XI

There was silence as Hedegar turned to the mysterious small chest Susan had all but forgotten about. He produced a key and unlocked it, lifting its lid. He bent down and took out a small scroll. Susan didn't have a chance see whether there was anything else in the little box before he closed and locked it again. Hedegar, holding the parchment in his left paw, looked uncertainly at the animals in the square.

“Are you just going to give it to her?” asked Loopel, critically.

“How else will we know whether she is who she says she is?” said Gelinda in Hedegar's defence, “How will we know whether she can truly read it or not?”

“She could pretend,” argued Akadis.

“I thought we'd been through all this,” said Ratel getting a little agitated. “We've told her the story. And as she pointed out earlier, the best we can do is put her to the test and see whether or not she proves herself. What harm will come if she can't help us? We'll be no better off than we are now.”

The opposing creatures backed down, still looking unhappy and allowed Hedegar to hand over the scroll.

Susan looked at it carefully. It seemed to be made of parchment, some soft kind of leather; it was in a remarkably good condition considering its age. Carefully, she undid the ribbon that held it closed and rolled it open on the small stone table in the middle of the square.

Susan had no idea what she had expected to see - probably some kind of strange script with unusual characters like those used for foreign languages (Greek, Hebrew or those even stranger eastern scripts). More likely she expected something Narnian, like the characters engraved on the Stone Table, describing the Deep Magic from the Dawn of Time and before.

What she saw instead was the most unexpected yet most ordinary thing there was; writing in the basic Latin script used by many European cultures in our world including her own England. And what is more, the words were simple English. Though she had no idea what they meant, she could read them quite easily. How very odd!

“Well?” asked a voice, and she realised the eyes of all the creatures were on her, “Can you read it?” Susan hesitated. “Yes, of course I can, can’t you?”

She got blank looks in reply. “Surely not,” said Scaltard, “There are few enough literate in these days as it is, but even for the learned is a most peculiar script, very unlike the one we use. Do you know what is says? What language is it? We have tried over the years to decipher it, but it seems to follow no logic. The characters are so repetitive and few.”

“Why it’s the very language we are speaking now,” said Susan, bemused. “The script is that used by many languages in my world”.

“How peculiar,” gasped Vixel in awe.

“I don’t believe her,” scowled Akadis. "She’s bluffing."

“What does it say?” questioned Loopel suspiciously.

“I can tell you what it says, though I can’t make any sense out of the words,” she replied, “I suppose it’s some sort of clue.”

“Ah,” answered Hedegar thoughtfully, “I thought that might be the case. It seems like Bragold used a cryptic clue. We shall have to decipher it.”

The hare and lizard looked at Susan sceptically, “How do we know she’s translating it properly?”

“Calm down young creatures,” said the tortoise with some reproach, “We haven’t even heard what it says yet, let us hear it first before judging it.”

“There’s no question of the translation,” said Susan in her own defence. “As I said, it is in your very own language, all I am doing is reading it. You may interpret it how you will.” She was feeling somewhat frustrated by all the scepticism and hoped they would believe her, though she knew what she had to say was not going to impress them very much. With some reservation she proceeded.

"It says the following:

A cold cup of water,

A leaf as it falls,

The tearing wind’s daughter,

The echo that calls."

There were a few seconds' silence. “Please continue,” said Scaltard eventually.

“I’m finished,” answered Susan, “That’s it. I told you it didn’t make sense.”

“Oh,” said the tortoise, as if he had been expecting something much longer.

“I knew it,” said Akadis. “This girl is a fraud. Either she can’t read it, or not very well, or she’s making it up, I fail to believe Bragold would have written all that time an effort to give us that.”

“Weren’t you listening at all?” answered Hedegar, “She told us it was a riddle.”

“A riddle?” answered the lizard, “That’s not a riddle; it’s just a jumble of words.” We’ve wasted enough time as it is. I say we call it a night, and tomorrow forget all about this meeting, and the silly seed. We’ve waited long enough, we can wait a little longer until someone more useful appears. Until then, let us get on with our lives. They are pleasant enough.”

Susan was thinking fast, the look on Hedegar’s face was a little alarming. Despite her earlier speech, she realised that some of the animals would not accept her without evidence that she was telling the truth. Something seemed to be warning her that she needed to convince them quickly; she feared that a faction in the council could only cause unwanted trouble. She felt that it was her responsibility to make them believe her. Just as soon as this, another thought occurred to her - there was one thing she could do that might help her convince them.

Susan had never had much interest in languages, but she knew enough to surmise that whatever script was used in this world, it was some kind of hieroglyphic-type one in which each picture represented a whole word. The concept of symbols representing individual sounds had never occurred to them.

“Actually”, she said cautiously, “I may be able to prove to you quite easily that I’m telling the truth. Give me some time and I can show you that this is the same language you are speaking right now. It may take a little while, but I can teach the script to you.”

Some of the creatures perked up at the suggestion that they could learn to read this strange script; the dissenters, however, just scowled.

“That sounds fair to me,” said Gelinda, “What do you say?”

“I think it would be an unnecessary waste of time,” complained Hedegar, “Clearly she knows what she’s talking about.”

“I would love to learn to read this script,” said Vixel, “Though I agree with Hedegar, we could always learn it at some later stage. Let us search for the seed first. Once we have found it, we will have plenty time for study. And if we don’t find, it then we will know she is lying anyway.”

“Well we can’t find anything until we know where to look, so before anything else, we have to decipher what the clue means,” put in Gelinda.

“I agree,” said Akadis, finally speaking up for the detractors, who had been rather subdued since Susan suggested teaching them the script, “Time, time and time. All you creatures ever do is waste time. Time for finding clues, for deciphering them, for learning the script. While you waste all the time you want, I am going to bed. I have work to do in the morning.” He was standing upright, and crossed his lizardy forelegs over his chest and as a human would, before walking off in a temper towards his sleeping mat.”

The mysterious weaver spoke up next. “You all are right that taking time to study the script may be an unnecessary waste, but you have waited these many years. And if it’s going to take time to decipher the clue anyway, we can wait a little longer. So, if everyone is going to work together I suggest you accept her offer. But it is late; perhaps we should adjourn until morning.”

It was fast approaching midnight; the animals had forgotten the time in the excitement of the meeting. Most of the creatures were happy with this suggestion.

*-*-*-*

The next morning, Susan woke to discover the camp full of activity and bustle as preparations were made for breakfast. Ratel saw her stirring and came over.

“Good Morning, Miss Susan, do hope you slept well.” Susan realised that she had, despite this being her second consecutive night on the ground. On getting up, however, she found herself a little stiff. She also felt that a bath and change of clothes would be a good idea and wondered when or where she would find a chance.

She was not then able to think more about this, as she found herself being bustled off by the lady badger to breakfast. Breakfast was a combination of fruits and honey, finished off with some kind of warm tea-like brew. It was by far the best she’d eaten since arriving in the Phairdayle valley.

No one seemed particularly inclined to discuss the matter of the lost seed while breakfast was being eaten. The group was broken up into small clusters who shared light conversation with each other. Susan joined Hedegar, Ratel and Gelinda.

After breakfast, Hedegar got everyone’s attention and summoned them to gather around so they could continue with the matter before them. Only when everyone had taken their places did they realise that Akadis had vanished. He had been there during breakfast eating with Loopel and Scaltard. The latter two had gone off search of a second round of the breakfast brew and were in the process of helping themselves when Hedegar called them for the meeting. Akadis had apparently slipped away. Loopel suggested that he must have gone off to attend to something, maybe do a little hunting since fruit was not his favourite meal, but there was a quiver of uncertainty in his voice. At the same time, it was noticed that the weaver too had vanished, though he had been gone since before breakfast and had a habit of vanishing thus, so the animals were less concerned by him. Susan, however, felt somewhat disquieted by his absence.

The animals debated whether they should wait until Akadis’ return, but eventually decided to begin without him and fill him in should he return.

Hedegar began the meeting by summing up the events and discussion points from the night before. It was agreed that until they could work out what was meant by the words on the scroll, Susan would teach them something of the mysterious script in which it was written.

Susan found she enjoyed the task and was reminded of a time in her childhood when she had wanted to be a school mistress or governess when she was older, a desire which predated her first trip to Narnia. In that world, she had grown up a queen and interest in passing on knowledge to others was swallowed up by the more important queenly duties, which had brought fulfilment of a different kind.

Back in our world, she realised she had abandoned that desire. Despite her adamant denial of Narnia, she had still let the greatness of court life fill her mind with becoming a woman of influence; a matron of a wealthy household or the like. That is why she had exulted in the friendship of people like Margaret. That was why parties, invitations, nylons, fancy dresses and lipsticks had occupied so much of her life. She realised with a sense of irony that even though she had come to deny the reality of her time in Narnia, she had allowed the subconscious memory of the glory of court life to influence her behaviour in our world. She had been seeking all along to regain some semblance of the queenly life.

She saw now the foolishness of it all. Courtly affairs were hardly the most exciting part of life as a queen. As the elder queen it had often been her responsibility to organise and host fancy events, which was something of a chore. Spending time in the day to day affairs of the kingdom; interacting with the creatures one-on-one, or riding about the countryside, hunting or visiting friends, had been far more enjoyable part of life.

It was something of a shock to realise the course her life had been taking and she realised now that if she ever got through this adventure and back to our world, her life would take a very different course.

Susan’s reverie was broken by Scaltard coming up to her and nudging her hand. She had given the creatures the task of learning the first few letters she had taught them in pairs by drawing scratches in the sand. It seemed like he, as the most literate among them, was having more trouble than the rest of them coming to terms with the idea that symbols could represent sounds and not words.

She had not realised how novel and strange an idea it was to them until she had tried to explain it. It was nearly lunch time so she told them to take a break. She also thought that the lessons would go much better if she could find something better than the ground to write on.

*-*-*-*

The day passed in something of a blur. Many of the animals were enjoying the new activity of learning to read this script that was so old and unfamiliar. But Susan perceived that it did not interest all of them and there was a sense of uneasiness growing that had begun with Akadis’ vanishing. He did not return, and Susan was reminded of the time her brother had vanished in a similar way during their visit with the beavers that first night in Narnia.

She noticed Hedegar standing on his own a little away from the camp apparently lost in thought. She went over to him.

At first he did not notice her and she was reluctant to disturb him, but eventually he turned his eyes to her, breaking his reverie.

“It feels so odd,” he said, speaking at last, “to be this close to finding the seed. After all these years, what was only a dream may become real. Just learning about the script this clue was written in excites me and yet I am afraid too. What if we don’t find it? What if the clue cannot be cracked or the seed had been moved? What if it will not bring the restoration we hope for? It feels like a task too great for me to bear.”

“But you don’t bear it alone,” comforted Susan.

“Perhaps not alone, but I feel responsible. It was the long-eared hedgehogs that guarded the clue. I keep thinking of the words over and over again. Surely the key to crack it was passed down to me. If only there was something I had heard, from my father or grandfather that would help it make sense, but I can think of nothing. I confess I expected the instructions would be clearer. Are you sure that is what it says?”

“Certain,” answered Susan, glad she could answer with such confidence. “There is no other way anyone can read it. I may not have been the one prophesied but any other Son of Adam or Daughter of Eve would have read it the same.” Then on inspiration, hoping to cheer him up, she added, “Why don’t you talk to Scaltard? Maybe the two of you together can work things out.”

Hedegar nodded to her suggestion and they made their way to the tortoise who had overcome his difficulties since the morning and was happily helping some of the others with the script. When he saw them, he left off his explanation to Vixel and made his way over to them.

“Thank you for teaching us this, Daughter of Eve. If nothing else, you have given us something to work on together and to stretch the brains of the young. But how may I help you?”

“The clue,” answered Susan, “Hedegar is trying to figure out what it might mean and I thought maybe if you work together you might be able to think of something.”

“Aah…the clue” he replied. “Yes, I spent much of the night running it over in my head. But to no avail. It must refer to some particular place but I cannot think where.”

A cold cup of water,
A leaf as it falls,
The tearing wind’s daughter
The echo that calls.”

“Surely the echo is important?” Susan asked, she hadn’t thought of the actual words since the first time she read it. “Doesn’t that point to some place? Can you think of a place that is particularly known for its echoes?”

“I’ve been thinking that,” answered the tortoise. It seems to point to a cave, but there are many caves in this valley under the mesas; it would take us forever to search every one. The other points are no better. Water, leaves and wind are all so common. There must be something about the combination of these things, but I cannot think what it is.”

“That’s what I’ve been thinking,” answered Hedegar, "and it’s gotten me nowhere. We must be missing something important”.

“Why daughter?” asked Scaltard, half thinking aloud, half addressing Hedegar and Susan. “Why is it the wind’s daughter and not the wind itself? What is the wind’s daughter?”

“I thought it was just because it rhymed with water,” answered Susan.

“No,” responded the hedgehog confidently. It wouldn’t have been put there without reason. Scaltard is right there must be something important about that. The wind’s daughter… The wind doesn’t have children. It makes no sense, and therefore it must be significant…”

“Wait! I knew it sounded familiar,” he suddenly said with a jubilant look on his face. “Gelinda will know. Gelinda!”

He shouted the last, running off to find the butterfly, leaving his companions staring after him. After looking at each other in puzzlement they followed him. By the time they caught up to Hedegar, he was in earnest conversation with the butterfly.

“Calm down, Hedegar,” she admonished, her sweet voice betraying a hard edge. “How am I supposed to know what you are talking about when you speak so fast?”

Eventually the hedgehog quieted himself down long enough for the others to get out of him what he was going on about. Apparently, when he was a child, his grandmother had often told him and his siblings a story called The Wind’s Daughter. It had been so long since he had last heard it he had completely forgotten. It was about a butterfly. An orphan butterfly who had lost her parents when she was still a caterpillar. She spent her whole life trying to figure out who she was, where she belonged and what she was meant to do with her life. One day she was so weary of life and so tired of not fitting in, she made herself a bed, wrapped herself up and went to sleep in it. When she woke up, she could tell something had changed. She found the soft bed she had made had solidified when she had fallen asleep and she was trapped.

Afraid that she would spend the rest of her life not only confused but alone in this dark world, she fought her way out. At last, she broke free of her prison and realised that she had changed. She was no longer a crawling worm but had wings; wings like the birds and yet so different. She didn’t know what to do with them until a gust of wind swept her from the branch she had been clinging to. She found she could fly. With her new-found wings, she was reinvigorated with a sense of purpose. She believed she had found who she was and what she was made for. Thereafter she called herself “the wind’s daughter”.

After hearing the story the others agreed that the Hedegar had found what the wind’s daughter referred to, but they were no closer to knowing what it meant. Hedegar had been convinced that Gelinda would know, but she simply shook her small head and feelers. She had never even heard the story before.

“Scaltard said the echoing probably referred to a cave,” said Susan, her mind ticking, “Maybe it’s a cave near where Gelinda lives. Perhaps the one we stayed in that first night.”

Hedegar looked excited for a minute, but then frowned. “There are too many caves in that area”.

“More importantly,” answered Gelinda, “I am not the only butterfly in these parts and my parents lived in a completely different place to where I live now. If it referred to a butterfly, it would have to be one that had lived at the time the clue was made.

“There would have been lots of butterflies around then as now. There must be more to it,” put in Scaltard with a sigh.

“Why would it be the tearing wind’s daughter?” asked Susan. “What does tearing have to do with butterflies? I hate to say this, but we’re on the wrong track.”

“Tearing wind…the wind that tears; tares; te-ars…” she said the words aloud to herself, the last one pronounced as the moisture that forms in one’s eyes when one cries.

“Wait, what did you say?” asked Gelinda suddenly. Susan began to repeat it, but the butterfly interrupted her, “No, the last thing? What do tears have to do with the tearing wind?”

Susan looked at her and frowned. “Oh nothing, I was just playing with the word. We spell tear and tear the same.”

“Spell, like in magic?” asked Hedegar.

“Um no, the two words are…” Oh dear, this could be difficult to explain. She hadn’t gone into the intricacies of spelling and spelling/pronunciation differences in teaching the animals the script. They were still trying to master the letters.

“Well, it’s kind of complicated,” she said at last, “but tear and tear use the same symbols…letters…to write them even though they sound different.” She could see they didn’t understand. “It doesn’t matter anyway,” she added, “the word is tearing, I was just thinking aloud.”

“Oh,” said Gelinda, sounding somewhat disappointed, “it’s just that you made me think of something when you mentioned tears. There’s this place, just below one of the waterfalls, where the colouring on the rock face looks a little like a butterfly. When it’s rained a lot, the fall’s water sprays over it and creates a rainbow, adding to the effect. It is sometimes called “The weeping butterfly”. There’s something of a legend about it having magical properties but no one believes that these days. But you said it’s got nothing to do with crying?”