Seeking the Lost - A Narnia Story

Hermit of Archenland

Hermit of Archenland

Active member
A story I've had in mind for a while , although only the first chapter has been written. There are only three or four chapters planned, but I can't guarantee the others will appear that soon. Narnia and all associated characters are the creation of C. S. Lewis

Seeking the Lost- A Narnia Story

Chapter One

It was an evening like any other in London. The height of the rush hour had now passed and the streetlights were coming on as dusk fell over the city. Only a few people now walked the pavements, making their way home after a late departure from work. But for Stephen Marsh today was not like any other; it was the occasion of his fiftieth birthday.

There had been a surprise party for him at work, or at least what passed for a party in these times of post-war austerity. Even five years after the war had ended, food rationing was still an ever-present part of life in Britain. The entire occasion had left him depressed, not because of the scarcity of refreshments but what was being celebrated.

It was not so much awareness of his mortality that bothered him, more a sense of limitation, of time closing in on him. There was no time left to hope for something better. His dear wife Alice was dead now, had died nearly six years ago and his children were grown up and making their own way in the world, leaving him alone, and he had no expectation or to be honest any real wish for that to change. He was a clerk at a legal firm and had to accept that was all he ever would be. All the hopes and aspirations of youth had faded, leaving nothing but ashes and dreams of what might have been.

Stephen was shaken out of his introspective mood by a voice calling out behind him. Turning round he saw a girl walking towards him. She was tall, and as she passed under the streetlight he could see she was quite attractive. Flowing golden hair framed a pretty and intelligent face and she was wearing a fashionable grey skirt and jacket that tastefully emphasised her slender but shapely figure. What struck him as unusual about her appearance was the naturalness of her complexion, a refreshing change from the powdered and painted faces of most young women.

As the girl drew closer he had to modify that opinion slightly, realising she had not entirely eschewed the aids to beauty that had become such a ubiquitous part of feminine existence. Even so, the cosmetics had been applied with a restraint and subtlety that was decidedly unusual in such as young woman.

He wondered how old she actually was. Judging by her appearance he would have guessed eighteen at the most, certainly younger than his own daughter. Yet somehow she gave the impression of being older, of carrying with her an indefinable aura of maturity. Perhaps it was the way she held herself, he thought, for the girl moved with a grace and confidence that was almost regal in it’s dignity. Or perhaps it was her eyes, which despite the brightness and clarity of youth also held a meditative watchfulness. Stephen could not help the feeling that within that youthful body a much older woman was looking out at him, one who had seen and experienced many things.

Once again, Stephen was startled out of his reflections when the girl spoke.

“Excuse me sir, I was wondering if you could direct me to Huxley Mews?”

He paused for a second before answering as he tried to recall what he knew of local geography.

“Go down that alley to the end,” he pointed across the street, “ then turn right and take the third turning on the left and that will take you into Huxley Mews.”

“Thank you very much, sir.”

The girl turned away and after a moment’s hesitation Stephen called after her.

“Miss?”

She turned back and looked at him curiously.

“What is it, sir?”

“That’s rather a rough area,” he explained. “I don’t think it would really be safe for a young woman to go there alone at this hour. If you would like an escort…”

The girl looked gravely at him for a moment then smiled, and he could not restrain the tiny gasp that escaped his throat. The expression transfigured her entire being, changing her from a merely pretty girl to one who was dazzlingly beautiful, and if there was a touch of condescension in that smile Stephen was too entranced to notice. Just for a moment he was almost in love.

“That’s very kind of you,” she said gently. “But there’s really no need. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

She turned from him and began to cross the street, carefully picking her way through the evening traffic. Stephen watched as she made her way safely to the other side and moved into the alley he had pointed out. He couldn’t help admiring her trim figure then as he realised what he was doing he reprimanded himself sharply. He had no business being attracted to a girl young enough to be his daughter, and in any case no woman could ever take the place of his Alice. Even so, as he watched the young woman disappear from sight, Stephen couldn’t help a momentary regret that today was his fiftieth birthday and not his twentieth.
 
This really looks promising! Your mention of postwar austerity brings to my mind the experience that C.S. Lewis had, in the postwar period, of having American fans of his books send food parcels to him. He shared with friends what he received; and since one fan was sending a large canned ham each week, the sharing times came to be called "the ham suppers"--featuring the only meat some of them got to eat all week when the shortages were at their worst. Perhaps you could show some British character in your story receiving similar help from overseas.
 
Thanks to both Copperfox and amdd97 for the comments.

There will be more references to post-war austerity, but it will be in the context of there being plenty when there should be scarcity, which should give a clue to anyone who knows the period.

Anyone want to guess the identity of the girl? I thought it was pretty obvious.
 
In the books, Lucy was supposed to be fair-haired; yet Lucy could not be as old as the girl depicted if this is VERY soon after the war. Nor would Lucy be described as "lost."
 
After changing my mind several times about where I was going with this I finally finished this chapter

Chapter Two

She felt the middle-aged man’s eyes on her as she crossed the street and smiled to herself. His obvious admiration amused rather than offended her.

Being the object of men’s attention was not a new experience. She recalled another time, another life, when she wore sumptuous robes of state and a golden circlet on her head. There had been men admiring her then as well, men young and not so young, all vying for her hand.

She chuckled as she remembered the antics of the younger men, although their earnest entreaties and stumbling recitations of badly written sonnets in her honour had irritated her at the time. They had been sincere enough, just naïve and not fully understanding the commitment they were asking of her or of themselves.

Some of the older men had been another matter. They had been sophisticated and charming, honeyed words of flattery flowing from their tongues, but their eyes had been cold and hard, regarding her with a predatory hunger. Under the polished exteriors it was plain they cared nothing for her, save as an object of their lust or a means of advancing their political ambition.

The young woman shook her head impatiently. This was no time to be thinking of such things, she needed to focus on the task she had been given.

Reaching the end of the alleyway she turned right and headed up the narrow cobbled street. There were few streetlights here and the surrounding houses cut off most of the faint remnants of daylight, making the place dark and foreboding.

The street was deserted and quiet, the only sound the clicking of her heels on the rough cobblestones. But a moment later another set of footsteps could be heard and she saw a dark figure approaching.

She could tell from the size that it was a man, a little taller than her and powerfully built. As he drew closer she saw he was fairly young, under forty certainly, wearing labourers clothes with dark untidy hair. From the way he staggered slightly she guessed he was more than a little drunk.

“Hello luv!” He leered at her and she could smell the alcohol on his breath. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing here?”

It was obvious he did not mean her well, but the young woman felt no fear. She had no reason to be afraid and in any case was no longer capable of that emotion.

“Excuse me!”

The girl stepped round him but before she had gone more than two paces a fierce hand gripped her shoulder. She reacted instinctively, swinging her arm in a backhanded blow that sent him sprawling against the nearby wall.

He stared up at her in astonishment for a moment, but that expression was soon replaced by rage.

“I dunno how you did that but you’ll ruddy well pay for it!”

Staggering to his feet he pulled out a wooden stick, just over half a foot in length, and when he pressed the side a blade shot out of the end, glinting wickedly in the dim radiance of the distant streetlight. She could tell it was razor sharp, the sort of weapon that could disembowel someone with a single slash.

With a snarl he swung the knife at her, slashing open the side of her face. The girl neither moved nor made any sound and her assailant looked from her to the knife with disbelieving horror. There was no trace of any blood and before his incredulous eyes the ghastly wound closed up and knit together, leaving no sign it had ever been.

“Gawd!”

The girl’s arm shot out, wrenching the weapon from his grasp. Holding the blade delicately between her fingertips, she casually snapped it in half.

He slowly backed away from her, eyes wide with terror, then broke into a staggering run. The girl watched impassively as he fled up the street.

When the last echoes of his footsteps had faded she sighed deeply. Tossing aside the broken pieces of the knife she continued her journey, and a few minutes later reached her destination without further incident.

Huxley Mews was a narrow lane of semi-detached houses closed at one end. During the Victorian Age it had consisted entirely of stables serving the local businesses, but just after the turn of the century these had been demolished and houses built in their place, most of which had now been converted into flats.

For several minutes the girl stared at a column of doorbells and the names next to them, her eyes fixed on one in particular.

Susan Pevensie.

She reached out and tentatively pressed the button. And as Lucy waited for her sister to answer, she could not help remembering the events that had led to this moment.
 
Chapter 3

The mountain was huge, a vast cliff face that soared far above the topmost clouds. Even the most experienced mountaineer would have expired from exhaustion long before reaching the summit. But the young woman climbing it showed no hesitation or fear, moving gracefully from one pinnacle of rock to another, her long golden hair streaming behind her in the wind.

Lucy Pevensie, once of England and Narnia, now a citizen of a Kingdom far greater than either reached the summit and raised a hand to shield her face. Even her eyes, which could now look unblinking into the sun at noon, were momentarily dazzled by the splendour of the Presence that awaited her.

“Aslan!”

There stood the golden Lion, the radiance shed by his mane making the sunlight seem dim and tawdry in comparison. As she walked towards him, Lucy couldn’t help wondering why she still usually saw him in the form of a lion. She supposed it was because that was what she was used to, although when she wished she could also see his human form, the man who had been called Jesus of Nazareth.

There were times when she caught glimpses of other forms too. Most she could easily understand although they were strange to her eyes, but there were some her mind could barely grasp and Lucy suspected such sights might have challenged her sanity had she still been mortal.

She wondered how many worlds he had actually taken flesh in, and if it had been necessary for him to die and rise again in all of them. It was a disquieting thought, although there was a vague suspicion in her mind that these might not be separate events. Perhaps the Crucifixion in her old world and the sacrifice on the Stone Table in Narnia had not been different events but the same, at some deep level beyond the understanding of any finite mind.

All such speculation was banished from her mind as Lucy reached Aslan and buried her face in the rich silkiness of his mane, breathing in the wild heady perfume that always seemed to surround him.

“Welcome child.”

She looked up to stare into the Lion’s huge solemn eyes.

“You have a task for me, Aslan.”

It was a statement rather than a question. It was not the first time he had summoned her in this way and Lucy knew it would not be the last.

“Yes, Dear One.” The deep voice paused for a moment. “Your sister, Susan.”

Lucy caught her breath. She was used to these missions by now, but never before had they affected her personally.

“Aslan,” she said hesitantly. “All the others were strangers, but Susan knows me. And from her point of view I’m dead. How will she react when I just turn up on her doorstep?”

“She will not recognise you, Lucy,” the Lion replied. “At least not at first, later it will depend.”

Lucy frowned. “What exactly do you want me to do, Aslan?”

“Just be her sister, child,” Aslan told her. “It is not needful for you to know more.”

Lucy knew better than to ask further questions. It was obvious that for her to know more details of the Lion’s purposes would interfere with them. She just needed to trust that Aslan knew what he was doing.

She looked down at the elegant gown of green silk she was wearing. “Well I can’t walk around London dressed like this!”

Lucy could see the amusement in the Lion’s eyes. “You will appear as you did just before the railway accident.”

She nodded. “All right Aslan, I’m ready.”
 
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Provided Aslan's "other forms" aren't supposed to be Zeus, Amon-Ra, Odin, Krishna, Buddha, Quetzalcoatl, Mary Baker Eddy, Wovoka and Mahatma Gandhi, this is wonderful!
 
Copperfox said:
Provided Aslan's "other forms" aren't supposed to be Zeus, Amon-Ra, Odin, Krishna, Buddha, Quetzalcoatl, Mary Baker Eddy, Wovoka and Mahatma Gandhi, this is wonderful!
Click to expand...

Certainly not!
I am, I suppose, a fairly liberal Christian compared to many here, but I am no syncretist. If, as I firmly believe, Christian theology is correct that Jesus is the incarnate Son of God and the supreme revelation of God to humanity, then other religions are in essence wrong. I may think certain aspects of their philosophy true and valuable and many of their adherents good and admirable people, but the core of their beliefs is still incorrect. Christianity holds that Jesus is the Son of God, Islam that he is just a prophet. Either one is right and the other wrong or both are wrong; they can't both be right!

What I meant was that Aslan took the form of a lion in Narnia because it was intended originally as mainly a country of talking beasts and the lion is appropriately the King of Beasts. So in other worlds Aslan would take whatever form is appropriate for the nature of that world.

Sorry for the rant but syncretism really outrages my sense of logic. Thanks to you and everyone else for the comments.
 
No need to apologize for the rant; I _applaud_ the rant, for clearing the air. Syncretism is extremely aggressive in the world today. When the "Dawn Treader" movie went into production, I was _dreading_ that Aslan at the end would be made to tell Edmund, "In your world I have _many_ names." This being cleared up here, I repeat that your story is wonderful.
 
Sorry this had taken so long. I'm back at work this week after a long holiday so my time has been more limited. I said this story would be about four chapters but it's rather got away from me and will certainly be longer than that, I estimate about seven chapters at least

Chapter Four

Lucy was nervous as she waited for Susan to answer the door. She wasn’t sure what she would say to her sister or for that matter exactly what Aslan wanted her to do.

The door opened and Lucy saw her sister for the first time since the railway accident. By that world’s time over a year had passed and Susan has changed. She looked thinner and the make up she wore could not quite conceal the pallor of her cheeks or the dark shadows under her eyes.

As Susan looked at her there was a momentary flash of recognition in her eyes, but an instant later it was gone and she was staring at Lucy as though she were a stranger.

“Hello, Susan Pevensie?”

“Yes.” Susan regarded her curiously. “What can I do for you?”

“I knew your sister at school. “ Lucy began the cover story she had prepared. “I recently heard about the train accident and I’m trying to find out what happened.”

“Oh!” Susan bit her lip, the uncertainty plainly visible on her face. “Perhaps you had better come in then.”

She stepped aside to allow Lucy to enter, closing the door behind her, then led the way up the staircase to her flat. Lucy had visited here a few times before being called to Aslan’s country She remembered it had been rather dilapidated and dirty. That was why the rent had been low and why Susan had taken it; it was all she could afford on a junior typists pay. So it surprised her to see everything clean and newly decorated.

“I was just going to have supper,” Susan explained. “Would you like to join me?”

“Thank you, that would be lovely.”

The kitchen was the same room as before but freshly decorated and with a brand new gas stove. There was also a refrigerator in the corner. Although such devices were common enough now in America they were still an expensive rarity in England and Lucy found herself wondering how Susan could afford all this on just a typist’s salary.

Lucy sat at the kitchen table as Susan busied herself with plates and cups. “I was just having sandwiches and a cup of tea,” Susan told her. “I wasn’t really in the mood for cooking tonight.”

“Oh that’s fine,” Lucy assured her.

Here.” Susan put a plate of sandwiches on the table, followed by a teapot and cups and saucers. “How do you take your tea?”

“A touch of milk and three sugars.”

Susan looked rather startled. “That’s exactly how Lucy liked it.” She stared uneasily at her guest, then glanced away hastily. “It’s just as well no one else in the family had much of a sweet tooth or our sugar ration would never have lasted. I always told her she’d rot her teeth, but she took no notice. And her teeth were perfect, she never had even a single filling.”

“I suppose I must have picked the habit up from her,” Lucy suggested, reaching for a sandwich.

“I suppose so,” Susan replied uncertainly.

Lucy bit into her sandwich, savouring the rich taste of mature cheddar. “Cheddar?” she asked in surprise. “That’s just about unobtainable these days with rationing and shortages.” She eyed the overflowing platter of sandwiches. “And you have so much of it!”

Her sister looked rather uncomfortable. “It’s American cheddar,” she explained hastily. “I was sent a food parcel by a friend over there.”

“Oh!” Lucy took another bite of the sandwich and chewed it thoughtfully. She was no expert on cheese but her senses were much more acute now than in her former life and that included her sense of taste. And she was almost certain this was English farmhouse cheddar that had never been within a thousand miles of America.

“It’s strange but I’m sitting here eating supper with you and I don’t even know your name.” Susan laughed nervously and took a sip of tea. “I don’t ever remember meeting you but you’re so familiar somehow, as if I’d known you my entire life. How did you know my sister?”

Lucy shrugged. “I was at the same school as her.”

“Oh that’s right, you said that before,” Susan replied. “It’s odd though because I was at the same school as Lucy and I don’t remember you. And I thought I knew all her friends.”

Lucy did not reply. She tore the remains of her sandwich in two and popped half into her mouth, taking a large gulp of tea with it.

Susan stared at her, ashen-faced. “Lucy used to do exactly the same thing with sandwiches,” she whispered.

Her hand trembling, she raised her teacup and drained it, then got up and carried it to the sink. Lucy could bear it no longer. Even though she had avoided telling a direct lie she hated to deceive anyone, even for a good purpose.

“Susan!” She spoke the name softly.

Her sister’s scream almost obliterated the sound of the cup shattering on the kitchen floor. Susan’s knuckles were white as she gripped the edges of the stainless steel sink, her eyes closed in denial.

“No!” she whispered. “No! No! No! My sister is dead, dead!”

“Dead?” Lucy laughed as she rose to her feet. “I’m not dead really, Su. In fact I’m more alive now than I ever was in this world.”

Susan opened her eyes and turned to look at her, recognition struggling with disbelief. “I don’t believe in ghosts!”

Lucy laughed again and taking her sisters hand, laid it on her shoulder. “There, feel that. No ghost has flesh and bone as you can see I have!”

“Lucy?” The name left Susan’s lips as a sigh, then Lucy had to leap forward to catch her as she collapsed into a dead faint.
 
Hermit of Archenland said:
I said this story would be about four chapters but it's rather got away from me and will certainly be longer than that, I estimate about seven chapters at least.
Click to expand...

Yes, a story will take on a life of its own. When Mr. Tolkien set out to write "Lord of the Rings," he had scarcely a clue to how it was going to turn out.

While we're waiting to see how THIS one turns out, I like the way you make postwar economic conditions a part of the plot. Complete with dire hints about Susan in that very context. Indeed, some stories in the "Saving Susan" genre have imagined her getting into some AWFULLY dishonorable behavior after losing her family.
 
This is excellent! It's getting quite mysterious, and I can't wait to know how it will turn out! I'm glad to hear that it will be longer!
 
Chapter Five

Lifting her sister’s limp form easily, Lucy carried her to the small sitting room. Once again she found herself surprised by some of the changes. ‘Opulence’ was the word that first came to mind when considering this room. The wallpaper was a light blue and emblazoned with brightly coloured oriental birds. There were several items of expensive looking furniture arranged tastefully; a sofa and two armchairs, a radio-gramophone and a large mahogany coffee table. Yet again Lucy wondered how Susan could afford all this and she did not like the suspicions that were gradually forming in her mind.

Laying her sister gently on the sofa, Lucy studied her surrounding carefully. She noticed a large drinks cabinet and opening it discovered a wide selection of spirits, all expensive brands. Closing the cabinet again her gaze fell on the coffee table. There was a small stack of fashion magazines on it, along with a cigarette box and a large glass ashtray. Lucy’s eyes narrowed in suspicion when she noticed that only half the cigarette ends in the ashtray bore traces of lipstick.

She turned to look at Susan on the sofa. Although unconscious she looked peaceful and relaxed, some of the strain Lucy had observed earlier was gone from her face. Then she frowned. There was an odd variation in skin tone just above Susan’s right cheekbone. It was faint, and would have been imperceptible to most observers, but to Lucy’s eyes it was plainly evident. Looking more closely she realised it was due to some sort of concealing cosmetic.

The observation puzzled her. Of course ever since Susan had persuaded their parents to allow it, in fact even before then she had used make up, far too much in Lucy’s opinion. But she had never known her sister to apply any sort of concealer, she had always been blessed with perfect complexion.

Reaching forward, Lucy tentatively brushed her thumb along Susan’s cheek, smearing the layers of cosmetics and revealing a faint yellowish purple discoloration that was plainly a nearly healed bruise.

Susan groaned and began to stir. Lucy stepped away from her, now very concerned about what was going on with her sister. The bruise might have been the result of an accident, but Lucy feared the real explanation was much more sinister.

Susan struggled to sit upright. Her gaze fell on Lucy and she gasped, then buried her face in her hands.

“Oh God I’m going mad!”

Kneeling beside her, Lucy gently took her hands, forcing Susan to look at her.

“You’re not mad, Su. I’m really here!”

Susan stared at her, then nervously licked her lips.

“I think I need a drink!”

Lucy chuckled. “That’s probably a good idea.”

Going to the drinks cabinet she started sorting through bottles. “Whisky?” She enquired.

Susan nodded and Lucy poured a large measure for each of them then handed a glass to Susan.

“Thank you.”

Susan took a large gulp of the spirit as Lucy seated herself on an armchair. She took a small sip of the fiery liquid, savouring the flavour.

Her sister laughed shakily. “I can’t believe I’m sitting here drinking whisky with my sister. My dead sister!”

“I told you before Su, I’m not really dead.”

“Aslan sent you, didn’t he?”

Lucy stared at her, her mind working furiously.

“Yes he did,” she said slowly. “Su, all those times you said Narnia was just a child’s game, were you lying? Did you really believe that?”

Susan stared into the depths of her glass. “I wanted to believe it,” she said at last. “And it was the easiest way to antagonise all of you.”

“Why should you want to antagonise us?” Lucy asked. “It almost sounds as though you hated all of us!”

Susan took another gulp of whisky before replying.

“I did.”
 
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