The year is 1015 by Narnian reckoning. The White Stag has been sighted; and Mr. Tumnus, having brought these glad tidings, watches pensively from the battlements.



By the time the faun thought about waving, he had already lost sight of them. "It's too late." he murmured, and his heart lurched, bringing sudden and unwanted tears to his eyes. "Too late..." Why should that phrase be so significant? He lifted his head, and stubbornly refused to let those tears fall. After all, this was a happy day, perhaps the happiest Narnia had seen after the return of Aslan, the Great Lion. What reason was there to worry? He hadn't worried when he had made the trip to Cair Paravel; he hadn't worried when he had told Peter the High King about the coming of the White Stag; he had rejoiced as they mounted their four horses and set off with their servants and their hounds (no weapons, for the Stag was sacred to Narnia, and must not by any means be harmed). So why this dark feeling of finality? He chewed his lower lip, and found it already raw and burning. He sighed.

"Are you all right, Sir?" said a quiet, boyish voice. He turned his head, and smiled in relief at the familiar face. At first he thought it was Prince Corin of Archenland, but he discounted this at once. The boy wore the same face, was aged twelve, the same as Prince Corin; but he carried himself differently. He spoke too quietly, and kept a respectful distance. It was Corin's twin brother, Cor; the two boys had been visiting since the night before. "Sir, are you well?" he repeated.

"Shouldn't I be?" the faun inquired, his voice sounding hollow and mechanical.

"Why...Master Tumnus, you're bleeding!" Cor gasped, his brow wrinkling with concern. The faun put his fingers to his lips, and they came away bloody. His russet cheeks flushed almost purple, and he accepted Cor's proffered handkerchief.

"Thank you. I'm sorry about this; blood stains linen. I'll replace it..." he stumbled over his words, his face hot with embarrassment.

"You'll do nothing of the sort; I've got an entire dresser drawer full of them. I'm having trouble getting rid of them. If you don't mind my saying so, you look positively green!"

"A fine way to talk to your elder!" Tumnus chuckled dryly, adopting his late father's tone of voice. He had meant it as a jest, but groaned inwardly as Prince Cor showed every sign of having been soundly chastened. The year before, Cor had been a slave in Calormen. Even after reuniting with his father and brother, he sometimes fell back on old habits. Besides, a joke made by one in such a state is sure to be taken the wrong way. "I was joking, your highness. If you don't mind my saying so, the son of a king should not hang his head in shame." he admonished kindly, and was grateful when Cor smiled--rather sheepishly, too--at him.

"Let us go inside," Cor suggested,"There is celebration, and you haven't eaten yet."

Tumnus tilted his head as the wailing of flute music pierced his ears and his heart, causing a bubbling sensation within him. A slow, dreamy smile lit his face, and he sighed rapturously. Yes, he thought, let this foolish dread fall away! Let the music come into me, and take away this ugly cold pain! They will return, and even if they do not catch the White Stag it will be a time of greatest joy, for the Stag has shown himself. Perhaps it is an omen, a sign from Aslan of wonderous things to come. They will be safe at home by twilight. And now!

The faun came out of his reverie with a short little laugh, and he and Prince Cor joined the celebration. Of course, the real celebration would come later; it would be improper to carry on and let the party play itself out before the young rulers returned, but there was dancing and singing and eating and drinking enough for one to have a good time of it. A few of the younger fauns and satyrs were engaged in play-fighting, and they screamed with laughter as they tried to pin each other down. This was quickly put to an end by their parents, but they were not reprimanded as sternly as they would have been otherwise. Tumnus had laughed as loudly as any of the bystanders, remembering how he had been some forty odd years ago. "Little scoundrel" his father used to call him. He shook his head in mock disapproval, and popped a grape into his mouth.

It was eight forty-five in the evening by the time Tumnus realized that the Kings and Queens of Narnia should have returned by then. His apprehension returned full force, and he was no longer the only one. Gradually the celebration died down, and everyone's hunger had long since been satisfied. Only two centaurs and one tenacious dwarf were still picking at the leftovers. The wine was retired, and Tumnus, I'm afraid,had drunk more than enough to make him sway when he walked. Children became cranky, and began to cry. Eventually, with profound apologies to everyone, people began to leave.

Finally, at ten o'clock, the servants returned; they were tired, pale, and nearly frantic. Cold, fierce panic gripped the faun's heart when he saw that they led the four royal mounts into the firelight, riderless. "Oh, sweet Aslan, no!" he breathed. Cor stared; the young Prince had never known Tumnus to use an oath of any kind.

The stable-hands led the horses away, and the highest ranking servant his voice and addressed the now-small crowd. "I need every able bodied person to join us at once in a search!" he cried, emotion choking his speech, "The High King Peter and their Majesties have all vanished without a trace. We've searched for hours, but their tracks end at Lantern Waste, just beyond the Lamppost. We must form search parties, and-" and several voices rang out at once, some crying out for vengeance, some volunteering for the search parties, and others muttering about "dark magic". Only Tumnus was silent, silent and numb as he stood unsteadily before the fire, staring into the flames. Though not a single person was paying the slightest bit of attention to him, he thought he could feel their eyes on him. Because he had sent them on this quest.

"You can't blame yourself," said Cor, two days later, "If you had not >brought the news, someone else would have."

Tumnus,who was standing on the battlements and staring at the horizon, >barely even heard him.

"It wasn't your fault that this happened." said Cor's brother, Corin, laying a hand on the faun's shoulder,"You didn't know-"

"I still don't." the faun replied,"What exactly did happen? Their tracks just ended where I first saw the White Stag."

Corin, for once at a loss for words, turned and left with a mumbled excuse. When Mr. Tumnus finally turned around, he saw that Cor had gone with him. That was just as well; he wasn't really up to company. He was weary of it, and that, perhaps, was one of the most disturbing things of all. Search parties were still leaving with high hopes and returning empty-handed. Hopes were not as high now as they had been on the first horrible night.

He descended the stone steps, and went out through the gates without saying good-bye. His home had been left alone for too long. Not that he was worried about burglars, but he needed to be home where he could think and sort things out. As he neared the forest, his sharp ears caught the subdued weeping of the trees: it was like the wind on a blustery day, only it had a living quality to it. "No," he thought, "I can't stand the sound of it. I've heard too many people weeping like this to bear it." Reaching into his rucksack, he withdrew a set of reed pipes. These he played as he walked, and it cheered him up a little.

Hours later, when the faun was about half-way home, he spotted a search party coming from the opposite direction. He nearly dropped his pipes, and ran up to meet them. One of the horses shied away, and snorted warningly. "Any sign of them?" Mr. Tumnus asked quickly, puffing from his run. Immediately he realized how stupid this sounded; the humans, all men, shook their heads mutely and continued on their way without a word.

It was late at night by the time the faun reached the Lamppost, and he stopped suddenly with a small gasp. This was where he had first met Lucy! He touched the blackened iron of the Lamppost, and his fingers trembled as he did so. He had been younger then, perhaps twenty-nine or thirty, and he had startled her as much as she had startled him. Memories, both poignant and painful, assailed his writhing mind.

Back then, winter was the only season Tumnus could remember, having been born while the Hundred Year Winter was being maintained by Jadis. He had known nothing but winter all of his life before Lucy and her brothers and sister had come into the country. He remembered when his father had passed away and he couldn't stop crying, but crying does not feed a person who has only the house he'd inherited; so he had offered his services to Jadis, the White Witch. That was how he had found out the reason why his father had avoided her and had tried so hard to protect his naive son from her. That was the beginning of a ten-year horror cycle, full of masked and unmasked threats, degradation, and fear. Aside from acting as a part-time slave, he was told to keep his eyes open for humans, lure them into his house, put them to sleep, and send word to her. And one night, he did meet a human, a human child by the name of Lucy. She was only about eight years old at the time, and it had seemed a shame to bring her in so that Jadis could do who knew what to her, but he had swallowed his misgivings and invited her to tea. That little tea party had ended with him bursting into tears. He had come to like her, and couldn't bring himself to harm one so innocent; her fresh young cherub's face, and her pink petal mouth seemingly fixed in a perpetual smile made this impossible. She had even hugged him and tried to comfort him, but that had only made him cry harder. He had met her at the Lamppost.....

"Stop it!" he moaned, and pressing his forehead against the cool metal, he began to sob. It was some time before he was able to stop. The stars had moved, and the metal he pressed his face against seemed colder. He was exhausted, both physically and mentally, so he didn't notice at first that he was being observed, and had been under observation for almost an hour. He stayed there awhile, his shoulders heaving as he tried to breathe normally, and when he was sure that he had composed himself he turned around---and stared.

Large blue eyes surrounded by snowy white fur stared back at him, carrying the patient expression of one who has waited for something for a long time, but would be just as content to continue waiting. The deer was only about the size of a yearling, but on his head he proudly bore a bone-white rack of twelve points. His tiny cloven hoofs seemed to be fashioned out of white pearl, and in the lamplight there appeared in them soft whorls of yellow. Aside from his eyes, his nose was the only part of him that was not white; it was pink. Mr. Tumnus stood face-to-face with the White Stag himself.

"Son of the woods," said the Stag,"why do you weep like one who has lost everything?"

"I...you might say that I have..." the faun gulped, "lost everything. All four of them...gone!"

The Stag seemed to understand what he meant, but was silent as the faun spoke.

"I'm the one who told them of your coming, and I'm to blame for their disappearance, I should have--" he halted suddenly, not trusting his own voice. The White Stag approached him, but stopped a safe distance away. "He doesn't want me to catch him!" the faun realized, "As if I could!"

"Good Tumnus, be at peace. You were right to tell them, for it was >Aslan's wish that they return to the world of their birth for a time. I was to show them the way, and I have."

"You mean, they're safe?"

The Stag tossed his snowy head, and replied, "No fear. They are as safe and well as you and I."

"But why didn't Aslan warn us? Or why didn't he do it himself? And why did he send you to do it?"

The Stag's face turned very serious, and he said, "This world and the Human Realm are not the only ones in existence. Aslan is badly needed in one of them, and even he has difficulty in some things. He himself is unable to leave, and so he sent me. I serve Aslan; he is my creator." Here the Stag dipped his head in respect. "I let their Majesties chase me, but I was actually leading them. Do you know the White Stag's true purpose?"

"Well, I thought I did." said Tumnus, "Do you mean that you don't grant wishes to the one who catches you?"

The Stag laughed musically, and answered,"I would if people could catch me. Oh, some have, but I don't let them. Their reward is their fondest wish granted, and then I am free. But no, that is not my real purpose. The White Stag is a beacon that shows weary travelers the way home. And believe it or not, sometimes that is the person's wish; to go home."

"Was it their wish?"

"It was Aslan's wish." the Stag answered patiently.

"Oh. Then...what will we do? With no one to rule, the people will panic. Some already suspect evil sorcery."

"What you must do, my friend, is go home and sleep. You have been awake for two days and nights, and you will be ill if you do not rest."

Two days and nights? He hadn't noticed.

"As for the rest of Narnia," the Stag continued,"all will be well. Tell those at Cair Paravel that you saw me, and tell them what I said to you. They may find it difficult to believe, but do not worry; Aslan will return soon, and Narnia will not be without rulers for long. Do not weep for them anymore, for they are where they belong."

"Will we...will I ever see them again?" the faun asked hopefully.

The White Stag shook his head kindly, and said, "Not in Narnia." In a flash, the Stag was gone, having bounded away faster than the faun's eyes could follow. No wonder he was seldom caught! Mr. Tumnus blinked, wondering if he had only imagined it all, and soon decided that he hadn't. As he made his way home, he mulled over what had just occurred. Not only had he seen the White Stag, he had spoken with him. Or rather, the stag had spoken, and he had listened. He realized that he would never see them again as long as he lived, but the White Stag's words had been "Not in Narnia". Perhaps he would meet them in Aslan's Country....

He unlocked the door to his cave, and hung his rucksack on one of the coat pegs. His cheeks were wet again, but it was no longer painful. These tears had a calming effect, as if they were washing away his sorrow and replacing it with relief and a gentle longing. He knew that if this was what Aslan wanted, it was for the best. Perhaps their own world needed help, and as far as Mr. Tumnus was concerned, their world couldn't do any better. As the faun laid his head on his pillow, he realized that Narnia didn't need their help anymore. When they had vanished from his world, things were just as good as they could be. The Calormenes had (so far) agreed to make peace with Narnia after the vain Prince Rabadash had been turned into a donkey, and was told that if he left his land his restored humanity would be permanently gone. The Northern Giants were now confined to the North, and there was general peace and happiness in Narnia. The two Kings and the two Queens had accomplished what they were called into Narnia for the first place. It was sad, but now he had to accept it. "Aslan," he whispered, "I know you can hear me wherever you are. Please, watch over them and keep them safe." And as he drifted off to sleep, he knew that Aslan would.