - things that look like humans and aren't, or used to be and stopped, they're not to be trusted. There's good Dwarfs, but the ones that are the least like men, not the ones that could be mistook."

"I see," says Bella, politely dubious.

It's interesting to know such a rule exists, regardless of how true it turns out to be.

"What sorts of things are there that used to be human and stopped?" she asks.

"I've heard it said about her assassin," says Mr. Beaver. "I don't credit it, though, he's no such thing. I think he's most likely one of her own race with a lot of magic done to him on top of that."

"Some of her undead were, though. Wights and the like," says Mrs. Beaver. "To the best of my knowledge."

"What's Aslan?" Bella asks, taking notes on the variety of creatures.

"Oh, Aslan is a lion," says Mr. Beaver. "King of beasts. The lion."

"Goodness."

"Seems... appropriate, somehow," muses Elizabeth. "Who's this assassin you keep talking about?"

Mr. Beaver looks nervously out the winter again, then lowers his voice and says, "He calls himself Eternal Winter."

"We saw the note he left at Tumnus's house," she says. "He seems - frightening."

He seems like he goes out of his way to be frightening. Like it's his purpose.

"Terribly. Some people are more afraid of him than they are of her," shudders Mrs. Beaver.

"I can see how they might be."

"But anyway if you hurry to the Stone Table you will meet Aslan and - it's just the two of you? There aren't a couple of Sons of Adam about as well?" says Mrs. Beaver anxiously.

"It's just us," says Bella. "Do there need to be more?"

"Well, there are four thrones. The exact wording of the old rhymes doesn't mention a number, but there are four."

"Well, I think we're going to have to make do with two, unless more people start showing up from who knows where," says Elizabeth.

Bella nods.

"Well, you'll have to meet Aslan all the same," says Mr. Beaver. "And I should like to hurry, in case for all our caution there's been word taken to the Witch."

"All right, that's reasonable," says Bella. "Is he most likely there already waiting?"

"I imagine so, and in any event it would be much easier to stop you getting there than to stop him, so it's the best place to be," says Mr. Beaver.

"Sounds like a plan," says Elizabeth. "Is there anything else to do before we leave?"

"Well, we ought to pack some food for the journey," says Mrs. Beaver.

"We've packed some and haven't even begun to eat it yet. There's enough to share, especially if you like sugar. Are we going to take very long to get there?"

"Not too terribly, I suppose," Mrs. Beaver says. "And sugar's nice, of course."

And so out they go, bundled into coats, Bella creeping along until they're not so near a drop. The snow has stopped and the moonlight is shining. "We'll keep by the riverbank as much as we can. She couldn't bring her sledge down here," advises Mr. Beaver.

Elizabeth nods along to this explanation. It seems wise as far as she can tell.

They walk. And walk. Eventually the moon disappears behind clouds again and it starts to snow, but since they started out quite warmed up in the beavers' house and immediately moved on to trudging along the riverbank, they don't get too cold except for the ends of their noses. Enough time passes for everyone to become quite tired, and for Bella to distribute the sandwiches (she made four and offers each beaver one).

After this, Mr. Beaver scrambles up into a hidey-hole and announces that it should be safe for them to sleep there for a few hours, whereas sleeping first in their house would have made them very easily findable for anyone expecting the Daughters of Eve to be in the company of beavers in particular. It is sheltered and reasonably snug with two large beavers and two small girls all curled up together in it, although it is not particularly comfortable in any other respect.

This seems reasonable. Elizabeth curls up and goes to sleep.

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