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1
The Keeper never knew what jetsam or flotsam would end up in the nets. It was where the lost things ended up, to be collected by the Keeper (sometimes the Teamaker or when he remembered, the Star) of the Lighthouse at the End of the World. He found the old straw hat and strings to weave his loose robe. Eventually, he found an ancient cellphone and was able to order supplies - mostly tea - via the relay from a satellite tower that sometimes came near enough to the End of the World.
The Keeper paid with the things humans thought were valuable and his tea, strapped to a raft, eventually fell into the nets. It was a system that had worked for thousands of years with breaks only when he lost his phone.
This happened a lot.
The Keeper was looking for a new phone in the nets, robe rucked up to his calves, white beard tucked into his collar, and his straw hat hanging by a ribbon around his neck when he found a Son of Adam. It would be disingenuous to say he had never found one before. The nets caught the trash of humanity - and human life was apparently not very valuable. Most of them were dead or in pieces. This one was alive, clutching to what had once been his tea raft!
“We have a Fate,” the Keeper said, bringing him back to the tidy Lighthouse at the End of the World. When the Keeper dried him out, he found that the Son of Adam was a small dark-haired child with one red eye, too young to introduce himself. “I’m the Keeper,” the Keeper told him. He gave the Boy a locket - scuffed and only just latching - filled with starlight because he was the Keeper of many things that the Boy didn’t understand.
Life went on, as always. But this time, the Keeper had a little satellite of his own to pick through the garbage. The Boy ran through the grass, teased fish in the reeds, stomped over the miserable fireberry garden and learned how to make tea. From little to big, the Boy grew older while the Keeper grew younger.
The Boy’s time moved like syrup to the Keeper’s current and when thousands of years had passed (for the Keeper) and fifteen for the Boy, the Keeper said, “It’s time for you to go back to your kind.”
“I don’t want to leave,” the Boy said, fat tears rolling down his face. The Keeper, being a star, didn’t understand human emotions. He only knew what the skies told him and the Boy’s Fate was no longer here.
“From the phone,” the Keeper had a red one with a cracked screen this time. “There is a ship that will come to the Tower. It will take you to Cair Paravel, in the Narnia system. Here,” the Star had collected valuable things for the Boy: silver coins and half-used candles, a cell phone, and an old celadon cup. He had picked apart and sewn together the fabric in the nets to replace the thread-robe, as sometimes humans were cruel. The Keeper didn’t understand human emotions, but he did not like to see the Boy cry or hurt.
“Why do you want me to go? I love you so much. Don’t you want me?”
“But I am the Keeper,” the Keeper told him, wiping the Boy’s tears with his old hands. “It is not your Fate to stay.”
“I will never forgive you,” the Boy said when he got on the raft heading up the Sea of Lilies, away from the Keeper and the Lighthouse at the End of the World. He threw the locket of starlight into the water to flow down to the nets.
The Keeper sighed. The Boy didn’t understand.
2
The Seaman - once the Boy - was already at the dock, travel chip loaded, when the leave notice was approved. 30 days at the rank of Junior Lieutenant and a free pulse jump if he didn’t mind being shoved into a box.
He was poor and had to get across the galaxy, so he didn’t mind.
It took a day to get to the Silver Sea and then he had to find someone to take him to the Tower. If the way was clear, he would reach the LIghthouse at the End of the World in four days.
The Seaman watched the Teamaker - once the Keeper - for a while before greeting him. His robe rucked up to his calves, his straw hat hanging by a ribbon around his neck, as he scrounged around the jetsam and flotsam in the nets. Tall and slender, the Teamaker appeared spun from molecules of light. He was younger than the Seaman remembered: his hair was a dull yellow threaded with grey, his short beard was red, and his legs weren’t as thin as the reeds at the End of the World.
“What are you looking for?”
“My phone. I lost it and thought it might have fallen over the World again.” The Teamaker had turned over a shoe to check and started when a silver fish plopped back into the Sea.
“Let me help you,” the Seaman said, rolling up his Fleet-issued pants legs and wading into the Sea of Lilies. He found plastic bottles and a maths textbook. He found a paper fan he thought could be saved and an ancient broach that was broken in the middle.
He found a small silver locket - scuffed and only just latching - filled with starlight. This he pocketed.
“Let me make you some tea,” the Teamaker said, having found an alcohol burner and a bamboo scoop. “You haven’t been eating well.” The Teamaker was taller, less stooped, and a spray of lines creased in the corners of his eyes. They trooped over sand and then grass, walking past the weedy fireberry garden, and finally into the Lighthouse at the End of the World.
The Teamaker served a rose-scented black tea and scones. The Seaman told him about the Kingdoms, of Cair Paravel, and his life there. There were flying ships and you could use light brains to watch anything you wanted. “I brought one for you,” the Seaman said, giving the Teamaker a silver bracelet. “There isn’t any signal here, so I downloaded a lot of content for you.” There were movies, music, and cartoons. “This is a popular character named Aslan,” the Seaman pointed out an anthropomorphic lion, “He will teach you how to speak the human languages and human customs.”
The Teamaker loved the cartoon Aslan immediately. He paused, light brain in hand, and went very still. “I remember…” he said, staring out the window. “I remember… it was cold when I...” The Seaman narrowed his eyes, feeling that the Teamaker was suddenly very distant from him despite sitting together over tea. The Seaman took his hand, strong and very warm. The fan of the Teamaker’s lashes fluttered and then he turned to the Boy, “I’m sorry,” the Teamaker sighed, looking down at the over-steeped pot. “I seem to have ruined the tea.”
“No, no, it’s okay,” the Seaman said. “We can brew another pot.”
The Seaman spoke of the Kingdoms, of Cair Paravel, and his life often. “I’m not making much now, but it’s enough for two people to live on if they’re careful,” he said, swinging at the high grass with a stick while the Teamaker attempted to weed - pulling up more fireberries than weeds. “My commanding officer likes me and I think I have a good chance of being promoted to an O-3 - that’s a full Lieutenant - in a few years. Then I could buy a house - not in Cair Paravel, but maybe in Terebinthia…”
While the Teamaker waded in the Sea, the Seaman spoke of the Kingdoms, of Cair Paravel, and his life. “It’s quite a bit different from here, but there are many different types of people and so much to see. At a Cafe in Muin, there were so many teas on offer that it would take a lifetime to try every one.” The Seaman picked up a fork with only two tines, “And the sky–” he was watching the Teamaker very carefully now, through his own lashes and not directly.
“The Sky?” The Teamaker asked, looking over. “Tell me about the Sky.”
“The Ship, Leopard, and Hammer are a constellation seen in the summer skies of over Narnia. They’re as bright as the sun–”
“The sun isn’t a star,” the Teamaker laughed. “It has no song.”
The Seaman, charmed by the Teamaker’s smile, came closer and took the Teamaker’s hand. “You can see the stars yourself if you come back with me. I wish I could show you Cair Paravel—” he continued.
“How could I leave my lighthouse?” The Teamaker asked, genuinely confused. “Who will be the Keeper at the End of the World?”
“We can post the position on the Starnet. We can leave when someone comes–”
“I am the Keeper at the End of the World,” the Teamaker told him.
“Why don’t you want to go?” The Seaman asked with tears rolling down his cheek. “I love you so much. Why don’t you want to leave?
The Teamaker sighed. The Seaman didn’t understand.
3
It was a long time before the Admiral - once the Boy and the Seaman - returned to the Lighthouse at the End of the World. This time, he came on the Dawn Treader, more careworn and stable than he had been some decades ago. He wore a patch on his right eye.
This time, the Star rushed to greet him. He was younger than he was before, a blooming teenager with soft yellow curls and flashing eyes. “You’ve come!” The Star said, speaking in the Narnian he’d learned through watching the Aslan cartoons.
“Yes, I’ve come,” the Admiral’s mouth rose. It had been a very long time since he had smiled and he was glad he hadn’t forgotten the motion. “I worry about you here alone.”
“‘But there is you," the Star said, artless and honest. “I know that you exist and though I cannot watch you, I feel you here,” the Star touched his chest. “We have a Fate.”
The Admiral was shaken but happy.
The Star took the Admiral’s hand, his own soft to the Admiral’s rough palm. “Let me show you my garden!” This time, the fireberries grew on great green stalks, red and ripe enough to fall into the weeds. “I have become much better.”
“Yes, yes you have,” the Admiral said, squeezing the Star’s hand. The Star used his other to take a berry and put it in his mouth. The fruit burst on his tongue and burned his lips to red. “Look up,” the Admiral said, tilting the Star’s chin up. The Admiral wiped at the Star’s mouth with his thumb. “Don’t be careless.”
The Star smiled, “I won’t.”
Later, the Admiral sat on the Star’s small raft in the twilight with the stars watching overhead. They made tea in a rough pot the Star found that morning still with the taste of salt. The Admiral roasted fish and they told each other stories. The Admiral about the Kingdoms, of Cair Paravel, and his life there. “How did you lose your eye?”
“This?” the Admiral pointed to the missing right eye. “It was lost on an attack by the Calormen. Is it very scary?”
“No,” the Star said. “But I don’t like when you are hurt.”
The Admiral took the Star’s hand and looked at him with his good eye. “It doesn’t hurt and now I can see only you.”
The Star told him about his revelations.
“In the beginning, there was only the Wood Beyond the World whose lakes led to all Worlds,” the Star said. “I think I was formed there, a seed that was created from the dust of our faded elders and the breath of the son of the Emperor-Over-the-Sea.”
“How did you come here?” the Admiral asked, amused by the Star’s story.
“When I set for the last time, weak and old beyond human comprehension, I was carried to the Lighthouse at the End of the World. I am not as old as I was then…” the Star smiled, chin on his knees. “Nor as young now as I will be.”
“I am a star at rest,” the Star said, quiet and calm, eyes turning to the sky. ‘When I have become as young as the child that was born yesterday, then I shall return to the sky where I was born.” He held out his hand for the Admiral. “We have Fate. Will you come with me?”
“I am a man,” the Admiral said, teasing. “How can a man live among the stars?”
The Star frowned. “I don’t know. But I will find a way. When you are ready, you will come with me.” His mouth pursed. “You don’t believe me.”
“I believe you,” the Admiral coaxed, sitting up from his lazy lean. “We will go together.”
The Admiral kissed the Star in the starlight, confidently and determined. The Star touched his mouth, wet and swollen. Despite his cartoons, he did not understand human emotions. But he wanted to be with the Boy - who was once the Seaman and now the Admiral - forever. “I will find a way. We will go together.”
Under the blanket of stars, draped in a gown of red knotted thread, the two married by the Sea of Lilies, surrounded by fireflies and the half-used candles the Star had rescued from the net.
“We can leave tomorrow,” the Admiral said, in a compression shirt and the starlight locket. “If we can miss the beast tide, we can reach Cair Paravel in two days.”
From his sheets, the Star asked, “It isn’t time yet for us to leave yet. I haven’t found the way.” Softly he asked, “Why don’t you want to stay?”
“I have obligations,” the Admiral said. “My men depend on me and there is the ongoing war with the Calormen,” he explained, taking the Star’s hand. “But Cair Paravel is very safe. We can live there in my house and you can grow fireberries in the garden,” the Admiral smiled. “I have a smart robot so you won’t have to weed and you can drink all the tea of Muin.”
“But I am the Keeper of the Lighthouse at the End of the World,” the Star said. “How could I leave my lighthouse?”
The Admiral clenched his fists and released them. “Why won’t you come? You promised to go.”
“Why won’t you stay? You promised to stay.”
“My Star,” the Admiral said, “I cannot stay here.”
“My Admiral,” the Star said. “I cannot leave here.”
This time neither the Admiral nor the Star understood.
4
The King - once the Boy, the Seaman, and the Admiral - who came to the Lighthouse at the End of the World found a child in the water. He brought him back to the tidy lighthouse. When the King dried him out, he found that the child was a little star-ling. A fat, yellow-haired child. “Do you remember me?” the King asked, the Boy sitting on his knee sipping a too-large cup of tepid tea.
“Yes,” the Boy said. “You are my husband.” The King smiled, ruefully. “Will you come and play with me?” the Boy asked, rubbing his head coquettishly against the King’s throat. “I like to chase the fish in the lilies and can catch them in this basket.” The basket was an old bamboo hat with broken ribbons.
The King was not very good at chasing court officials, let alone fish, but he liked to watch the Boy running in the lilies, laughing and bringing back the things that he found: unicorn-fish horns and rubies, a gold cellphone with a broken screen and a doll missing an eye. “Just like you,” the Boy said, laughing.
“Yes, just like me,” the King said. But he meant himself, who was once the Boy. “Should we fix it?’
“No,” the Boy said with authority. “Can you just sew a patch here,” he pointed to the right eye. “I… I’m not very good with needles.”
“Okay.”
“I should leave very soon. I will see my friends again!” The Boy said, small fat hand holding the King’s. “I haven’t found a way, yet,” the Boy frowned. “If I can’t… will you forget me when I leave?”
“No,” the King said, brushing the fine hairs on the boy’s forehead. "But there was you,” the King said with certainty. “I know that you existed and though I cannot watch you, I feel you here,” the King touched his chest. “We have a Fate.”
“Yes, we have a Fate.”
5
It was an Old Man - once the Boy, the Seaman, the Admiral, and the King - who last came to the Lighthouse at the End of the World.
There was no Boy, no Star, no Teamaker, no Keeper. But there was a Stranger in rags who asked, “Do you know where I am?”
“You’re at the Lighthouse at the End of the World,” the Old Man told the Stranger.
“Oh. I don’t know how I got here.”
“Perhaps you were carried here,” the Old Man suggested. “This is the place for lost things.”
“Yes, yes,” the Stranger said, finding this reasonable.
The Old Man helped the Stranger find a cell phone in the nets at the End of the World and taught him how to order things from the Tower. He showed him how to look for things in the nets and how to make tea. “You’re very good at this,” the Stranger said, not quite able to figure out the cellphone.
“I used to know the Keeper.”
“Yeah?” the Stranger burnt his tongue and thought he needed more practice being mortal. “What were they like?”
“He was very good,” the Old Man said, touching the locket on his chest. “He was my father, my friend, my lover, and my child.”
“Did he return to the sky - to the Wood Beyond the World?”
“Yes.”
“That’s good,” the Stranger said. “It’s very lonely to be a resting star. But I’ll forget before I remember, so there’s that.”
“Is there a way…” the Old Man stumbled, “Is there a way for a man to live among the stars?”
The Stranger pondered this for a while. “I heard that a Son of Adam once crafted a ring out of magical dust that he discovered in a box left to him by his godmother.” The Stranger laughed. “But that is just a fairy story. They are very bothersome creatures.”
“Did they say where this man was from?”
“He was a Son of Adam who lived beyond the Lamp Post. Do you know it?”
“Yes. It’s a National landmark in Narnia, in the Tumnus Forest. How did you go beyond the Lamp Post?”
The Stranger pondered this for a while. “I’m sorry, but I’ve forgotten,” he looked down at his tea. “What did you say this was?” Taking a drink, he burned his tongue again.
6
“Your Highness,” the Soldier that was assigned to the Wanderer - once the Boy, the Seaman, the Admiral, the King, and the Old Man - said. “Are you sure you know where you’re going?”
“No, no I don’t.” the Wanderer said, honestly.
“It’s going to be night soon and too dark to stay out here,” the Soldier coaxed. “Why don’t we go back to the Inn for the night and wait until daylight?”
“Just a little further.” The Wanderer went a little further until he found a place where the clear cold air carried the scent of camphor. He walked a bit further until the trees turned soft and he found himself walking through disintegrating fur and splintered wood. “Soldier–”
But there was no Soldier. Only the Wanderer. He stepped into the remains of a building, now a crater filled with broken things and weeds. Everything was grey - the sky, the earth, and the puddles where old water sat. The air was cold and it was lightly raining. The Wanderer stumbled a bit, leaning on his cane, as he walked through the wreckage. There were stone steps that led out to a courtyard of burnt trees and mud.
The starlight locket warmed his chest, compelling him to suffer the walk from the edge of the crater to the blackened roots of what was once a very large apple tree. When he knelt down, the Wanderer knew he wouldn’t be able to get back up. He dug through the mud with his rheumatic hands until he found something.
A lacquer box adorned with water lilies. The latch barely held together and it opened in his hands. There were two rings, one green and the other yellow. The yellow reminded the Wanderer of the Star’s hair. It was dull and quiescent. The old man removed the starlight locket and opened it and sighed.
The Wanderer’s heart stopped beating.
7
When San Lang woke up, he was laying in a puddle of water.
Once he dried himself off in the warm wind that blew through the trees, he found that he was at ease - still and lazy. His limbs were heavy and he didn’t feel any hunger - though perhaps it had been decades since he last ate. He was in a maple-colored overcoat and black pants.
“I feel like I’ve been dreaming forever,” he said, stretching and turning his face to the sky. “Dreaming of my Diànxià.” The lazy corner of his mouth turned upward and he waited.
It took centuries - perhaps eons - for the sky to turn to night.
In the darkness, there was a light brighter than the World. It came closer, as quickly as anything in the Wood Between the Worlds could before San Lang clapped eyes on his Diànxià. “You came.”
“We have a Fate,” San Lang said and Diànxià’s smile was more beautiful than the resting star, the lilies at the End of the World, or lockets of starlight.