Come on folks! I know y'all are working on your stories, please post them! We've got one week to go before this thread is closed!

Gael sighed as she looked about the room. It was cold, and dark, and damp. There were other people there—others who had been kidnapped like herself. Gael lay down and curled up to keep warm. She closed her eyes, and remembered.
It had been a bright and sunny day when Gael's father had left.
“He has to leave,” Mommy had said, “he's a good sailor and the Narnians will pay him well. You know we need the money, Gael.”
Gael did know. Terebinthia had once been a great(though small) island south of Galma. But then the crops failed, and the Lone Islands cut off trade with them. Terebinthia was now a place of poverty. Then word had come that Narnia had a new king, and he was hiring sailors to build a ship and train his countrymen to sail it. Dad was a good sailor so he had gone. It took the Narnians three years to build the Dawn Treader. Dad had been able to come home occasionally, but the last time was over six months ago. The plague had come. No one was allowed in or out, except the pirates.
Gael looked up as she heard the door open. A basket of food was thrown in. A young man handed Gael a slice of bread.
“Thank you,” Gael said quietly.
“How did you get here?” the man asked.
“They raided our city,” said Gael, “There wasn't anyone to defend it.”
“Where are you from?” he asked.
“Terebinthia.”
The man paled. He quickly got up and backed away.
Gael stared after him, confused. Then, another memory floated through her mind.
At first, the plague had only been on the southern side of the island. Everyone had fled from there, trying to get as far away as possible. But they only made it worse. The plague quickly spread throughout Terebinthia. There was no escape.
Gael looked down at her thin arms and legs and recalled how awful she had felt. She wanted to go to the man and tell him she was all better now, but somehow knew he wouldn't believe her. Gael lay down again. She was so tired, and she missed her parents. What had they done to Mommy? Had Dad gone to the edge of the world with King Caspian? Gael heard stories about the Narnians, but most of them she had heard from the Calormene merchants, and Dad said they weren't to be believed. But Gael had listened anyway. She loved hearing about the talking animals; and the ancient kings and queens who had vanished into thin air and reappeared thousands of years later; and the walking trees; and the Centaurs who could read the stars like she could read a book; and about Aslan. The Calormenes said he was a ferocious monster who ate witches and did all sorts of horrible things. Gael didn't think so. She had heard other stories about how he had brought the spring after a hundred years of winter. No monster could do that.
But Gael wasn't home listening to tales of far-off countries. She was in a dungeon, with other prisoners who thought she had the plague. And how had she gotten there? The pirates had come. They were the only ones who did not fear the plague. They came, burning and stealing and destroying the coastline. There had been no one to defend the city. Whoever had survived had left long ago.
A tear slid down Gael's cheek as she remembered how she had clung to her mother while they watched their home burn down. They had been dragged away, down into the hold of the pirate's ship.
On the fifth day they had seen another ship far off. It had had a purple sail with a golden lion on it and had a green dragon's head at its prow. They had dared to hope for a rescue, but the ship had sailed away after only a few arrows were shot. No one had recognized where it had come from. Gael thought it was a Narnian ship, and she knew if her father had known she and Mommy were on it that he wouldn't have turned away. He would have chased after them and fought to the death! But he didn't know and he hadn't come.
When the ship finally stopped, they were in the Lone Islands. Gael and her mother had been tied up and escorted out of the hold and through the streets of Narrowhaven. Gael had looked about at all the people walking past. She had seen schoolboys running by, elegant ladies in rich dresses, ill-clad soldiers on their way to Governor Gumpas' castle. And then, it had happened. No matter how hard Gael had clung, no matter how much Mommy pleaded, they had been pulled apart and thrown into separate dungeons. And now Gael was alone, cold and frightened, lost in the dark. Would no one come to rescue her?
The door opened again. Another slave was thrown in. Gael took no notice of him, slaves were forced inside regularly, until she heard the others whispering. Gael looked up. This new slave was far from ordinary. He had a tail; and two tiny horns sticking up through his curly hair; and enormous ears; and hooves! Gael gasped, partly with horror at the sight of this fantastical creature, partly with wonder and delight. He must be a Narnian!
The Faun turned and saw Gael watching him. He started to walk over to her, but the man who had run away from her earlier called after him.
“Don't go near her! She has the plague.”
“No, I don't. Really,” said Gael desperately.
“No, I don't think you do,” said the Faun.
“Do you know my father?” Gael asked suddenly.
“Why would I?” he asked.
“He was working on a Narnian ship,” Gael replied, “You're from Narnia, aren't you?”
“Yes, where are you from?”
Gael hesitated, remembering what happened last time.
“Terebinthia,” she finally said.
“Is your name Gael?” the Faun asked.
“How did you know?”
“Your father is first mate on the Dawn Treader. He was devastated when we heard about the plague. But how did you get here?” the Faun said.
“Pirates,” Gael said quietly.
The Faun saw the tears in the little girl's eyes. He sat down next to her.
“Well, I know you're name, but you don't know mine. Do you?”
Gael shook her head.
“That needs to be corrected. How do you do? My name is Mastaris” said the Faun.
“I'm not doing very well, but thank you for asking Mr. Mastaris.”
“Why aren't you doing well, Gael?” Mastaris asked gently.
Gael tried to speak, but couldn't. Great, big tears started rolling down her cheeks. Mastaris gently coaxed her into coming closer and wrapped his arms around her.
“Don't worry. We'll get out of here,” he said.
“But how?”
“How? Between your father and the kings and queen and Reepicheep, no bunch of old pirates will be able to stand in the way of our rescue.”
“I thought there was just one king,” Gael said.
“There was, but two of the kings and queens of old came back.”
“How did they do that?” she asked.
“By magic,” said Mastaris, pleased that Gael had stopped crying.
Gael oohed appreciatively at the thought of magic, but quickly sobered again.
“What's wrong?”Mastaris asked.
“I don't know where Mommy is,” Gael said, trying not to cry again.
“Did the pirates capture her too?”
Gael nodded glumly.
“We'll find her,” Mastaris said confidently.
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because we have Aslan on our side, Daughter of Eve.”
“Daughter of Who?”
“Daughter of Eve,” said Mastaris.
“That's not Mommy's name.”
“But it's the name of your ancestor. All humans are descended from the Lord Adam and Lady Eve,” Mastaris explained.
“Who are they?”
“And they said I was bad at history,” Mastaris said to himself. To Gael he said “Never mind.”
“Grownups never explain anything,” Gael huffed.
Mastaris laughed.
Gael glared at him. “It is no laughing matter,” she said.
“I beg your pardon, Daughter of Eve, of course it isn't.”
“Then why did you laugh?”
“I was hoping you would. I haven't seen you smile once,” Mastaris said.
“Why would you want me to smile?”
“I thought all little girls smiled. Since you apparently can't smile, I must conclude that you aren't a little girl,” Mastaris said solemnly.
Gael giggled.
“Oh, so you are a little girl after all”
But Gael's smile lasted only a moment. The door opened again. Three burly pirates entered and started shoving the slaves out. One of them picked Gael up and threw her over his shoulder. Gael kicked and squirmed. The pirate dropped her on the ground and kicked her when she screamed in pain.
Mastaris stood.
“Leave her alone,” he ordered.
“Why should I goat-man?” the pirate said.
“It's enough that you've taken her away from everyone and everything she knows. You don't have to kill her while you're at it.”
The pirate stepped closer to Mastaris. He towered over the Faun, but Mastaris stood his ground. With one blow the pirate knocked him to the ground.
Gael held her aching side and watched Mastaris get to his feet only to be knocked down again.
A horn sounded sounded somewhere in the city. Could it be? Gael somewhere found the courage to dare to hope it was the sound of their rescuers. Was her father out there? If only.......
.

Here is my entry! I hope that others will start posting soon!

“Where is that stupid girl?” Hermia snapped, stamping her bare foot on the stone floor of the cottage. She loomed over Lumina’s husband, and swiped the warm cloth off of his forehead with her talon-like fingers. “That’s the last cool rag I have!”

“What if we take some of the blankets off?” Lumina asked, catching one of the woollen quilts in her pale-white hands, and drawing it off of her husband’s sweat-drenched body.

“Or,” Hermia grunted, thrusting the blanket back across him. “We could do what I say to do!” She glowered at Lumina, and whispered in an austere tone, “Don’t forget that you called me here! If you don’t want my advice I can go home! I’ve a field that needs planting, apples that need to be picked, cows to milk, ducks to feed, sheep to shear, and a husband that’s gone off and enlisted his services on the fool-hearted errand of His Royal Lowness.”

“Don’t talk so badly of the King, Hermia,” Lumina said. “We already know your sentiments so you needn’t reiterate them when you should be focusing on the task I’m paying you to carry out!”

Hermia shifted her body weight, straightening her apron. She touched the tip of her finger on the rag. “Great Galloping Gypsies! He’s already burned through this rag too!”

“The fever’s still worsening?” Lumina asked, her pale skin becoming even whiter.

“Do you even need to ask? Can you see the beads of sweat, and how they cause his clothing to stick to his bones? Can you see the redness of his skin? You could fry an egg on his chest right now, it‘s so warm.”

“Hang in there. . . Please!”

“He can’t hear you, Lumina, and if that stupid girl doesn’t get back with that water soon he never will.”

Lumina crossed the single room of the small cottage, stopping to stir the boiling pot of water, the steam from which Hermia had ordered to ease his breathing. Looking out the back door she saw nothing but darkness and raindrops. The main road must be impassable after a storm like this. Even if the doctor was sent for at this point, he wouldn’t be able to drive his horse and cart up the hill. As the sound of raindrops continued to go pitter-patter on the thatched roof, Lumina shouted out. “I see a light!”

“A lot of good that will do us if there’s not a bucket of well-water attached to it!” Hermia shouted from across the room.

A mouse scurried out through a crack in the door startling Lumina as she stared out at the light. “Gael! Gael is that you?”

“I’m coming, Lumina,” a small voice echoed through the darkness.

Thirty seconds later, there appeared at the entrance to the house, a girl who was soaked to the skin, and was shivering violently. Her blonde hair was matted and sticking to her damp face. Equally soaked was her dirty jumper, whose dirty stains had mingled with the water, and had formed rivers of dirt running down over the front of the dress.

“What took you so long, you little brat?” Hermia snapped. “Did you have to go all the way to Beaversdam to get the water?”

“The path to the well is nearly flooded shut,” Gael gasped, a puddle forming under her bare feet. How tired the poor girl felt.

“Never mind,” Hermia shouted. “Just get over here, hold the bucket, and don’t spill any!”

Taking a rag from a pile that sat near the foot of the bed, Hermia soaked it in the cold well water. Squeezing it in her hands, as one would squeeze an orange, she emptied the contents over the fevered body of Lumina’s husband. He gasped for breath as Hermia did this, causing Gael to recoil to Lumina’s side.

“Stupid brat!” Hermia spat. “You nearly tipped the bucket!”

“Will he be all right, Lumina?” Gael asked, ringing the cool water out of her hair.

“I don’t know, Gael,” Lumina replied, keeping her eyes on her husband, and tapping her foot in a frantic rhythm.

Gael broke away from Lumina’s side, to tend to the pot of boiling water. “Would some tea help him?”

“The girl knows nothing, does she?”

Lumina nodded to Gael, her eyes trembling.

While Gael, soaked to the skin, gathered a kettle, and filled it with the tea leaves, she heard another gasp behind her. By the time she had ladled some of the boiling water into the rose-coloured pot, Lumina’s husband had started moaning and jerking violently. The bed shook sending plumes of dust up into the air.

“It’s not working, Lumina!” Hermia said, her voice getting impossibly louder.

“Why not?”

“I’m not a doctor!” She said, making an excuse for herself. “What did you honestly expect from a farmer’s wife?”

“You cannot give up, Hermia! I don’t care if you have to dump the entire bucket over him; you are not giving up on my husband!”

“I told you, I can’t do anything else!”

“What about Eltara?”

“The Centaur?” Hermia replied, raising her eyebrow.

“Yes! What’s wrong with him?”

“I could see lights coming from the mouth of his cavern from the well,” Gael interrupted. “He’s obviously home.”

“Quiet you!” Hermia said, stabbing the air with her wrinkled finger. “Lumina, you cannot seriously be hanging your husband’s fate alongside those devils of Narnia.”

“Hermia,” Lumina snapped. “What do the Old Narnians have to do to prove that they are not the devils you make them out to be? What will the King have to do to prove his worth? Is there anything that will heal their reputation in your eyes?”

“Don’t forget the prosperity that abounded under the days of Miraz? Don’t forget the wars that those creatures fought against us? Don’t forget who led them? Don’t forget all of the Telmarines who lost their lives in the battles that. . .”

“Hermia, no matter how cutting your words are, they will not bring your son back. Everybody in the village regretted his loss, but he followed the orders of his king. You cannot blame the Narnians for following the rule of theirs.”

A flash of rage came over Hermia’s face and for a moment her face became as red as Lumina’s sweating husband, who was now seizing uncontrollably. The fever had nearly conquered him.

“Well let’s see how the wonderful Narnians and their King help your husband as he lays there dying. As for me, I’m finished.” She spun around so quickly that her apron-strings smacked Lumina in the face as Hermia made for the door, slamming it behind her.

“Shall I go after her, Lumina?”

“No, Gael,” she replied, placing another rag on her husband‘s red face. “Go to Eltara, and see if he knows of any way to save him.”

“I’ll be back in less than five minutes!” Gael grabbed her satchel, filling it with a couple coins as she raced out the back door. She saw firelight coming from Hermia’s cottage as she reached the top of the hill, and wondered how comfortable she must be, while Lumina’s husband burned inside his skin.

Stumbling up the hill, and getting her feet stuck in the muddy ruts of the rough road, Gael fell, rolled back down the hill, and spilled the contents of her satchel into the mud.

“No!” she screamed, rummaging through the puddle. It was no use. Had she only remembered to grab her lamp as she darted out the door! What on earth would she do if Eltara was as greedy and evil as the Narnians described by Hermia? Would he refuse to help Lumina’s husband without payment? It didn’t matter; she would have to go on. Returning to the cottage without the Centaur’s help would condemn Lumina’s husband to death just as much as if she made her way to Eltara, and he refused to help.

Maybe he’ll take pity on me, Gael thought, finally reaching the peak of the muddy hill, and running as fast as a cheetah for the dim light in the distance.

Even though the wind blew against her the entire time, she made good time, falling only twice during the half-mile run from the top of the hill to the edge of the centaur’s cave.

“Please! Is anybody in there?” she asked, gasping for breath as she stood there, at the edge of the cave.

There was no external door to the cave; it was a large gaping mouth. There were however two doorways that opened into darkened rooms on the interior of the cave. A warm, inviting fire was dancing in one corner of the cave. A thick green rug was underfoot on top of which, stood a large oak table, which was so tall, that Gael would have had a difficult time seeing the top of it.

“Who is there?” came a loud, deep voice from deep inside the cavern. One of the doors swung open, and Gael could not take her eyes off of the creature that emerged from the door. He was tall, nearly twice the height of Lumina’s husband, and his broad shoulders supported a head covered in thick red hair, which was tied back from Eltara’s noble face by a black ribbon. The braided ponytail was flung over his shoulder, and hung over his muscular bare chest. His flank and back, as well as his hind-quarters were a deep glossy red. The hair covering it was so beautiful that Gael could not take her eyes off of it. The dancing flames of the fire seemed to be mirrored against Eltara’s sides.

“Daughter of Eve?” he said, waking Gael from her trance.

“Please, you have to help him! Fever. . . Started shaking. . . Moaning. . . We think he’s going to die!” Gael was having immense trouble breathing after her long, brisk walk. She hoped that he wouldn’t mention money.

“Calm yourself little maiden!” the centaur said walking over to a large oak cabinet by the fire, and taking two small green bottles in his large hands. “There’s no need to worry yourself! Where is he?” Eltara walked to the mouth of the cave where Gael stood shivering and wet.

“Do you see that light, very far in the distance? He’s in that cottage, but we’ll never get there in time. Hermia says he‘s too far gone.”

“Come!” he said, grabbing Gael by the hand and flinging her upon his back. She barely had time to draw a breath before Eltara was galloping full speed across the level road. As the centaur rocketed out from the mouth of the cave, never missing his footing in the holes of the muddy road, never hesitating, the rhythmic sound of the hoof-beats along the dirt path soothed Gael into a state of near-slumber. The strength nearly drained from her legs, Gael found it to be increasingly difficult to hold on to the centaur’s sides with her knees. As Eltara leaped across a fallen tree, she nearly slipped, but he grabbed her, mid-air with his strong arms, and flung her back onto his back.

“Right there,” she shouted, pointing to the lighted window.

Hardly recognising the centaur entering behind her, Gael made her way through the door, and to the bedside, where Lumina sat on a stool, wiping the brow of her husband.

“Thanks be to the Lion,” Lumina said, rising to her feet, and clearing the way for the centaur, who seemed to take up half the room in the small cottage.

“How long has it been since he started seizing?” Eltara asked.

“Ten minutes perhaps, why?”

“Pour this into his mouth,” he said, handing the bottle to Lumina, who opened the lips of her husband, and tipped the green bottle inside of his mouth. The yellow liquid flowed inside, causing him to sputter and gag.

“What’s happening?” Lumina asked, placing her hand on her husband’s chest.

Eltara gently pushed Lumina out of the way, and bent his head down to her husband’s mouth, which hung open listlessly.

“He’s stopped breathing,” Eltara said, emptying the second phial into the dying man’s mouth.

“Oh Gael!” Lumina cried, clutching the young girl to her side.

A minute later, Eltara, backed away from the bedside, shook his head, and walked slowly over to Lumina.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice deep and mournful. “He was too far gone for me to save.”

“He’s gone. . .” Lumina said, her voice sounding pale and grey.

“I’m very sorry,” Eltara replied, placing his large hand on Lumina’s shoulder.

“He’s gone. . .” she repeated.

“He will dine at Aslan’s table tonight, my daughter.”

“Gone.”

Casting a final sorrowful glance to the two ladies, Eltara bent his head, and left the one-roomed cottage. The silence was deafening. Every now and again, an ember would pop out of the fire, startling both Gael and Lumina. Finally, the two of them went to sleep in each other’s arm.

Morning came, and the corpse of Lumina’s husband was still lying on the bed. The sight of Lumina’s dead husband startled Gael, who awoke first, but she settled her mind by starting to brew a pot of tea. Taking the tea leaves from the cabinet by the window, Gael shrieked loudly, which caused Lumina to turn around abruptly.

“I’m sorry, Daughters of Eve,” said a faun, white as sheep-skin, who happened to be standing by the window. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Ilkis,” said a snuffly little voice from behind the half-door. “Will you please open this door? I can hardly do it myself, not with this basket in my hands!”

“Oh, my apologies Higglyhog!” said the faun, giving a little leap, and opening the door. A small porcupine with a large basket in her hands hobbled through the door on her short legs.

“I shall never be able to reach that table!” said the porcupine. “Ilkis, take the basket, and unpack the loaves, while I mix the jams. Do you happen to have a knife?”

Gael and Lumina exchanged glances, and then gazed to the bucket of dirty dishes.

“They’re all dirty I’m afraid,” Lumina said. “I haven’t had a chance to wash up.”

“That’s all right!” Higglyhog replied, grabbing one the quills from her rear, brushing it against the soft fur of her underbelly to clean it, and using it to stir and prepare the jellies. “I hope you don’t mind the two of us popping in and helping out a bit. If you do mind, we can be gone in two shakes!”

“No,” Gael said. She was rather entranced as she watched the talking porcupine stir the jelly, as the faun laid three loaves of rye bread, a dozen eggs, and a bucket of milk on the table.

“We took the liberty of gathering the eggs and milking the cows,” the faun said. “We figured you might be a bit distraught.”

“But,” Lumina said. “how on earth did you find out about our. . . Situation?”

“Oh Eltara told us!” Higglyhog replied. “When he mentioned about your husband, we figured that it was the least we could do! Now, you two go ahead and eat your breakfast now that we’ve got the jellies stirred, and the table sat. We’ll get to work on that lovely little garden that we saw as we walked up the path.”

Lumina nodded absent-mindedly as the two Narnians walked out the back door and along the path.

“And Hermia thinks they’re devils,” Gael said.

“Hermia is bitter,” Lumina added, walking to the window to admire the garden. Her husband had planted it early in spring, and now it was nearly ready. She sighed as Gael joined her side. The porcupine and faun were busy plucking tomatoes and onions, and putting them into the basket that they had brought with them.

“I shall never be able to keep this up on my own!” Lumina said.

“What?” Gael asked.

“The garden. The farm. The buildings. All of it.” she sighed. “I can’t keep this up by myself, and I refuse to live off the charity of others.”

“But what do you mean?” Gael asked. “Your whole life is here.”

“My whole life was here!” Lumina stated. “My whole life lies dead over there. Our life was here, and now even the dirty dishes that sit in the corner remind me of him.”

“But you can’t sell your farm on a whim!” Gael added.

“Not a whim,” Lumina added. “I didn’t fall asleep until early this morning. I’m sure that Lord Estin would still be interested in buying the farm. His offer last year was more than sufficient to buy a little house in the city.”

“I see. . .” Gael said. She couldn’t help but notice that she hadn’t been included or consulted in this decision.

“Don’t worry, Gael,” Lumina said. “I’m going to see one of my contacts at the palace today, to inform him of. . .” She sighed, wiping a tear from her eyes. “He’s planning on sailing with the King next month. They’re heading east.”

“To the Lone Islands?” Gael asked, dreaming of seeing her mother, Lumina’s sister again!

“I would assume they would at least make a stop there before they continue their voyage eastward. A girl like you needs the open air, adventure, and excitement. I can no longer offer that. When I visit my friend, I plan on asking him if he has room on that new ship of his for a small little girl and her things.”

“Oh thank you, Lumina!” Gael said hugging her aunt with fervency. It was the first smile that the two of them shared that morning.

“These really are lovely tomatoes,” Ilkis said, popping up to the window, and asking if he could buy two or three.

Gael and Lumina chuckled, as Lumina opened the door, and stepped out into the garden. Gael followed, looking at the sea twinkling with the light of the rising sun. I’m coming, she thought. Home.

My mother beckoned to me from across the street, and my feet lingered as I came. I wanted to drag out each moment for as long as I could. I wished this day had never come, and in some ways, I wished I had never been born.

Her face was reproachful. "Gael, please-try to understand."
I wouldn't. Not in a hundred years I wouldn't. I didn't want to try.
"It's your fault." I wiped away the tear that rolled down my cheek.
She reached out her hand to touch my hair, her eyes sad. I pushed it away, and turned and went to the little table, picked up my comb, and began to jerk it through my hair. My words echoed the jerks of my comb.
"You don't understand. You never, ever have."
"Gael, I wish you would try to trust us. We do not seek to be cruel."
I put down my comb as suddenly as I had picked it up. "Please let me stay here! Please, please, mother!"
It seemed to me like her voice cracked as she spoke, but I could not have been right. "You know I cannot."
"I hate you!" Emotions welled up from the pit of my stomach. Nauseating. I ran the few steps across the room to the bedroom, and shut the door. I fell upon the bed, and sobbed and sobbed. The pain in my stomach would not let up.

I left that afternoon.

It seemed like a long, long journey to me, but perhaps that was because I sat huddled in the corner of the cabin, clutching myself in misery. There was no beauty in the blue sky or green sea for me. No fascination in the sails or the men who sailed the ship. I harshly pushed away any thought of my mother from my mind, and dwelt only upon the images of my father and my friend.

I'd gone to say goodbye to Kathera one last time, that morning, and the tears had streamed down her face as she pressed something into my hand.
"I'll miss you! I'll miss you so much, Gael."
What she had handed me was a wooden carving of a faun. Fauns had always made us laugh, they looked so funny with their tails and hooves and goats legs. Kathera was certain that they existed in myth alone, but I had always held fast to the belief, or what was more of a hope, that they did exist.
I had hugged her as hard as I could. I had told her that I would come back, and soon. I told her that nothing could keep me away. Nothing.
That meant not even the volcanic quivering of our tiny island.

My father held my hands and looked down into my eyes. "I love you, Gael. I pray that the gods keep you safe. You are the most beautiful, precious thing I have ever possessed, and I would not let you go if I did not love you so much." He hugged me to him.
I sobbed. I would not protest any more. I knew my father loved me. I knew he would not have sent me away if my mother had not forced him to.

It was early in the morning when a sailor awoke me. We had reached Canastanya, the larger island where my parents thought I would be safe. Safe indeed. If my father and Kathera were going to die, I wanted to too. What was the good of living if everyone you loved was gone? I felt like a coward, running away when everyone else was planting their feet and preparing for the worst, together. What was the good of being together, if you sent the people you loved away?

I fell into my aunt's arms, exhausted. I was too tired to cry, too tired to do anything but cling to her. She smelled of spices and sun. She held me tightly, and smoothed my hair.

I slept. When I opened my eyes, the sun streamed in through the windows, and lit the whole room up. The entire room was white, from the walls and the animal skin rugs, to the bedspread on the bed. What was my bed, my room, I realized as I looked around. There was only one bed in the room, and it was not large enough for my aunt, uncle, and I to all sleep in. It stunned me.
My aunt's whole house was big, bright, clean, and white. It was filled with sunshine and flowers. Their happiness.

My aunt hugged me again when she saw me, and I had more time to survey her. Her face was kind and gentle and smooth. I do not think she could have ever been pretty, her face was too broad, but she overflowed with goodwill and joy. She had an abundance of still-dark hair, and it was the only resemblance to my mother that she had.
My uncle arrived in time for dinner, and greeted me as gladly as my aunt had. He was tall and sturdy, and every time he looked at my aunt, his face lit up.

The days passed, and despite the beauty of my aunt's house, and the goodwill that glowed between my kin, I still lay awake long each night. The tears lessened and lessoned until they stopped altogether, but the biting pain in my stomach appeared every time I had the chance to stop and think. I spent every day in the company of my aunt, and she could not help but notice my pain and loneliness. We talked of my family and the island a few times, for it filled her thoughts almost as much as mine, but I was always hesitant to talk of it, and so she grew to hardly mention it. One day however, as the two of us breakfasted, she brought it up again.

"A ship came from the island yesterday. They said nothing was new. The tremors continue." She sighed, and stared out the window.
I looked down at my bowl, and said nothing. In a moment, I brushed away the moisture in my eyes under pretense of wiping my mouth, but perhaps she saw.
"Gael, darling-please, tell me about it. Tell me what is wrong."
I drew a deep breath, and she waited for a few moments, but I could bring myself to say nothing.
"I love you, and I want to try to help you. You don't know how much it pains me, to see you in such sorrow. I am your mother's sister, and I will try-"
I cut her off fiercely, looking up to meet her eyes. "I wish you were my mother!"
She stared at me in honest surprise. "Gael--. . ."
"She has never understood me. She has never helped me in anything. She has wanted everything I have not since the day I was born. She sent me away, when she knew that I wanted with all my heart to stay!" I hated myself for it, but I cried again. Racking sobs that shook me.
My aunt stood up hastily, and drew me into her arms. She took me to the low couch, and sat down. I leaned against her and cried until I could cry no more. Then she spoke.

"Do you know, Gael, that your mother had a very hard time carrying you to birth?" I grew very still, and my heart began to pound. "Oh, yes. She was told time and time again by the midwives, all her friends, that she would lose you. But she was determined, my sister. She was determined. All her girlhood, Leytna wanted nothing more than her own baby. When she married your father, it was 10 years before she conceived a child. Such unbelievable joy that filled her heart, when at last she did! My sister was transformed. She grew from a pretty young wife, to a glowing, gladsome woman. Not two months after her conception, her troubles began. They were so severe, that everyone predicted the death of her child. Others said that she would die herself, if she tried to carry her child to its birth.
She listened to none of them. She was going to die someday, she said, and if she could do it while bringing a life into the world, all the better. But die or not, she was going to have her child.
There were only a few who supported her. Your father was one of them." My aunt smiled kindly at me. I did not have to ask if she was one of the others.
"For the last few months, I stayed with your mother. It was very, very hard. She could not leave her bed, and the pain that wracked her body was un-imaginable. But she amazed all of us by staying cheerful, and sure that her child would be born. The night that you were born, I could have sworn that Death waited outside the door, and would have claimed her any number of times. But he did not. Your father helped her pull through. But it was mostly the thought of you."

I felt frozen. As if my heart had stopped. My aunt smiled at me, with love in her face.

"Your mother did not let you out of her sight once, until you were 5. Do you think you can see why she sent what she loved most, out of danger's way? And can you imagine the agony she must be feeling right now, to be parted from her Gael?"
It was as if my chains had been loosed, as if I could breath again, as if all the demons coiled in the bottom of my stomach had died.
I think my aunt and I both cried.

A week later, they told me that the harbor was closed for the winter. It was too dangerous to sail any more, because the winter winds and storms were approaching. The sorrow I felt was unspeakable. For my parents sake, I could happily have stayed 2 more weeks, a month. But 6 months?! My wound was partly healed, and would continue to heal-but the scar would remain until I could see my mother once again, and tell her how much I was sorry. How much I regretted words said and deeds done. How much I loved her.

It seemed like one trouble after another came upon me. No sooner did one hurt begin to heal, when came this news that caused it to ache so badly I thought I could not bear it. Any pleasures that my aunt could offer would not atone, and although now we often talked of the ones we both missed, it could not compare to hearing their voices, and seeing their faces once more.
Another week went by, and my heart seemed to grow only heavier. Then one day, as I sat at the window, staring out over the city, my dear aunt came running to my room.

"Gael, Gael! A queer ship has come to the harbor, and they're setting sail again tomorrow. It's Narnian, and is shaped like a dragon, with a purple sail. Your uncle talked to one of the sailors, and they are intending to sail to your island. Praise the gods, they've said they'd take you with them!"

I flew into my aunt's arms. Peace swept over me. I would see my father and Kathera. And the mother to whom I owed so much. I didn't care if the volcano erupted the day after I arrived. I didn't care if I died, because I wouldn't die alone.
Tomorrow, I would be home.

THIS THREAD WILL BE CLOSED TOMORROW NIGHT! PLEASE HAVE YOU ENTRY POSTED BY THAT TIME!

   This is a story that happened in the land of Archenland and on the waters of the Great Eastern Sea when Caspian the Tenth was king in Narnia. (And it has been told in another story called Prince Caspian how, with the aid of the Kings and Queens of old, he was able to defeat his cruel uncle and regain his father’s throne, but that is another story for another time.)
   In those days, in the eastern part of Archenland on the north side of the great promontory, there lived a Lord of Archenland named Tire, and with him lived his wife Elaine and their daughter. Her name was Gael. Now the land of Archenland had been long beset from the Calormene Empire in the South, ever since the end of the Golden Age, when Peter the High King of Narnia and his royal consorts had vanished and the realm of Narnia had been thrown into disarray. The Narnian fleet had long kept the galleys of the Tisroc at bay, but their protection waned and became uncertain, until at last Archenland was left alone. Lord Tire was in close counsel with the King, as he was one of the few Lords who commanded a navy, and he was often away from his small castle of Bencary because of business at Anvard.
   Gael wasn’t at all interested in anything that happened at Anvard, or anywhere else inland for that matter. She loved the sea. She would sit for hours on the battlements, watching through the crenels as the waves surged on the rocks below. One of her favourite times was Christmas, when her father would take the whole castle out to sea on his great galleon, the Resplendent Tine, so that they could greet Father Christmas before all of Archenland. Gael also had a little boat of her own, and would often paddle about in the deeper shoals near the village docks. Her mother warned her to stay away from the deeper water and cliffs near the castle, but she would sometimes set out towards them if no one was watching. (She never dared to go all the way.) The only thing that saddened her was that her father couldn’t be home more often to play with her, for he loved her very much and almost always gave her anything she asked, much to her mother’s dismay on occasion.
   One day in the early summer, while Gael was standing on the battlements, she heard a clear, bright sound issue from the upper window of donjon. She immediately recognized the sound of a trumpet announcing someone’s arrival, and ran around the wall until she was on the barbican. She pushed her way through the small crowd that was forming and strained her eyes to see who was coming along the road which led to the gate below her. At first, she couldn’t see anything but the trees and the village a quarter of a mile away, but soon she was able to make out faint dark figures riding down the path. She knew that they must be knights because of the glinting and flashing of their armour in the morning sun. As they got closer, she was able to see more and more of them, until suddenly she squealed in delight and ran down a flight of stairs to the gatehouse. She ran out the door and nearly bowled over her mother, who was already standing by the open gate, watching the men approach.
   “It’s Papa, it’s Papa!” Gael squealed, grabbing her mother in a tight hold and jumping up and down excitedly.
   “Yes, dear,” her mother said, smiling as Gael continued to jump. “Calm down, or you’ll rip my dress!” Gael immediately stood straight as a flagstaff with a very solemn expression on her face, causing her mother to break down into peals of laughter, which she shortly echoed.
   They had just managed to regain their composure when Lord Tire rode in through the gate. He was a kind-looking man, with brown hair and eyes that twinkled like the little stars you can sometimes see just before the sun rises. His green cape was slung over one of his spaulders, and he wore no helmet. He smiled down at Gael, swinging her lightly up into the saddle with him before bending over to give his wife a kiss. “Now then,” he said, turning to Gael with a very serious face (though of course he was teasing), “how is my little Naiad? I hear you have nigh worried your mother sick in my absence.” Gael laughed, and her father’s face broke into a large smile.
   “It’s good to see you again, Papa,” Gael said.
   “It is good to see you as well, Gael,” her father answered. “It’s been far too long since I was last here. How are your studies?”
   “I like the histories, Papa, especially about all the funny creatures up north in Narnia. Is it true that some of them came to Archenland after the Telmarines came?”
   “I’m sure it is,” Lord Tire said. “Why, I’ve seen one or two myself at court on occasion. Even more than that in the past three years, since Caspian came to his throne. Though, I think they live more in the western parts.”
   “That’s neat,” Gael said. “I wish I could see one.”
   “Maybe you will someday,” her father said. “But you’ve only mentioned one subject so far. What of your other studies?”
   “Well,” Gael began, “I like my sewing lessons, and cooking. Versification is all right, I guess … but geography and grammar are boring. I can’t stand Siccus. I wish I could take navigation with the sailor-boys in the village, but Mum won’t let me.”
   “Now, now, Gael,” her father chided. “There’s no need to fuss about your mother. A girl your age doesn’t need to be taking lessons with sailor-boys down on the docks. There’s plenty of time for ships later, provided you still enjoy them as much when you get older. Right now you have other work to attend, and what have I always told you?”
   “Train yourself to be diligent, and you will have cheerfulness, contentment, and a hundred other comforts which the idle cannot,”* Gael said softly, not quite believing the bit about contentment.
   “That’s right,” her father said.
   “And now,” he said, looking around, “I believe it’s time for dinner. Why don’t you run along and see what Hardene has ready for us?” He let Gael down off the saddle, and she ran off excitedly. If she had looked back, she might have seen her father slip off his horse and whisper quietly to her mother (like grownups do when they want to talk about something they think might scare you), but she simply ran to the portico where they always ate in the warm months.

   The next day while Gael was working on her studies with her professor, Dolen, she was interrupted by a knock on the door. Dolen opened it, and Gael was surprised to see her father standing there. “Gael,” he said, “I need to talk with you for a minute.” Gael looked at Dolen for a moment, and when he nodded she hopped out of her seat and walked over to her father. She decided that whatever he interrupted one of her lessons for had to be very important and serious.
   Her father lead her down the hall to an empty room (I think it was a library of some sort) and then turned to look at her.
   “Gael,” he said, “before I say anything, I want to be certain that you know that you don’t have to do any of what I’m about to say. Do you understand?” She nodded mutely. “Well then, I suppose I’d best get on with it. King Nain has arranged for a meeting with a Calormene Ambassador to try and stop the Calormene ships from privateering – do you know what that means? – against our merchants. He wants me to go.”
   “Why are you telling me?” Gael asked a little confusedly. She was, after all, still young, and politics was a subject few children her age got into very much in Archenland in those days.
   “Because,” her father said, “The meeting is going to be at sea. King Nain and the Tisroc agreed that the ambassadors would bring their families to the meeting as a sign that we come in peace. Mother will be coming, but we thought it was only fair to give you a choice.”
   “Well,” Gael said, thinking hard, “I understand that it might be dangerous, but I want to go with you and Mum.” She also was thinking of how marvellous it would be to spend days on the open sea, but of course one doesn’t say things like that when one’s father looks so serious.
   “Very well then,” her father said. “I’ll tell your mother.” (Though he didn’t look at all like he wanted to.)
   “You’d best get back you your studies now, Gael. We’ll leave tomorrow morning.”

   The next morning, Gael and her family (along with numerous knights, courtiers, and advisors) set sail from the docks down in the village. People lined the streets to see their Lord’s family off, and there were many young men who seemed to think it was a great loss to be left behind while the older men sailed away. They had a good wind, and Gael watched the docks and houses get farther and farther away as the Resplendent Tine sailed east and a bit south, so as to follow the line of the shore, which was (though very far away) still visible to the trained eyes of the sailors. Gael’s father had explained to her that the Calormene ship was meeting them just a few leagues off the tip of the promontory, so the journey would take at least six days.
   Those were lovely days for Gael, and she hardly minded that her mother made her spend a few hours studying in the morning before she was allowed to wander off. She loved the smell of the salt air and the feel of the wind in her face as she stared off the p**p deck at the wake of the ship. The Captain, Marin, was friendly to her, and he told her anything she wanted to know; how to guide the ship by stars, how to work the tiller (though I am afraid she wasn’t strong enough), and how to tie the forestays to the bowsprit. When she wasn’t with the captain, she would play with her father and mother, though often her father had to leave for some discussion in his cabin.
   On the sixth day it seemed the entire ship quivered with anticipation. At midday, they spotted another sail just a bit south west of them. As the ship drew closer, they could see that the sail was red, and there was a black, bird-like head emblazoned on it. “Definitely a Calormene,” Marin said. They could see that the ship itself was a fine vessel, with excellent lines and a good draught. But though the ship itself was a light, oaken colour, the red sail seemed to cast a pall over the whole ship, making it dark and menacing.
   The next day when the ships drew very close, so close that Gael thought an archer could hit the bird-face right in the eye, they heard a crier in the masthead of the Calormene ship.
   “My father, the formidable Tarkaan Ilsombreh, has come in the name of the Tisroc (may he live forever) to meet with Lord Tire of the country of Archenland. Art thou come to speak peacefully with Calormen?”
   “His father?” Gael said quizzically.
   “All Calormene officers call their commander ‘father’,” her father replied softly, whispering in her ear. He nodded to his own crier, who replied that they were indeed come to speak of peace. Then there was a bit of discourse as to how and on which ship the meetings were to take place, but I won’t bore you with those sorts of things, for it was really mostly for show anyhow and they all knew how it was likely to end up.
   At any rate, it was finally decided that the first talks would take place on board the Resplendent Tine, and that the Tarkaan and his advisors would come aboard that evening to sup with the Archenlanders.
   Gael piddled away the time as she waited for the day to be over. She felt a little intimidated by the great bird’s-face (she thought it might be the thing the Calormenes called “Tash”), but she was curious about the Calormenes. She’d never seen anyone who wasn’t from Archenland before, but in all the histories the Calormenes were savage warriors and cunning speakers, and she wanted to see for herself. At last the hour came when the Calormenes were to come aboard, and a long gangplank was run between the two ships. When the Calormenes came across, Gael was slightly disappointed to see that they were not in armour, but rather in somewhat baggy robes which were brilliantly coloured. The only armour they wore was a spiked helmet, but that had a turban wrapped around it which rather spoiled the effect.
   The Calormenes were greeted in proper Archenlandish fashion, and after they introduced themselves (and there were a great many large words thrown in after the names which Gael couldn’t quite understand), they all went into the stern cabin to dine. It was an excellent meal, by Archenlandish standards, and the Calormenes praised the food, though Gael noted that they didn’t eat much of it.
   After the meal, Gael’s father and the Calormene named Tarkaan Ilsombreh began to discuss the settlement they had been ordered to write. Gael thought the discussion was dreadfully boring (it was all about shipping routes and currents and places she’d never heard of), and she slipped quietly out the door after a few minutes. Most of the sailors and crewmembers were either at the meeting or below-deck, and she wandered around alone. She was walking along the port side of the ship when something in the corner of her eye caught her attention. She quickly ducked and crawled behind the mast. Once there, she looked cautiously around the great wooden pillar towards the gangplank that had been run between the Resplendent Tine and the Calormene ship. She saw there a curious thing. It seemed that a shadow had slipped off the Calormene vessel and was being drawn towards the Tine. It took her a few moments to realize that the shadow was a man crawling along the gangplank with his arms slung around it. He was wrapped in black cloth, but Gael caught a glint of metal through the shroud. She gasped, and began to turn towards the stern when a dark, hairy hand grabbed her from behind and wrapped around her mouth. She kicked backwards and bit the hand, and the man grunted and slightly loosened his grip. Gael broke free and ran towards the cabin, slamming open the door.
   The door, by a good piece of fortune, hit Ilsombreh Tarkaan square in the back, and he was quite surprised to find his sword knocked out of his hand (he appeared to have been threatening with it) and his face flat on the ground. Gael’s father immediately drew his own sword and, with the help of his men, quickly disarmed the other Calormenes in the room. “Are you all right, dear?” he asked, rushing to the door.
   “Yes, Papa,” Gael said, still somewhat shocked.
   “Good,” her father said as the men ran out past him. Gael heard a dreadful clanging and crashing. “Listen, Gael. I need you and your mother to follow me to the ship’s boat. I’ll lower you down, and I need you to row as far as you can. I’ll come for you when it’s over, I promise.” Poor Gael nodded bravely, and tried to hold back the tears which threatened to overflow. Her mother grabbed her hand, and all three of them ran out the door.
   Outside, there was a horrible noise and smell all about the ship. Gael’s father hurried them along, so she didn’t see much, but it seemed like a great muddle of men and metal crashing into each other. They reached the boat safely, and Gael’s father (with the help of a knight) quickly moved it over the water and prepared it for sailing (fortunately, the ship’s boat was always kept stocked with food and water). Gael’s mother climbed in, and then helped Gael. Her father bent over and gave both of them a kiss before manning the winch. The boat descended lower and lower, until Gael couldn’t see her father anymore. Then, suddenly, the lines were cut, and the boat was splashing through the waves. From above, Gael heard her father cry out, “Go! And don’t forget, I will come back for you!”

   So they left, rowing as hard as they could. Gael used what Marin had taught her to steer the boat northwards like her father had said. “We might reach Terebinthia in a couple of weeks,” said her mother. After what seemed like weeks in the small boat (though it was probably only days), Gael would have given anything to see her father’s galleon, or even land.
   Gael was always tired now because she was so weak. She saw her father in her dreams, and his ship, and her friends. Her mother tried to comfort her, but she was weak herself and often couldn’t move. Gael lay in the aft of the boat, watching her mother sleep fitfully. She tried to stay awake, just in case there was a ship she might signal, but she couldn’t keep her eyes open. Just before they closed, she saw a strange sight; a dragon gliding across the water with purple wings. “How queer,” she thought. “I must be imagining it…”

*