"Be careful," the badger said quietly. "Say naught, let the place speak to you. Touch naught unless invited. This enclosure was not built to protect the table from you, but you from the table. Turn back now if you will, but if you pass through this door, you must not turn back until you have finished."
The badger turned, then quietly motioned with a paw as he passed through the doorway.
The walls of the passageway were rough hewn stone whose uneven surface swayed drunkenly with light and shadow. There was at first no sound but the nervous shuffling of feet, then suddenly the Mage stopped, held up his arm, and brought the column to a halt. "Listen. Feel."
A light breeze was blowing, ominously, from deeper within the How toward the outside, a thing so strange it would seem impossible anywhere else. And then came the subtle hint of voices.
"Look, he's only a big kitty cat! Here, Pussums! Do you want a saucer of milk?"
The hallway began to hum, a hum so deep that it was more felt than heard.
"The FOOL! The fool has come! BIND HIM!"
The badger began to hurry down the hallway with the others rushing after him from fear and the need to cling to the light.
It seemed to take much longer than the journey should, as if turn led to turn, alley to alley, passage to passage mocked the common sense of all present. And then when everything seemed lost, they emerged at last in a central room in the midst of which were the fragments of the Great Stone Table. The table was the source of the hum, clearly. Around it the letters graven in the stone glowed softly.
"In this room," the badger said in a weak, trembling voice, "the spirits of greatest good and greatest evil came together, and their deeds have marked this place. Dear friends, stand clear of the table. Come no closer."
He quickly stuffed the light inside his cloak and an eerie and total darkness fell over all. And yet within moments, another light, round and sickly yellow, shone through distant clouds. Torches winked in here and there until the whole surrounds were like a convocation of march spirits.
He was there. The Great Lion lay shorn, bound, muzzled. And above him, standing with a face as loveless as it was lovely, was her. The White Witch.
"Know this! You have given me Narnia FOREVER! In that knowledge, despair..."
The badger scrambled onto the table. "My Lord!!"
"...and DIE!"
The badger shrieked with grief and fell upon the lion as his last breath slowly sighed out.
All went dark.
For a time, a very long time, there was no sound, no stirring, no hint of light. And then, quite suddenly, the badger took the light once again from his cloak. All seemed as it should be. The table lay vacant in its ruin. And then when it had all seemed like a horrid vision, the badger opened his other fist, red with blood. He walked quietly to the first pilgrim and said in a hushed voice, "The blood of mercy," touching his forehead and leaving a tiny red spot. He passed each person in turn, repeating the blessing and the anointing. And when he reached the last one, a young girl, he anointed her and then kissed her. "Aslan loves you too, my child."
He then addressed the others. "Lest we forget." He then silently motioned for them to leave. And this time the journey was swift, with but one turn to the right and a clear passage to the night sky.
