Odes of Autumn | A Narnia One-Shot Collection

A Secret, A Promise

October 4th Prompt: Books

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Wind howled all too eerily through the damp, dimly lit limestone halls of Castle Telmar. The sound, melancholy and haunting enough to make the skin of even the bravest solider crawl, caused the age-lined forehead of Professor Cornelius to crease.

He moved quickly; but not too quickly, for guards were posted at every corner and now was not the time to draw attention to oneself.

Reaching his destination, the good professor fumbled with the keys on his belt, muttering in annoyance when the first three keys he tried would not fit into the lock.

On the fourth attempt, at last, the key slipped in.

He turned the key and froze.

Silence.

The door was already unlocked.

Despite the chill, faint beads of sweat immediately peppered Cornelius’s forehead.

Swallowing hard, he pushed open the heavy door to his study, its groan echoing through the halls behind him like ripples on a lake where a stone had been cast.

He cautiously planted one foot inside the door, balancing his body above the threshold, glancing around as though a blade were to flash out of the shadows at any second.

Cornelius tried to listen for any hint of movement or company, but his heart beat so loudly in his ears that all he could do was move farther inside the door and pray his throat was not greeted by the stinging kiss of an arrow.

Inch by painful inch he eased into the room, hands shaking; sweat, now trickling down his neck.

Clearing his throat, he took another step.

“Hello? Show yourself.” he demanded, the feverish waiver in his tone betraying his unease.

A moment passed with no response.

Then two...then three.

Breathing a sigh of semi-relief, Cornelius let his weight fall against the door, closing it with a thud.

He crossed the room and knelt down, his knees cracking in protest by the movement, and hovered over a sizeable wood and leather trunk.

Gingerly, he placed his hands on the corner of the lid and gave it a tug.

It didn’t so much as budge.

Both hands released the trunk and pressed against his chest, relief now filling his senses.

Feeling more at ease, Cornelius took some deep breaths to slow his poor heart.

“To think a little wind could turn an old fool’s senses silly.” he chuckled, now amused by his own nervousness.

Moving to the hearth, Cornelius poked and stirred the coals causing a faint orange glow to emerge.

“Just warm enough to get a spark.” he affirmed to no one but himself with a gleeful nod.

Within a matter of minutes, he managed to get a lighting stick to burn.

Cornelius retrieved his affectionately dubbed “thinking candle” and brought it together with the lighting stick.

Flame danced between them, flickering as though undecided between the two hosts, before splitting and sputtering to life.

The candle, now lit, illuminated most of Cornelius’s desk; pouring light upon a gallimaufry of papers, books, inkwells and trinkets.