A Year with Aslan: Daily Reflections from The Chronicles of Narnia

by C. S. Lewis

  Tirian and his friends, still panting from their fight and thankful for a few minutes’ rest, stood and looked on while the Tarkaan led his men against the Dwarfs. It was a strange scene by now. The fire had sunk lower: the light it gave was now less and of a darker red. As far as one could see, the whole place of assembly was now empty except for the Dwarfs and the Calormenes. In that light one couldn’t make out much of what was happening. It sounded as if the Dwarfs were putting up a good fight. Tirian could hear Griffle using dreadful language, and every now and then the Tarkaan calling, “Take all you can alive! Take them alive!”

  Whatever that fight may have been like, it did not last long. The noise of it died away. Then Jill saw the Tarkaan coming back to the stable: eleven men followed him, dragging eleven bound Dwarfs. (Whether the others had all been killed, or whether some of them had got away, was never known.)

  “Throw them into the shrine of Tash,” said Rishda Tarkaan.

  And when the eleven Dwarfs, one after the other, had been flung or kicked into that dark doorway and the door had been shut again, he bowed low to the stable and said:

  “These also are for thy burnt offering, Lord Tash.”

  And all the Calormenes banged the flats of their swords on their shields and shouted, “Tash! Tash! The great god Tash! Inexorable Tash!” (There was no nonsense about “Tashlan” now.)

  —The Last Battle

  How can looking out for only your kind lead to destruction?

  DECEMBER 7

  The Happy Land of Narnia

  THE HORSE HAD LIFTED ITS HEAD. Shasta stroked its smooth-as-satin nose and said, “I wish you could talk, old fellow.”

  And then for a second he thought he was dreaming, for quite distinctly, though in a low voice, the Horse said, “But I can.”

  Shasta stared into its great eyes and his own grew almost as big, with astonishment.

  “How ever did you learn to talk?”

  “Hush! Not so loud,” replied the Horse. “Where I come from, nearly all the animals talk.”

  “Wherever is that?” asked Shasta.

  “Narnia,” answered the Horse. “The happy land of Narnia—Narnia of the heathery mountains and the thymy downs, Narnia of the many rivers, the plashing glens, the mossy caverns and the deep forests ringing with the hammers of the Dwarfs. Oh the sweet air of Narnia! An hour’s life there is better than a thousand years in Calormen.” It ended with a whinny that sounded very like a sigh.

  “How did you get here?” said Shasta.

  “Kidnapped,” said the Horse. “Or stolen, or captured—whichever you like to call it. I was only a foal at the time. My mother warned me not to range the Southern slopes, into Archenland and beyond, but I wouldn’t heed her. And by the Lion’s Mane I have paid for my folly. All these years I have been a slave to humans, hiding my true nature and pretending to be dumb and witless like their horses.”

  “Why didn’t you tell them who you were?”

  “Not such a fool, that’s why. If they’d once found out I could talk they would have made a show of me at fairs and guarded me more carefully than ever. My last chance of escape would have been gone.”

  —The Horse and His Boy

  Would you hide your true nature as the Horse does? How is pretending to be something you’re not its own kind of slavery?

  DECEMBER 8

  The Remains of the Castle

  THEY FOUND THEMSELVES in a wide open place with walls all round it. In here there were no trees, only level grass and daisies, and ivy, and grey walls. It was a bright, secret, quiet place, and rather sad; and all four stepped out into the middle of it, glad to be able to straighten their backs and move their limbs freely.

  “This wasn’t a garden,” said Susan presently. “It was a castle and this must have been the courtyard.”

  “I see what you mean,” said Peter. “Yes. That is the remains of a tower. And there is what used to be a flight of steps going up to the top of the walls. And look at those other steps—the broad, shallow ones—going up to that doorway. It must have been the door into the great hall.”

  “Ages ago, by the look of it,” said Edmund.

  “Yes, ages ago,” said Peter. “I wish we could find out who the people were that lived in this castle; and how long ago.”

  “It gives me a strange feeling,” said Lucy.

  “Does it, Lu?” said Peter, turning and looking hard at her. “Because it does the same to me. It is the queerest thing that has happened this queer day. I wonder where we are and what it all means?”

  —Prince Caspian

  Why might a place give them a strange feeling? When has a place made you feel strange? Afterward, were you able to discern any reason for your feeling?

  DECEMBER 9

  The Seven Kings and Queens

  AND TIRIAN TURNED TO SEE who had spoken. And what he saw then set his heart beating as it had never beaten in any fight.

  Seven Kings and Queens stood before him, all with crowns on their heads and all in glittering clothes, but the Kings wore fine mail as well and had their swords drawn in their hands. Tirian bowed courteously and was about to speak when the youngest of the Queens laughed. He stared hard at her face, and then gasped with amazement, for he knew her. It was Jill: but not Jill as he had last seen her, with her face all dirt and tears and an old drill dress half slipping off one shoulder. Now she looked cool and fresh, as fresh as if she had just come from bathing. And at first he thought she looked older, but then didn’t, and he could never make up his mind on that point. And then he saw that the youngest of the Kings was Eustace: but he also was changed as Jill was changed.

  Tirian suddenly felt awkward about coming among these people with the blood and dust and sweat of a battle still on him. Next moment he realized that he was not in that state at all. He was fresh and cool and clean, and dressed in such clothes as he would have worn for a great feast at Cair Paravel. (But in Narnia your good clothes were never your uncomfortable ones. They knew how to make things that felt beautiful as well as looking beautiful in Narnia: and there was no such thing as starch or flannel or elastic to be found from one end of the country to the other.)

  “Sire,” said Jill, coming forward and making a beautiful curtsey, “let me make you known to Peter the High King over all Kings in Narnia.”

  Tirian had no need to ask which was the High King, for he remembered his face (though here it was far nobler) from his dream. He stepped forward, sank on one knee and kissed Peter’s hand.

  “High King,” he said. “You are welcome to me.”

  And the High King raised him and kissed him on both cheeks as a High King should. Then he led him to the eldest of the Queens—but even she was not old, and there were no grey hairs on her head and no wrinkles on her cheek—and said, “Sir, this is that Lady Polly who came into Narnia on the First Day, when Aslan made the trees grow and the Beasts talk.” He brought him next to a man whose golden beard flowed over his breast and whose face was full of wisdom. “And this,” he said, “is the Lord Digory who was with her on that day. And this is my brother, King Edmund: and this my sister, the Queen Lucy.”

  —The Last Battle

  After retreating from the battle into the stable where the god Tash was, what must Tirian be feeling as he’s suddenly face to face with the Kings and Queens he has read so much about, including two he has just been fighting side-by-side with? What has changed about the outward appearance of the Kings and Queens?

  DECEMBER 10

  Return to the World Aboveground

  WHAT HAD REALLY HAPPENED to Jill was this. As soon as she got her head out of the hole she found that she was looking down as if from an upstairs window, not up as if through a trap-door. She had been so long in the dark that her eyes couldn’t at first take in what they were seeing: except that she was not looking at the daylit, sunny world which she so wanted to see. The air seemed to be deadly cold, and the light was pale and blue. There was also a good deal of noise going on and a lot of white objects
flying about in the air. It was at that moment that she had shouted down to Puddleglum to let her stand on his shoulders.

  When she had done this, she could see and hear a good deal better. The noises she had been hearing turned out to be two kinds: the rhythmical thump of several feet, and the music of four fiddles, three flutes, and a drum. She also got her own position clear. She was looking out of a hole in a steep bank which sloped down and reached the level about fourteen feet below her. Everything was very white. A lot of people were moving about. Then she gasped! The people were trim little Fauns, and Dryads with leaf-crowned hair floating behind them. For a second they looked as if they were moving anyhow; then she saw that they were really doing a dance—a dance with so many complicated steps and figures that it took you some time to understand it. Then it came over her like a thunderclap that the pale, blue light was moonlight, and the white stuff on the ground was really snow. And of course! There were the stars staring in a black frosty sky overhead. And the tall black things behind the dancers were trees. They had not only got out into the upper world at last, but had come out in the heart of Narnia. Jill felt she could have fainted with delight; and the music—the wild music, intensely sweet and yet just the least bit eerie too, and full of good magic as the Witch’s thrumming had been full of bad magic—made her feel it all the more.

  —The Silver Chair

  Having just come up from the Underworld, Jill takes awhile to make out even familiar sights aboveground. How can adventures allow you to come back and see your old world with new eyes?

  DECEMBER 11

  Aslan Learns of Edmund’s Betrayal

  WELCOME, PETER, Son of Adam,” said Aslan. “Welcome, Susan and Lucy, Daughters of Eve. Welcome He-Beaver and She-Beaver.”

  His voice was deep and rich and somehow took the fidgets out of them. They now felt glad and quiet and it didn’t seem awkward to them to stand and say nothing.

  “But where is the fourth?” asked Aslan.

  “He has tried to betray them and joined the White Witch, O Aslan,” said Mr. Beaver. And then something made Peter say,

  “That was partly my fault, Aslan. I was angry with him and I think that helped him to go wrong.”

  And Aslan said nothing either to excuse Peter or to blame him but merely stood looking at him with his great unchanging eyes. And it seemed to all of them that there was nothing to be said.

  “Please—Aslan,” said Lucy, “can anything be done to save Edmund?”

  “All shall be done,” said Aslan. “But it may be harder than you think.” And then he was silent again for some time. Up to that moment Lucy had been thinking how royal and strong and peaceful his face looked; now it suddenly came into her head that he looked sad as well.

  —The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

  Why do you think Aslan reacts the way he does to the news of Edmund’s betrayal and Peter’s subsequent confession? At what times in your life have you felt there was nothing to be said?

  DECEMBER 12

  No Son of Yours

  [SAID THE TARKAAN,] “This boy is manifestly no son of yours, for your cheek is as dark as mine but the boy is fair and white like the accursed but beautiful barbarians who inhabit the remote North.”

  “How well it was said,” answered the fisherman, “that Swords can be kept off with shields but the Eye of Wisdom pierces through every defense! Know then, O my formidable guest, that because of my extreme poverty I have never married and have no child. But in that same year in which the Tisroc (may he live forever) began his august and beneficent reign, on a night when the moon was at her full, it pleased the gods to deprive me of my sleep. Therefore I arose from my bed in this hovel and went forth to the beach to refresh myself with looking upon the water and the moon and breathing the cool air. And presently I heard a noise as of oars coming to me across the water and then, as it were, a weak cry. And shortly after, the tide brought to the land a little boat in which there was nothing but a man lean with extreme hunger and thirst who seemed to have died but a few moments before (for he was still warm), and an empty water-skin, and a child, still living. ‘Doubtless,’ said I, ‘these unfortunates have escaped from the wreck of a great ship, but by the admirable designs of the gods, the elder has starved himself to keep the child alive and has perished in sight of land.’ Accordingly, remembering how the gods never fail to reward those who befriend the destitute, and being moved by compassion (for your servant is a man of tender heart)—”

  “Leave out all these idle words in your own praise,” interrupted the Tarkaan. “It is enough to know that you took the child—and have had ten times the worth of his daily bread out of him in labor, as anyone can see. And now tell me at once what price you put on him, for I am wearied with your loquacity.”. . .

  At this point Shasta got up and tiptoed away. He had heard all he wanted, for he had often listened when men were bargaining in the village and knew how it was done. He was quite certain that Arsheesh would sell him in the end for something much more than fifteen crescents and much less than seventy, but that he and the Tarkaan would take hours in getting to an agreement.

  You must not imagine that Shasta felt at all as you and I would feel if we had just overheard our parents talking about selling us for slaves. For one thing, his life was already little better than slavery; for all he knew, the lordly stranger on the great horse might be kinder to him than Arsheesh. For another, the story about his own discovery in the boat had filled him with excitement and with a sense of relief. He had often been uneasy because, try as he might, he had never been able to love the fisherman, and he knew that a boy ought to love his father. And now, apparently, he was no relation to Arsheesh at all. That took a great weight off his mind. “Why, I might be anyone!” he thought. “I might be the son of a Tarkaan myself—or the son of the Tisroc (may he live forever)—or of a god!”

  —The Horse and His Boy

  How does hearing about his true origins bring Shasta relief? Hope?

  DECEMBER 13

  Narnia Is No More

  SIRE,” SAID THE EAGLE, “when you have heard my news you will be sorrier of my coming than of the greatest woe that ever befell you.”

  Tirian’s heart seemed to stop beating at these words, but he set his teeth and said, “Tell on.”

  “Two sights have I seen,” said Farsight. “One was Cair Paravel filled with dead Narnians and living Calormenes: The Tisroc’s banner advanced upon your royal battlements: and your subjects flying from the city—this way and that, into the woods. Cair Paravel was taken from the sea. Twenty great ships of Calormen put in there in the dark of the night before last night.”

  No one could speak.

  “And the other sight, five leagues nearer than Cair Paravel, was Roonwit the Centaur lying dead with a Calormene arrow in his side. I was with him in his last hour and he gave me this message to your Majesty: to remember that all worlds draw to an end and that noble death is a treasure which no one is too poor to buy.”

  “So,” said the King, after a long silence, “Narnia is no more.”

  —The Last Battle

  Upon hearing this news, would Roonwit’s words about all worlds coming to an end and the importance of noble death provide you any comfort? Why or why not?

  DECEMBER 14

  A Task Well Done

  WELL DONE,” said Aslan in a voice that made the earth shake. Then Digory knew that all the Narnians had heard those words and that the story of them would be handed down from father to son in that new world for hundreds of years and perhaps forever. But he was in no danger of feeling conceited for he didn’t think about it at all now that he was face to face with Aslan. This time he found he could look straight into the Lion’s eyes. He had forgotten his troubles and felt absolutely content.

  “Well done, Son of Adam,” said the Lion again. “For this fruit you have hungered and thirsted and wept. No hand but yours shall sow the seed of the tree that is to be the protection of Narnia. Throw the apple toward the river
bank where the ground is soft.”

  Digory did as he was told. Everyone had grown so quiet that you could hear the soft thump where it fell into the mud.

  “It is well thrown,” said Aslan.

  —The Magician’s Nephew

  Why might being face to face with Aslan prevent Digory from even thinking of being conceited? Whose approval in your life compares to Aslan’s words of approval for Digory?

  DECEMBER 15

  Rishda Tarkaan Is Thrown to Tash

  A NEW IDEA came into Tirian’s head. He dropped his sword, darted forward, in under the sweep of the Tarkaan’s scimitar, seized his enemy by the belt with both hands, and jumped back into the stable, shouting:

  “Come in and meet Tash yourself!”

  There was a deafening noise. As when the Ape had been flung in, the earth shook and there was a blinding light.

  The Calormene soldiers outside screamed, “Tash, Tash!” and banged the door. If Tash wanted their own Captain, Tash must have him. They, at any rate, did not want to meet Tash.

  For a moment or two Tirian did not know where he was or even who he was. Then he steadied himself, blinked, and looked around. It was not dark inside the stable, as he had expected. He was in strong light: that was why he was blinking.

  He turned to look at Rishda Tarkaan, but Rishda was not looking at him. Rishda gave a great wail and pointed; then he put his hands before his face and fell flat, face downward, on the ground. Tirian looked in the direction where the Tarkaan had pointed. And then he understood.

  A terrible figure was coming toward them. It was far smaller than the shape they had seen from the Tower, though still much bigger than a man, and it was the same. It had a vulture’s head and four arms. Its beak was open and its eyes blazed. A croaking voice came from its beak.