Chapter Text
July drifted into August. Susan started teaching Clint how to ride Destrier, although Clint spent the first few lessons trying to figure out how to stay on top of the giant horse without getting dizzy.
Clint was reading his way through the books in the Decorah town library, even ones in the grown-up section. He and Susan started talking about school in the fall, where Clint would be going into the fifth grade. When Clint finally confessed how math class made him feel sick to his stomach, Susan sent away for some math workbooks so he could get ready in advance.
Clint was so relieved that he hugged Susan right there in the living room.
What he didn't like, however, was all the talking Susan did about going to the ear doctor. Clint didn't see what the point was, and besides, who needed to drive to Minneapolis when he could stay at home and have fun with archery and books?
Susan did not agree with his line of reasoning.
Still, the trip to the big city was delayed as there was some paperwork that needed to happen with Child Services. Clint dreaded the idea that he'd have to talk to his social worker again, but Susan said that most of it could be taken care of over the phone, and that he shouldn't concern himself.
Clint took what he could get.
Susan was working on finishing up some big project, so outside of riding lessons and meals, Clint was on his own for most of the first week of August. Sometimes, when he felt lonely, Clint took a book into Susan's office and read there while she worked. It was nice, to be quiet in a room with someone else.
Late afternoon on a hot Thursday, Clint was dangling out of the oak tree in the front yard when Susan emerged from the house, dressed for town.
"Clint!" she shouted, and Clint fell out of the tree.
Hi, he signed as he bounced to his feet.
"I'm … … town," Susan called, walking to the truck with her arms full. Clint ran across the yard to open the door for her. "Thank you." She dumped the package onto the front seat. "Do you want to come with me? We can get dinner." She finger-spelled, pizza.
Clint flung his arms up. "Yes!" he exclaimed as he dashed around to the passenger side of the truck. "Pizza!
Susan shook her head. "Do you want to practice your signs while I drive?" she asked while Clint buckled his seatbelt.
Yes, Clint signed at her, and then they were off. The drive was short, with the windows down and the sun baking the road. Clint was hot and dusty and very, very happy.
After a stop at the post office, Susan took him to the pizza parlour, where they ordered a pepperoni pizza and Clint got to eat two slices all by himself before admitting defeat, and Susan packed up the rest of the pizza to take home.
The drive was quiet. Clint was full and tired, but the heavy weather kept catching on the edges of his attention. On the horizon, the sky was thickening to clouds.
When they got home, the shadows were growing long. "Go inside," Susan said. "I don't like the look of that sky. I'm going to put Destrier away."
Clint dashed into the house with the pizza box in his hands. He stashed it in the fridge, said hello to the cats in the living room, then went back onto the porch. The wind was starting to pick up a bit, making the twig charms tied to the porch ceiling sway in the breeze. The clouds in the sky were weird shapes. Clint didn't know if he should be worried. He'd been in tornadoes before, in town, but here they were far away from anything.
Clint wondered if the house had a storm cellar, like in Wizard of Oz.
He sat and waited until Susan emerged from the barn. She joined him on the porch steps and gazed up at the sky. "It will probably rain," she said after a bit.
"Will it be a tornado?" Clint asked.
Susan shook her head. "Not yet, if at all. The conditions aren't quite right."
"Okay." Clint looked out at the horizon. "Hey, it's windy."
"Yes, it is."
Clint turned towards Susan. "Can we practice shooting?" he asked. "So I can see how wind affects my shot?"
Susan hesitated.
"Please? Please?"
"Not too far from the house, in case the weather turns," Susan said after a minute, relenting. Clint bounced to his feet and bolted into the house, digging in the weapons closet for his bow. Susan was right behind him, reaching for her bow and her quiver, which held sharper arrows than Clint's did. "Only a few shots," she said as she slung her quiver over her shoulder.
"Sure thing!" Clint ran out of the house and ran a circle around the oak tree by the time Susan stepped down the porch stairs. "Hey, let's go!"
Wait, Susan signed. "Eyes on me at all times, understand?" she said when she was close enough for Clint to hear her. "If you hear thunder, or I give you the sign to get down, do it, all right?"
"Okay," Clint said as he bounced along at her side. "Why?"
"Because sometimes lightning can strike when the weather is like this," Susan said. "We're not going to high ground, but one can never be too careful."
Clint saluted.
They went around the barn to the bottom of the hill where the forest preserve began, and set up to aim at an old fallen tree. The light was still good, outside of the trees, and Clint was soon shooting fast and furious. They had to stop several times to gather up the arrows, and Susan made Clint pause often to talk about what to do when faced with the uncertainty of variable wind speeds. So engrossed were they, that Clint didn't notice the sky growing dim around them.
Finally, as Clint was hunting through shadows for one last arrow, Susan said, "How did it get … late?"
"This is fun!" Clint said, standing up with his arrow gripped in his hand. "Do you—"
His words died sharply in his throat. There was someone standing in the shadows of the trees at the bottom of the hill, a dark shape still and watching them.
Susan spun around, drawing an arrow from her quiver to slap against her bow in one quick motion. "Who's there?" she demanded.
For a moment, nothing moved except the wind. Then, the shadow detached itself from the tree, and stepped into the failing light.
It was the girl Clint had seen in the clothing store, all those months ago.
In that moment, Clint was only confused, but then he heard Susan's cry and she staggered, her bow going down as if she no longer had the strength to hold it. "Lucy?"
The girl turned and walked back into the dark forest.
"Lucy!" Susan yelled, and ran after the girl.
Fear and apprehension gripped Clint's stomach. He didn't want to go into the forest at night, where it was dark and there might be big cats hiding behind trees.
But he couldn't leave Susan alone.
Heart pounding and his breath in his throat, Clint ran after Susan.
The girl was still walking away, but she was moving so fast that Susan hadn't caught her. Fear cramped Clint's stomach. Maybe the girl was a ghost! Or a witch! Maybe she wanted to hurt them!
Clint made himself run faster. No one was going to hurt Susan while he was around!
Finally, the girl stopped walking. Susan crashed to a halt and Clint made it to Susan's side without falling over. He could hardly hear anything over the rushing of blood in his ears.
"… … Lucy?" Susan was saying, her shoulders hunched, shaking.
The little girl looked at Susan. Her hair was perfectly still, even though the wind was blowing harder now. It was like she wasn't even there.
"Are you Lucy?" Susan demanded. When the girl still didn't answer, Susan's grip tightened on her bow. "Who's doing this?" she shouted up at the sky. "Aslan, is that you? Aslan!"
A rumble of thunder rolled through the air. Clint crouched down, wary of lightning, but Susan didn't move. She was staring at the girl with so much wild anger in her eyes that Clint was afraid.
"You don't get to do this!" Susan yelled, her voice cracking with the force of the words. "Aslan! You don't get to take my family away and abandon me and then do this!"
"I did not abandon you," came a new voice. Clint jumped and spun around. He nearly passed out in fear. There was a lion in the shadows right behind them! A huge lion, even taller than Susan, and it was right there, and it was…
Wait. It was talking?
"You took my family away!" Susan shouted. She wasn't at all surprised by the appearance of a talking lion, and Clint didn't know what was going on. Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe he'd fallen asleep in the truck on the way home.
Maybe this wasn't real.
"It was time for them to move to the next part of their journey," said the giant lion. He walked slowly in a circle around Susan and Clint, over to stand beside the silent girl. "You once understood that."
"When?" Susan demanded. Tears were rolling down her cheeks, and Clint's chest hurt when he looked at her face. "When did I understand that? How could I understand that?"
"Susan."
"You took everyone!" Susan went on, her voice raw. "Lucy, Peter, Edmund, our parents, everyone!"
"That was a train crash that took them, not I," the lion said. It settled down next to the girl. "Death comes to everyone in the end, Susan. Even to Narnia. Even to me."
Susan screamed, a ragged, terrible sobbing. Clint had heard a sound like that before, from his Mom on the bad nights when his Dad was in a rage and hitting her. Before, when Clint had heard those sobs, he had been just a little baby and had never been able to stop Dad from hurting Mom.
But he wasn't a baby any more. He was ten years old, and he had a bow and arrows in his hands, and he would do anything to stop that big talking lion from hurting Susan so much.
Taking a firm grip on his bow, Clint put the arrow to the string, and stepped in between Susan and lion. "You gotta stop," Clint told the lion. He was so scared his whole body shook, but his aim was true. "You gotta go away."
"Clint!" he heard Susan gasp. The lion, on the other hand, just stared down at him with somber eyes.
"Would you fire on me, young Clint?" the lion asked.
"You're hurting Susan," Clint said stubbornly. His knees were shaking so much he was afraid he'd fall down. "You can't do that. You gotta stop and you gotta go away."
"Clint," Susan said again. She approached him from the side, her hands outstretched. "Clint, put the bow down. You can't shoot Aslan."
"Yes I can," Clint said stubbornly.
"No," Susan said. Very gently, she touched Clint's hand. "Give me that arrow, Clint."
Never taking his eyes off the lion, Clint took the arrow off the bowstring. Susan removed the arrow from his fingers, then wrapped her arm around his shoulders and pulled him into a hug. Clint held on to her with all the strength he had left in him.
"Would you have fired on me, to protect Susan?" the lion asked again.
"Yes!" Clint burst out. Susan's hands were warm on his back, and she was shaking too.
"You are wise and you are brave," the lion said. "A bravery beyond your years, hard earned, and with a good heart."
Clint, however, had no time for compliments from talking lions. "Are you going to eat us?" he asked.
"No," the lion replied.
"Why are you here?" Susan asked. "It's been over thirty years! Thirty years since everyone died, since Lucy—" Susan broke off again. "And that there, that's just some ghost, that's not my sister! Why are you doing this?"
The lion sighed heavily. Lightning crackled across the sky, then the rumble of thunder vibrated through Clint's bones. "For every ending, there is a beginning," the lion said. "Everything ends, but there are always new beginnings. But sometimes… it is needed that someone remains, to witness. To remember."
"Remember?" Susan echoed. "Is that… is that what I was? Someone left behind to be your witness?"
"That is not what happened," the lion said. "Your brothers and sister, Susan, they were needed elsewhere. You were needed here. You still are."
"How dare you tell me that!" Susan exclaimed, shaking. "They were needed too! I needed them!"
"Their deaths were not a choice," the lion said sadly. "Narnia was ending. It took its kings and queens with it."
Susan said a very bad word. "And what about me?"
"You were once a queen of Narnia, but when you returned to this world, you became a part of it," said the lion. "Here is where you belong, Susan, and here is where you do good."
"Go away," Susan said, voice ragged. "Take your ghosts and go away. If I'm to be part of this world, go away and leave me to it."
The lion bowed his head. "I did not come to bring you pain, Susan," he said. "I have come on a very important purpose, and my business is not yet finished."
"What do you want?"
"I have a very important question for this boy." The lion turned its large yellow eyes on Clint, and Clint flinched back. "Clint."
Clint clung to Susan. "What?"
"There is a new world, fresh and green, that needs a champion. I have come to ask if you would be that champion."
The words didn't make any sense. He'd heard them all, but they didn't make any sense. "Huh?"
"Aslan, no!" Susan exclaimed.
"The question is posed to Clint, Susan, not to you." The lion shook his mane. "Clint, would you like to be a champion? A hero? A king?"
"Um." Clint didn't know what was going on. "I guess so?"
"Would you come with me, and be that king for a new land?"
Clint looked up at Susan. There was panic and sadness on her face, and Clint thought about all the times she'd said that he could stay with her for as long as he wanted. "Can Susan come?"
"No," said the lion heavily. "As I said, Susan is of this world and—"
"Then no," Clint interrupted. He held Susan tight. "She said I could stay with her forever, and she'd never send me away. I don't want to go away! I want to stay with Susan!"
"You could do so much good," the lion said. "Help people."
"No!" Clint said again. He had read enough stories about not-entirely-helpful gods to know a trap when he heard one. "I'm staying with Susan!"
The lion let out a low grumble, and lightning flashed, blinding for a moment. "If that is your choice, then that is your choice," the lion said. He stood tall and huge against the darkness. "It is what we do with our choices that matter." He looked at Susan. "Do you have anything to ask of me, Susan?"
Susan put her hand on the back of Clint's head. "Please take that ghost of my sister away," she said faintly. "I've lost too much, I can't look at her and remember her like that, not now."
"If you had the chance to say goodbye to the real Lucy, would you take it?" the lion asked, and Susan nodded, new tears spilling down her cheeks.
Just like that, the motionless girl at the lion's side faded into mist and a whole new person appeared in her place. She was taller, older, with long golden hair and flowing clothes that moved in the wind. "Susan?" the young woman said.
"Lucy," Susan said, and let go of Clint. She took the three steps across the clearing to where the young woman stood, her arms outstretched, and they embraced. "Lucy, I've missed you so much."
Lucy rested her head on Susan's shoulder. "Susan, I think about you so often," she said. "I wish you could be with us. But Aslan tells us that you have much unfinished work here on earth." Her pale eyes fixed on Clint. "I know you will join us, one day."
Susan pulled away from the young lady, cupping her face in her hands. "I love you, all of you."
Lucy kissed Susan's forehead. "I know." She smiled at Susan. "Now, I believe this young man needs you."
Susan held out her hand to Clint, and he ran forward to take it. "Is this your sister?" Clint asked, agog. "I thought she was dead."
"Death is just the start of a new adventure," Lucy said. Her touch was warm against Clint's cheek, warm like the stick charms over the porch at home. "Susan is very lucky to have you."
Clint stared at Lucy. He wanted to ask her what it was like, being dead. He wanted to ask if his Mom was okay. But all the words stuck in his throat and he felt sick, so he just held onto Susan's hand as tight as he could.
"I have to go," Lucy said, pulling away from Susan.
"Lucy, wait," Susan said, but Lucy was already moving back towards the big lion. "Aslan, just a little more time—"
"You already have had more than is allowed to any other," the lion said. "The dead belong in their world, and the living in theirs. You will see them again, one day."
"Aslan—" Susan tried again, but the lion turned its back on them, as did Lucy, and together they vanished into the darkness.
Clint stared hard into the shadows, wondering what had just happened. People didn't just disappear like that! And lions didn't talk, and little girls didn't turn into grown-ups in an instant.
And Susan didn't cry.
But now it was just the two of them in the dark, him and Susan, with the wind howling all around them, and Clint was so scared and so confused he didn't know what to do.
More lightning punched across the sky, illuminating the woods for a moment. Thunder boomed hard a second later, making Clint duck instinctively.
Susan said something that Clint couldn't make out through the ringing in his ears. He blinked at her, but she was just a shape in the darkness.
Then Susan was putting her arm around his shoulders and drawing him in close. "… … back … house," she said into his ear, and he nodded in relief.
They were going home.
Susan paused for a moment, bending down to pick something up. Clint jumped as Susan pressed something against his hand, but it was just his bow, which he had dropped. Then she was guiding Clint through the trees down the hill. He hadn't realized how far they had run; but now he realized they were almost at the top of the sloping hill. Clint was able to see in the darkness enough to make out the gaps in the trees, and Susan was surefooted as she pulled him along.
It took them so long to get down the hill that the ringing in Clint's ears started to ease off, only to have howling wind take its place. Eventually, they reached the edge of the forest. Susan didn't let Clint walk across the field to the house, but led him along the edge of the trees until they were at the closest point to the house before making a break across the open space.
The door was still unlocked, and Clint burst through it into the warm, bright interior. Susan was right behind him. Clint kicked off his shoes on the way to the weapons closet, where he unstrung his bow and stashed it away on its hooks in a matter of seconds. He wasn't sure he wanted to look at it right then.
When he emerged, it was to find Susan standing at the closed door, her forehead pressed against the wood. Slowly, Clint edged around so he could see her face. She wasn't making any noise, but tears were still sliding down her cheeks from her closed eyes.
Clint didn't know what to do.
Urgent meows drew his attention. Andarta and Lavaratus ran out of the living room, winding around Susan's feet, meowing insistently.
"It's okay," Clint told the cats. "We're okay."
Susan turned around, wiping her sleeve over her face before opening her eyes. "Yes, we are," she said as she looked at Clint. "Clint, I'm sorry."
"It's okay," Clint said again, because even thought he had no idea what she was talking about, he didn't want her to think he was upset. "Where are Taranus and Sirona?"
Susan looked at him for what felt like a long time. "They're more scared of thunder," she said at last. "They're probably hiding in the laundry room."
"Should I go get them?"
"No, you can let them be." Susan pushed off the door. "Let me put this away, then we can go have a nice cup of tea."
"I'll make it!" Clint said, jumping at something to do. He ran into the kitchen and right to the stove, grabbed the kettle and took it to the sink to fill with water. He was in the process of staggering back to the stove with the heavy kettle when Susan entered the room.
"Clint?"
"I've got it!" Clint exclaimed. He put the kettle onto the burner, then carefully turned the knob, waiting for the gas to catch on the spark before turning the knob up all the way. "You can sit down, I got this."
He had watched Susan make tea so many times that he knew where everything was. This was what he knew best how to do – when his Mom had been sad after Dad blew up, Clint would always get her some water so she would feel better. And if it had worked for Mom, maybe it would work for Susan.
Hauling his step-stool over to the counter, Clint pulled the tea canister off the top shelf, and jumped down. Susan was still standing in the middle of the kitchen, watching him with red-rimmed eyes. "Clint."
"I got this!" Clint insisted. The teapot was in the centre of the table, and Clint climbed up on his chair, both hands wrapped around the tea container. "I can take care of you, I promise!"
Susan stepped forward to take the tea away from Clint. "Sit down," she said.
"No, I can—"
"Clint," Susan said, and her voice was so strong that Clint sat down with a bump. Susan pulled a chair around and sat as well, facing Clint. "You don't have to take care of me. Are you okay?"
"Yeah," Clint whispered. Susan's face was very serious and Clint felt his stomach ache with worry. Was she mad at him?
"A very strange thing happened," Susan went on. "Do you have any questions?"
Clint wasn't sure what he was supposed to say. Would she be mad at him if he asked about the lion?
Susan was just looking at him, so he took a deep breath. "I didn't know lions could talk."
Susan nodded. "Sometimes, they do."
"And was that really your sister?"
Susan's forehead wrinkled and she looked like she was about to start crying again. "I think so, yes."
"But you said she was dead."
"She is dead." Susan put her hand over her eyes for a moment, then sniffled hard. "Lucy died a very long time ago. I don't know why Aslan brought her here, tonight. I don't know… I don't know if I'm glad or not."
"Who's Aslan?" Clint asked. The name felt weird in his mouth and he didn't like it. "That big lion guy?"
"Yes." Susan reached out to brush the hair back from Clint's face. "Clint, I want to tell you a story, one that may sound very strange and more than a little make-believe, but it's true. Can I tell you?"
"Okay," Clint said immediately. He would say anything to make Susan feel better, and if she wanted to tell him something and it didn't make her cry again, then of course he would say yes.
Susan let out a long sigh. "All right. Remember how I told you that I was sent to the country during the war?" Clint nodded. "I was twelve, and my older brother was named Peter, and my younger brother was named Edmund. Lucy was the youngest. She was nine."
Clint curled up in his chair as Susan told him how the house they'd gone to was very big and very empty, and how they spent all day exploring, and how one day Lucy came to them with a story about finding a whole other world inside of a large wardrobe.
"What's a wardrobe?" Clint interrupted.
Susan stood up. "A wardrobe is like a closet, but it isn't built into the wall," she said as she walked over to the stove, where the kettle was just beginning to boil.
"Did you go see if Lucy was right?"
"We did." Susan brought the kettle over to the table, poured boiling water into the teapot, then put the kettle back on the stove. "And the only thing in that wardrobe were old fur coats."
"Oh," Clint said, slumping back in disappointment. So far, this story wasn't strange or make-believe at all.
"Then, a while later, we were playing again and Lucy came back and told us that both she and Edmund had been to this other world together. But Edmund said that it was just something they made up." Susan shook some tea leaves into the pot, not bothering with a spoon. "Lucy was quite upset that no one believed her."
"What happened next?"
"Well, this was a very old house, with a lot of history, so sometimes there were tours of people who came through." Susan stood again, going to the fridge. She returned with the milk bottle. "One day, we were in the wing of the house where the wardrobe was, and we got trapped by the tour and we had to run and hide in the wardrobe. Only, this time, at the back of the wardrobe was a snowy forest."
Clint eyed Susan, wondering if she was making fun of him. "In a closet?"
Susan rubbed her eyes. "The wardrobe was a door," she said. "On the other side of that door, was Narnia."
The way Susan said Narnia sent a thrill of excitement down Clint's spine. It sounded full of adventure, like Camelot, or Middle Earth!
"We each got a fur coat from the wardrobe and went to explore, because it appeared that Lucy had been right. We went with her, to a place she said she had a friend, Mr. Tumnus. He was a faun. Do you know what that is?"
Clint wrinkled his nose. "A baby deer?"
"No. A faun has the body of a man and the legs of a goat."
Clint wrinkled his nose even more. "That does sound make-believe."
Susan pulled the teacups over towards her. "That's just the beginning. Do you want me to go on?"
"Yes please!"
Susan continued with her story, about how they met talking beavers, and Father Christmas, and how her brother Edmund ran away to help the evil White Witch. She poured tea, and talked about how they met Aslan, and how there were battles, and how Aslan died and came back to life, and how they got Edmund back from the White Witch and then there was a really big fight and lots of the talking animals died and then the White Witch died too and Aslan made Susan and her sister and brothers into queens and kings of Narnia.
Clint scarcely noticed what he was drinking, as he listened to Susan's story of how they ruled Narnia for fifteen years, fighting battles and helping people, and growing up, then how one day they were riding after a white stag and all of a sudden they were back in the country house, children once again.
"Wait, how come that happened?" Clint protested.
Susan's lips twisted up as if she had tasted something sour. "I don't know. Aslan later said that our time was over in Narnia, so maybe he had other plans."
"That's not nice," Clint said indignantly. "People shouldn't trick you like that!"
Susan put her hand over Clint's. "You're very right," she said.
But Clint wasn't done. There was a burning ball of anger in his stomach, and he didn't know why. "When you have a home, people shouldn't take that away!" he said, moving restlessly in his chair. "Aslan doesn't sound like a nice guy!"
Susan moved her chair closer so she could put her arm around Clint's shoulders. "You have a home, Clint," she said in his ear. "And no one, no one at all, is going to make you leave. I promise."
Clint leaned against Susan, the anger in his stomach melting away into fear. "I don't gotta go be a hero in some land all by myself?"
"No."
"And I can stay here with you?"
"Forever." Susan squeezed Clint's arm. "And no one's going to take you away. Not Child Services, no one."
Clint closed his eyes. "I want to stay," he whispered.
"Good." Susan kissed the top of his head. "Now, do you want to have a snack before bed?"
"Can you tell me more story?" Clint countered, pulling away to look at Susan. "How come your sister's a ghost?"
Susan flinched. "I don't know," she said heavily. "I don't know why Aslan brought her here, and I don't know why he came for you."
Clint, however, had been thinking about that last part. "I think the talking lion guy got mixed up," he said. "He musta thought I was some other boy."
"What do you mean?"
Clint shrugged. "I'm not a hero or a champion, like in books," he said. "The talking lion guy musta thought I was some other boy who was all those things."
Susan was so quiet and so still that Clint got a little worried. Had he said something wrong?
Finally, Susan took a deep breath. "Can I tell you what I think?" she asked. Clint nodded. "I think that you are very strong, and very brave, and a very determined young man." Clint squirmed. "And I think that you have had a really rough time in your life, and instead of becoming mean and bitter, you became kind."
Clint's eyes were burning. He had had a rough time, with Mom and Dad dying and Barney running away and leaving him alone. "I don't want to be mean," was all he could say. "I want to be nice."
"And you are." Susan tapped the very tip of his nose with her finger. "Now. Do you want a snack?"
"Yes please," Clint said quickly. "Can I have more pizza?"
While Clint chewed on pizza, which was still really good even though it was cold, Susan went to check on the cats. She returned just as Clint was starting on a second slice out of the box. "Do you think you'll be able to sleep?"
"Maybe," Clint said with a full mouth. "Will that lion guy come back? Can he come in the house? Can I sleep with my bow?"
"No, no, and no." Susan poured herself more tea. "That's the thing about Aslan, Clint. He doesn't come back."
Oh, that was good. Clint finished his pizza crust with a light heart. Susan was watching him carefully as he stood up. "Can I sleep in the living room?" he asked hopefully. "With the cats?" And closer to his bow, but he didn't way to say that when Susan had already said no.
"All right," Susan said. "But get into your pajamas and brush your teeth first."
Clint raced upstairs. He quickly changed out of his dirty clothes and pulled on his pajamas. He brushed his teeth in record time, then ran back down to the main level and into the living room. Andarta, Sirona and Lavaratus were all curled into a ball on the couch. Clint plopped down beside them and pulled the light blanket over his legs. "Good night!" he called to Susan.
She came into the room a few minutes later. "Not even going to turn out the lights?"
As Clint was feeling very wide awake after all that tea and pizza, he shook his head. "I'm okay."
"All right," Susan said. She straightened Clint's blanket. "Do you want to hear another story? About the second time we went to Narnia?"
Clint snuggled down on the sofa, letting Sirona curl up on his tummy. "Sure," he said. "How come you went back after Aslan made you go home?"
"As with the first time, it was not my idea," Susan said, sitting down in the large armchair next to the sofa. "Now, listen up, and I'll tell you all about what happened when we found ourselves in the ruins of what had once been Cair Paravel."
Clint stared at Susan, raptly listening to her every word. He still didn't know if he believed everything she as telling him, but he had seen a big talking lion that very night in the woods, and Susan's story made as much sense as anything else.
There was something in the back of his mind, something he had to think about, about ghosts, and about Susan's sister Lucy coming back from the dead, but he was too wired to think of it just then. Maybe one day, he'd take the ideas out and play with them. Maybe one day when Susan didn't look so sad… or one day when Clint really felt as brave as everyone said he was.
Maybe.
One day.
For now, he was warm in Susan's house, with the cats around him and Susan sitting right there, and he was safe.
He had a home. And no one, not even talking lions, could take that away from him.
Epilogue
"Clint, stand still."
Clint squirmed. His pants were itchy and his shirt collar was too tight. "How come I gotta wear this stuff?" he demanded as Susan combed his hair in the middle of the sidewalk in Decorah.
"Because today is a very special day," Susan said. She stood back, eyeing his head. "I suppose you'll do."
Clint made a face at her.
"Let's go." Susan turned, her pretty skirt fluttering in the wind as she walked. Clint hustled behind her, feeling all sweaty and droopy in the heat of the late August sun. He wanted to be at home, reading in a tree, not dressed in church clothes in town on a Thursday.
Soon enough, school would start and he'd have to go into town every day and wear dumb school clothes and talk to dumb teachers and he didn't want to. But Susan said he had to go to school because he was smart and he had to learn more stuff, like history and chemistry.
Clint was pretty sure that Susan had no idea what happened in the fifth grade. He was pretty sure that fifth grade was even more boring than fourth grade.
They walked up to a building Clint had never been in before. A whole bunch of photographs showed in the front glass, sun-faded and old. Clint followed Susan inside, and gasped in relief at the air conditioning.
"Mrs. Pevensie!" called a voice from the back. "… on time!"
Clint stood at Susan's side, wondering who this guy was. He was old and had big glasses and had hair combed flat over a big bald spot, but he didn't look like he was mean. Still, Clint reserved judgement.
"The studio is all set," the man went on. "Just this way."
Susan gave Clint a look, and he sighed. He knew that expression. It was Susan's no-nonsense expression, and Clint knew better than to try anything. If he did, she'd just look at him like she was disappointed in him, and he didn't want her to be disappointed.
They went into a room with fabric draped in places, and various things around like a fake stone column, and a chair beside some flowers. "The young adult package has two types of poses," the man was saying to Susan over Clint's head. "One solo, and one as a family."
"Let's start with the family shots first," Susan suggested.
"Please, have a seat," the man said and turned away. Susan walked over to the chair and sat, smoothing her skirt over her knees. She raised an eyebrow at Clint, who hadn't moved.
"Don't you want to be in the photograph?" she asked, and suddenly everything fell into place for Clint. This must be a photographer's studio! He'd seen one once on Knot's Landing, when his foster mother was watching it and Clint was out of bed late.
"I've never been in a place like this before," Clint said as he joined Susan. "Why are we having pictures?"
Susan guided him around to stand at her left, on the opposite side from the flowers. "Because, I told you, I have photos of all my family at home." She twisted around to fix his hair. "And I thought it was time that I had a photo of you in my office. What do you think?"
Clint's eyes went wide. "Really?" he whispered. "A family photo? Of me?"
"Yes."
"Really?"
"Really." Susan was looking at him with very serious blue eyes. "Is that all right?"
"Yeah." Clint pressed his lips together for a moment. He wasn't going to cry, not really, but if Susan wanted a family photo with him, that meant they were family.
He had a family, even if it was just him and Susan and the cats and Destrier.
"Okay?" Susan asked.
"Okay," Clint replied.
The photographer returned with his camera, which he set on the floor. "Here we go!" he said with lots of cheer. "Mrs. Pevensie, and…"
"Clint," Susan supplied.
"Clint, face this way, and, no, wait, Clint, step behind the chair. Not that far behind the chair. And turn. No, turn the other way. Hand on the chair back, and eyes open. All eyes, all open. And open, and open, and… smile!"
When the flash went off, Clint was smiling as wide as he ever had in his whole life.
He had a family, and a home, and he wasn't alone any more.
And he was happy.
The beginning of a new adventure