The Death of the White Stag

This bit of writing was inspired by another sister. We were driving to work one morning when we got to talking about things like… you know… Narnia. 😉

Well, I had fun in creating the characters and setting, and I believe I conveyed what I wanted to. Here are a few things that I wanted to portray.
One: Without the guiding hand of the Pevensie children, the Narnians are quick to forget the very reason their Kings and Queens were established.
Two: Belief in the old stories was jeopardized surprisingly soon, leading to an easier conquest of Narnia by the Telmarines.
Three: In writing this, I began to see similarities between Narnians and the Old Testament Israelites. I won’t try to explain that one out fully… unless you comment and make me do so. 🙂

One more thing, though. I believe that Aslan was still in full control. If he had wanted to come and rescue Narnia at that exact minute he would have done so. Why he didn’t is beyond me. But, even though he is not a tame lion, we all know that he is good.

It was only a year ago when the men were first seen. A dryad had reported their coming as they made their way through deep wooded areas, looking for a clearing. The tidings were met with general rejoicing. A son of Adam here in Narnia after all these years could only mean a return of the Golden Age. But before anyone could be sent to welcome them, a party of four or five men had despaired of finding a clearing before nightfall and had set themselves to felling trees. The entire forest was incensed and small skirmishes were inevitable between the trees and men. 

Then the whole of Narnia was thrown into confusion because the men were killing and eating talking beasts. These must be different sorts of sons of Adam. The High King and those under him never stooped to slaughtering beasts or trees, but these stone-faced tyrants made it a daily habit. In fact, they were more likely to shoot if they heard you speak. The inevitable skirmishes grew more and more frequent, until it became clear to both sides that an undeclared war was afoot. 

After the first of the more serious battles Noam, a wise old faun, called a small meeting. A solid half hour of conversation followed and then two soldiers were summoned. One was a black bear named Dorn, while the other was a dwarf with bright yellow hair. Everyone called him Brockle. 

Noam cleated his throat. “Sit down, both of you. You’re here for an assignment.”

“I’ve doubts about it,” said Wibberly, one of the war council. He was a young giant, loyal to his own ideas and quite skeptical of anything or anyone outside them. 

“We’ve talked it over,” said Noam calmly, “and we all agreed this would be our wisest course of action.”

“I’m not one to go against you, master Noam,” replied the giant grimly. “But I must remind you that I’ve had my doubts all along.”

“Yes you have, I’m aware. But you also made a point of not casting your vote as we sought to find our way through this predicament.”

“I would not vote because none of our options seemed advisable. Fools errands, every one of them.” Wibberly spit on the ground. 

Noam sighed and turned his back on the giant, now facing the new comers. “I’m sorry for calling you in just to hear this. But I do have a job for you.” 

Wibberly spit again. 

Noam continued. “These Telmarines have pushed us to within a few days of our breaking point. We wish we had the wisdom of the King Edmund with us as we did when my great great grandfather was in his service, but all we have is what we’ve been taught. And even that is failing us. Thankfully, Poldo here has a plan.”

Poldo stepped forward from leaning on the wall. The dwarf looked older than Noam, but his snapping eyes were enough warning for anyone who was foolish enough to assume that he was at all weakened by his age. Brockle and Dorn immediately sensed that he was of sharp mind and even sharper tongue. 

“It’s the last resort. I suppose you’ve heard of the White Stag?”

Dorn chuckled. “Since we were little we’ve heard stories. Not a bear out where I come from as hasn’t heard.”

“Then I don’t need to acquaint you with his existence, as I’ve had to do for others among us,” said Poldo with a withering glance at Wibberly.  

“His existence?!” exclaimed Brockle. “Sir, with all due respect, he’s a legend. After all, even if he’s not, it was in the pursuit of this fantastical beast that our Kings and Queens disappeared so many generations ago.”

“I’d rather say that our dear little Kings and Queens as well as this Stag are fantastical,” muttered Wibberly. 

Poldo took a step closer to the giant. “If it hadn’t been for the merciful existence of the High King Peter your entire miserable kind would have been wiped off this map, Wibberly,” he said coldly without raising his voice. 

“Rather he hadn’t been so merciful with your type for my part,” said the giant, staring down at the dwarf with contempt marked on every feature. 

Noam got between them. “This isn’t what we are here for,” he said quickly. “We’ve got to send these two on now or never. Poldo, please finish with your instructions. But you,” he said, pointing to Wibberly, “keep your mouth shut.”

Poldo turned to Dorn and Brockle. “I can’t convince you of the existence of this Stag, though if I could drive the conviction into your thick skulls with my fist I would do so. I don’t care for those who so quickly dismiss our very heritage and history. But I’ll forgive it this once. But be assured that this White Stag, the very one our High King ventured after, is indeed real and has been recently spotted in Silverbeech Woods. Your assignment is simple. You are to find and catch him. It’s well known that he will grant a few wishes to whoever catches him. You are to ask for deliverance from these Telmarines. He cannot but grant your wish.”

“And if he just snorts and paws at the ground and takes off like any dumb stag, just know I told you so,” said Wibberly. 

Noam restrained Poldo from cutting the giant’s feet off and turned toward Dorn. “I know you know Silverbeech. You’re to leave immediately.” 

Dorn paused. “Excuse me, if I may,” he said shyly. Poldo glared at him, but Dorn was looking at Noam. “I seem to remember another sort of help from the old stories,” said the bear. 

Noam looked at him blankly. “Another sort of help? Speak clearly.”

“Well, it’s not mine to raise another dispute, but I seem to remember…”

Wibberly interrupted him with a stamp of his foot. “If you don’t intend to raise another dispute then I would counsel you to shut your big mouth. Are you two leaving or not?”

Brockle nodded and nudged Dorn who seemed confused at the outbreak. “Come on.”
*          *          *

It has been said before that when one is nervous there’s nothing better than having something warm and solid at your back. Brockle agreed with this sentiment. He was also inclined to agree with Wibberly that this whole thing was a fools errand. They’d been searching Silverbeech for two full days, looking for tracks or any other sign as to the whereabouts of their quarry. All they had found so far were strange and brilliant flowers blooming all along the forest floor. If the duo had known more about the Stag, the flowers might have made them hopeful. They had just stopped for a rest. Dorn was snoring gently in a pile of poky leaves, but sleep evaded the dwarf. This was a good thing because he was on watch duty. He felt his bow beneath his right leg and chewed nervously on a bit of grass. Noam would be getting impatient, not to mention Poldo and Wibberly. 

The mist was thick and wet and the trees seemed to be drooping with the thick humidity all around them. They were close by the river with no one in sight and it was getting on toward daybreak. Brockle sighed and picked another blade of grass. Dorn shifted, bumping the dwarf and scattering some of the leaves, making Brockle cringe. The leaves were so loud, dry and dead and rustling together. They needed silence. 

Down a steep rocky slope just to the left of the watchers a white form of some creature appeared, pawing the ground and sending hot blasts of breath through his flaring nostrils. The dwarf caught his breath as the Stag locked eyes with him, quivering in every muscle. And then, he bounded away, sending the mist in curly wisps from its path. Brockle jumped to his feet, flicking Dorn on the nose, and whispering loudly, 

“I’ve seen him! The rumors are true. He just came by, you can see his path where the fog has cleared! Get up! We need these wishes, Dorn!” 

The beast snorted with sleep and rolled to his feet, sticking a paw in his ear and one in his mouth. “Then we’ve got to get after him, mustn’t we. Can’t waste a second. Where’s breakfast?”

But Brockle was already scrambling down the stone congested slope. The White Stag was in those woods on that hillside, just as Noam had said. But the Stag wasn’t an animal to be called or beckoned. He must be caught. Brockle stamped his foot and searched the mist for his friend. They were wasting precious minutes. Dorn was by his side the next second. Their path was clear, for where the Stag had gone the mist had fled. Where the damp ground was softest they could see clear hoof prints, and where the hoof prints appeared flowers were sprouting. Even though it was late summer the Stag’s trail held the scent of spring. He seemed to create beautiful and growing things wherever he was. 

They were hard on it’s track when Brockle stumbled over something in the path. Dorn didn’t hesitate but scooped up the dwarf in his paws, slung him on his back and then dropped down onto all fours. Brockle held on by the bear’s shoulders, and the two went even faster through the forest. 

An arrow shot past, grazing Dorn on one of his fury rear legs. Brockle looked behind them, straining his eyes for any signs of humans. Dorn quickened his pace. The scent of spring grew stronger and stronger and the mist seemed to sparkle with an almost dazzling brilliance. The White Stag was only a few feet away and they could see its tail ahead of them as it weaved in and out of the trees. Another arrow flew by and another. Their pursuers were too close. Brockle jumped from Dorn’s back into the thick bushes just as Dorn reached a tree and began to climb steadily upwards. 

And then they heard the twang of a bowstring close behind them and Brockle watched as an arrow found its mark in the back of the Stag’s pure white head. It fell where it was. Another arrow and the Stag stopped struggling. Brockle couldn’t believe his eyes. They had been so close. From in the middle of the thick brush he looked out to find who had done the shooting. A group of men with wicked looking crossbows were pounding up the path, destroying the young sprouting flowers that had been planted only a few seconds before. But what made the dwarf’s blood run cold was the figure behind the men. A tall, grim looking thing, also carrying a crossbow which looked like a child’s toy in his huge hands. Wibberly. The young giant’s face was a perfect puzzle of satisfaction and anger. And then a new expression seemed to take over. Fear. The men began screaming and knocking each other over to turn around and get back down the path. Brockle, confused and disgusted, turned his eyes back to the Stag. 

The trees were at work. Silently and reverently they had circled the body of the fallen Stag. The dryads had emerged and were busy about the noble creature, but Brockle couldn’t make out what they were doing. The trees began weaving their branches together, creating a green and silver canopy over the workers. And then the dryads stepped away and Brockle saw what they had done. Many branches had been gathered and braided and weaved into a rough brown covering over the body, and flowers were already blooming between the cracks and chinks. The place where the Stag had fallen was now a small hill of flowers and spring. The trees drew back and the dryads were gone. 

Brockle shook himself and crawled out from under the bushes, feeling numb and completely at a loss as what to do. Noam would be disappointed, Poldo would be outraged. But Narnia, what would become of his land? He knew well enough. The Stag had fallen. They had been betrayed from within. Narnia would be conquered. 

Dorn scrambled down from his tree and sat down by the dwarf. Brockle looked at him, trying to find something to say. 

“I think we could use your thoughts now, Dorn.”

“Hm? I don’t understand.”

“You said back in the council that you were remembering something. Something about another help.”

“Yes. Yes I did say that.”

“Well?”

“I seem to remember something that my old relatives used to talk of. A lion or something. They said he helped the Kings in the battle against the Witch. I just thought maybe he’d help us in our battle against these Telmarines.”

“A lion? I think I’ve heard of him. He’s an emperor or something isn’t he?”

“I don’t remember that much. I only remember his name.”

“Well, we might as well mention it to Noam. Couldn’t hurt. Things can’t get any worse than they are. What was his name again?”

“Aslan. They called him Aslan.”

 

Love,

Hannah Jo <3