~ by Mary Chapel
Amazingly, the Halls were hushed and still for a change. The mighty warriors diced or ate, the Bastables with the other children listened to Ulysses’ story of the fall of Troy, the pixy people (thankfully) were investigating the new roses in the gardens, and the satyrs had been banished to the stables after the unfortunate incident with King Arthur’s crown. Even the ever-moving throng was peculiarly quiet for this time of ‘day’. In fact, the hush betrayed that something of great import was about to occur, something one of the littlest people took great interest in. Would others join him of his own kind? Or who stood, as he once had, behind that great gateway?
Suddenly, as if following some invisible signal the Muses (Twist could never tell them apart, not even with Gavroche’s help “Look at what they carry, Oliver!”) gently moved towards each other through the throng. Lancelot bowed as Urania swept by his niche, Thalia playfully slapped Bacchus as she passed with a giggle, Erato disengaged herself from a conversation with Galahad, and Terpsichore broke away from a lively dance with Robin Hood, much to Maid Marian’s approval.
With many eyes upon them, and many bows and curtsies preceding them, they coalesced in front of the great golden gate, barred with heavy iron. Here, all the inhabitants of the Halls had come at one time or another and from which none had ever departed as far as the oldest inhabitant knew of.
“Sisters.” Calliope opened the conversation as was her right of the eldest.
“We have heard talk of a new entrance into these hallowed halls.” Clio’s soft voice.
“They have breasted the wave of the new and endured,” sang Euterpe.
“Into the hearts of many have they made their way.” Erato played with a red rose, kissing it.
“The sweet and the bitter are in them all.” Melpomene’s tears lessened, though they ever flowed onward.
“We must be as one to open the Gate,” warned Polyhymnia with solemn mien, barely glimpsed behind her veil.
“Let them come as others have before.” Terpsichore could never be still; her feet flittered from one end of the Gate to the next.
“They have already come; shall we deny any who come?” Thalia laughed.
Urania spoke never a word, but she too placed her hand with her sisters upon the bar.
Slowly, as a mountain’s birth, the bar swung aside and the Gate opened inward, heavy with the weight of years. Four figures, two female, two male, stood, blinking in the sudden light.
“Welcome, o weary travelers, to the Golden Halls of Story,” spoke the Muses as one.
“Peter? Where are we?” hissed the taller girl, who was dressed very plainly. “And why are you here? You’re supposed to be dead! And why are you dressed like that?!”
“Su, calm down. We’ll sort things out,” the smaller of the boys—were they boys?—answered. “Remember? We’ve handled harder situations and Peter will know what to do. And what do you mean we are supposed to be dead?!”
“Edmund, if you are talking about those fairy tales again—”
“Shut up, you lot,” the oldest hissed. “Can’t you see we need to stand together? Ahem! Gracious ladies, we are honored to be here,” he said much more loudly with an elegant bow. “May we ask, though, why we are here?”
A peal of laughter from them answered him. “You need only to look inside your mind to find the answer, for if it was not there, you would have not entered,” they chorused back.
The littlest girl smiled like a rainbow breaking over a river. “You mean we—are we good enough?” she asked frankly. “It’s a great honor!”
Terpsichore danced over to her. “Of course you are! Or you wouldn’t be here!” she trilled, taking Lucy’s hand.
Lucy Pevensie gasped in recognition. “I know you!”
“Of course! All who love the dance are mine!” Terpsichore laughed, pulling her inward. “Dance with the fauns and me!” Lucy laughed with her and together they danced down the hall to Apollo’s music, disappearing behind a tall centaur kissing a nymph and a giant stamping down the hall. Other instruments joined the swelling theme and Euterpe hurried after them.
“Welcome, young warriors!” Ares and Thor bulled forward. “Come and join the band!”
Thor threw an arm around Peter and Ares led the way into the moving throng. “I say! I know you as well!” Edmund’s voice sounded startled and happy, all at the same time.
“Of course you do, boy! All of the true warrior breed know us!” Ares’ shout and thump could be heard by far too many for their liking as he shoved for places at the table for Peter and Edmund. “Eat, drink, be merry!” Thor shouted before dumping a bowl of wine over Achilles. “Watch who you shove, spawn!” The warriors cheered and great, noisy, manly merriment broke out once more as Thalia danced over to them, pulling Achilles’ hair and making faces at the crowd to their great enjoyment.
But Susan stood alone as the Gate closed silently behind her. “Come, my child. We have much to talk about,” Melpomene said, taking her hand. “Many others here share such grief, and cannot bear this place. Thou art one of my folk. Come with me and be at rest.”
With widening eyes, Susan followed Melpomene towards the secluded parts of the hall. Here Oedipus mourns and Hamlet wonders, Macbeth paces and Guinevere weeps, Dido tears her hair and Shylock huddles. Here too, the music of falling water brushed by gentle winds lends comfort to the mind, and none enter save those who need such things.
And so, the four Pevensie children came to the hallowed halls, where all the true heroes rest as long as children dream and listen, parents tell bedtime stories, others read, bards sing, poets rhyme, actors strut, songs are sung, and wine flows, for then Lady Memory will last forever in the golden light of Story.