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Son of Adam
The Boy With no Name
He was found on an island shore one day, unable to remember his name.
He wasn't sure how he got there. And with no boat, no crew, no family-- we weren't either.
He was alone, so we let him board our ship. There was no ignoring how small he was.
He looked like the kings and queens of old, so we called him Adamson.
He was grateful for work, no matter what was asked of him. He was quiet and focused-- quite willing to earn his keep.
When asked of his past, he gave no answer. We didn't know if he forgot, or if he simply did not wish for us to know. All we knew were the scars across his back, and the years in his eyes. Far more than any child should have to carry.
In time, he showed us a happier side of himself. He danced with the music; he learned to cook. He loved it all, and yet he still had love to spare.
He made a home on our ship.
But the crew were not long for this world.
I-- the first-- and the Captain survived. We were sure to keep Adamson safe.
He was just a boy, after all.
We managed to escape in time, and we were brought onto another ship. Adamson did not want to go.
They killed my Captain. A woman, they claimed, was not fit to command any ship, and our lost crew was proof. She was stabbed and thrown to the waves.
I was put to work, and the boy was sent below deck.
I only saw him again once we had docked. He was brought to be sold in the square.
The Fleet Recruit
He was being sold in the square.
They called him son of Adam.
"Liars," I spat. No one's seen a son of Adam in a very long time.
I bought the boy anyway.
I gave him a uniform. I gave him a sword. He was trained in the art of combat.
The boy was quick to learn.
I told him not to share his name; he was a recruit and nothing more. Yet the other boys still buzzed with gossip. I told them the sons and daughters abandoned us long ago, and the boy was not special.
He was always quiet.
He didn't fuss like the other recruits. He never asked where we were going, what we were doing, what it was all for. He worked and trained like his life depended on it.
I wasn't sure how he could possibly know that it did.
The far-off wars grew closer, and messengers sent for help on every shore.
I shook with anticipation and fear. I did not tell the recruits when we re-charted the course.
And yet, the boy seemed somehow to know.
The Young Soldier
The war brought him into my life, the boy who somehow knew so much.
I fought on his side.
As a centaur, I easily towered above him. He was shorter than his fellow recruits.
I was ready to shield him from harm.
The young soldier needed no such help from me.
His sword was barely used, but he knew of combat, surely. He hardly scuffed his boots as he moved.
He dodged his enemies easily. He attacked them the same.
He took an arrow hit for me.
I asked him why.
"You're just a boy," I said.
He simply smiled.
I dragged him from the battle when he got too hurt to stand.
I myself was mortally wounded, but told the young soldier not to worry.
He stayed with me anyway.
I asked where he came from.
He said he didn't know. Said he felt as if he'd always been here. Yet he didn't know simple history.
I told him of the rulers of old. The High King Peter. And I told him of Aslan.
As I spoke he leaned in closer. His eyes grew large. The soldier was determined to know Aslan.
The Driven Searcher
He was going to find Aslan. That's what he told me.
I laughed at him then.
But he spoke like my daughter, so I offered some help. He took it like he knew it was coming.
I asked for his name over dinner. He told me like it was a precious secret, and I swore to keep it well.
He slept in the empty room.
He had a sword with him, so I assumed he was a soldier. Yet never once did he speak of it.
I didn't ask him any questions.
He began a driven search for knowledge. He filled my home with all the books he could find.
He must have been a foreigner, because he had trouble with Narnian script. Luckily, I was happy to teach him.
I asked Adamson what he would say to Aslan.
He said he would ask him a question.
"What did you put me here for?"
I did not know what to say to that.
He looked at the sea like a long lost friend.
I knew he would return to it, though I didn't think it would be so soon. He spoke to the sailors like he already knew them.
I told him to bring his books, but he simply smiled and asked me to keep them well. I winked and said,
"I would do anything for a son of Adam."
The Confident Sailor
He could get you to do anything for him.
In all my years I would have never set a course so foolish, so daft. And yet, it took five minutes with the man for me to be swayed.
The crew thought I had gone mad until they met him.
He unrolled the old map onto a table. Its edges cracked as he laid it flat.
He explained just what the trip would bring-- every treachery in great detail. Each danger and the way around.
He spoke with the confidence of an experienced sailor. We asked if he'd sailed this route before.
He said no, but only half were inclined to believe him.
There was no trait I could point to that would make him sound so convincing. He was quiet, and a bit strange. He seemed to dislike speaking. Yet his words were surer in him than he was, and quite quickly the crew agreed.
We were soon turning off into the waves.
During the journey we grew to know him, though he was always a steadfast man. For a great long while, he refused to share his name.
Some thought he must be a criminal. But I believed he was good.
When he did share it, it was me he told first.
We were at sea a long time before it became hostile to us. Whistling winds first told us of the coming storm.
We had not long at all to prepare, and we were quickly swept up in its anger.
The Man of Many Names, Pt 1
I got swept up in emotion when we came close to the shore.
I told the crew to stay on the ship-- anchor down nearby. Something told me they would try to keep me. I took the lifeboat the rest of the way.
Just a few feet from the dazzling white sand stood a wall of rushing water, roaring with a movement that sent mist into the air. They were all awestruck by it, I'm sure, but I felt as if I might cry.
I finally found Aslan's country.
I stuck my hand into the wall of water, following the resulting waves with my eyes as they rushed unnaturally upward. I couldn't see the top of it, just the line between water and sky.
The sun shone bright and calm, contented to keep the sand warm but not scorching. Just enough to feel comfortable.
I walked the pale sand up and down, searching for any hint of Him. I circled the shore more times than I bothered to count.
I wished to eventually see the massive prints of a lion's paws trailing after mine. I wished to catch him as I looked over my shoulder or rounded a bend.
The sound of the roaring water tricked me at some point. It brought to mind a great beast's purr.
And yet, the sands were unchanged except where I had been.
I eventually grew desperate. I ran and cried and dug my fists into the sand.
My chest felt hollow with dread, and yet full to overflowing with emotion. I tore at my shirt, sobbing openly.
I didn't have it in me to care what the crew might see.
The sand and the sun were perfectly comfortable, even as I decomposed myself. I wished it had scorched my skin. I wished it would burn me to nothingness. But it was incapable. It was unwilling.
I laid on the ground, the great water sending mists onto my frame. I was determined not to find it pleasant.
The Man of Many Names, Pt 2
After I laid there for what felt like days, something did change. The air seemed to shift, and I saw things as I hadn't before.
But I won't tell you about that. It was quite more personal to me than even my undoing.
Instead, I'll tell you about after.
I'll tell you of how I could not come back to the ship, for the ship was not there. How the pale sand turned to hard wood, the bright sun to a dim lamp in the corner. A place I had not been for as long as I could remember.
Yet somehow, it was like I was there just yesterday.
I reached for my sword, and found I was not wearing it. My clothes were altogether different-- they were ones I had taken from my brother's room. They fit just a bit too long, but I had been beaming into the mirror when I came to.
I looked down at the dress on my floor. I listened as my brother called a name. My name, I began to recall. The one my parents had given me. I quickly changed back into my dress.
"Hey, I was calling you. Have you seen my trousers?"
"No," I said. I had stuffed his clothes under my bed.
"Oh, well if you see them, let me know."
"I will."
He shut the door behind himself, and my mind settled back into normalcy.
And yet the years echoed on in my head.
Epilogue
It is said there was once a great man. He grew as a girl, but lived life quite differently.
It is said he knew his name like an old ache in his chest. Like it called to him from an impossible distance.
It is said he became a sailor.
Something about the way he spoke made you know the future was coming. Something about his eyes made him look far older than he was. He would often stare right through you.
When asked of family he did not talk about parents or siblings, but about men and women who took him in. Great fleetmen and lowly townsfolk alike. Pirates and soldiers in equal measure.
He spoke of great wars and greater adventures. He wove a tale like no one else.
None could say how much of it was true, but the way he spoke made you believe anyway.
One thing all knew to be true of him, for he shared it most proudly,
Is that his name was Adamson.
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