“I can‘t see you at all，” said Shasta， after staring very hard. Then （for an even more terrible idea had come into his head） he said， almost in a scream， “You’re not-not something dead， are you？ Oh please-please do go away. What harm have I ever done you？ Oh， I am the unluckiest person in the whole world！”
Once more he felt the warm breath of the Thing on his hand and face. “There，” it said， “that is not the breath of a ghost. Tell me your sorrows.”
Shasta was a little reassured by the breath： so he told how he had never known his real father or mother and had been brought up sternly by the fisherman. And then he told the story of his escape and how they were chased by lions and forced to swim for their lives； and of all their dangers in Tashbaan and about his night among the tombs and how the beasts howled at him out of the desert. And he told about the heat and thirst of their desert journey and how they were almost at their goal when another lion chased them and wounded Aravis. And also， how very long it was since he had had anything to eat.
“I do not call you unfortunate，” said the Large Voice.
“Don‘t you think it was bad luck to meet so many lions？” said Shasta.
“There was only one lion，” said the Voice.
“What on earth do you mean？ I’ve just told you there were at least two the first night， and-”
“There was only one： but he was swift of foot.”
“How do you know？”
“I was the lion.” And as Shasta gaped with open mouth and said nothing， the Voice continued. “I was the lion who forced you to join with Aravis. I was the cat who comforted you among the houses of the dead. I was the lion who drove the jackals from you while you slept. I was the lion who gave the Horses the new strength of fear for the last mile so that you should reach King Lune in time. And I was the lion you do not remember who pushed the boat in which you lay， a child near death， so that it came to shore where a man sat， wakeful at midnight， to receive you.”
“Then it was you who wounded Aravis？” “It was I.”
“But what for？”
“Child，” said the Voice， “I am telling you your story， not hers. I tell no one any story but his own.”
“Who are you？” asked Shasta.
“Myself，” said the Voice， very deep and low so that the earth shook： and again， “Myself “， loud and clear and gay： and then the third time， “Myself “， whispered so softly you could hardly hear it， and yet it seemed to come from all round you as if the leaves rustled with it.
Shasta was no longer afraid that the Voice belonged to something that would eat him， nor that it was the voice of a ghost. But a new and different sort of trembling came over him. Yet he felt glad too.
The mist was turning from black to grey and from grey to white. This must have begun to happen some time ago， but while he had been talking to the Thing he had not been noticing anything else. Now， the whiteness around him became a shining whiteness； his eyes began to blink. Somewhere ahead he could hear birds singing. He knew the night was over at last. He could see the mane and ears and head of his horse quite easily now. A golden light fell on them from the left. He thought it was the sun.
He turned and saw， pacing beside him， taller than the horse， a Lion. The horse did not seem to be afraid of it or else could not see it. It was from the Lion that the light came. No one ever saw anything more terrible or beautiful.
Luckily Shasta had lived all his life too far south in Calormen to have heard the tales that were whispered in Tashbaan about a dreadful Narnian demon that appeared in the form of a lion. And of course he knew none of the true stories about Aslan， the great Lion， the son of the Emperor-beyond-the-Sea， the High King above all kings in Narnia. But after one glance at the Lion‘s face he slipped out of the saddle andfell at its feet. He couldn’t say anything but then he didn‘t want to say anything， and he knew he needn’t say anything.
The High King above all kings stooped towards him. Its mane， and some strange and solemn perfume that hung about the mane， was all round him. It touched his forehead with its tongue. He lifted his face and their eyes met. Then instantly the pale brightness of the mist and the fiery brightness of the Lion rolled themselves together into a swirling glory and gathered themselves up and disappeared. He was alone with the horse on a grassy hillside under a blue sky. And there were birds singing.
中文阅读
夏斯塔一出门，就看到一个长满青草的斜坡，前面有一片石南长到了坡上的树木那里。他现在什么也不想，也没有什么计划，只是一心一意地向前跑。他的两条腿都在颤抖，身子的一侧开始有可怕的刺痛。汗水不住地流进眼里，模糊了他的视线，使得两只眼睛又酸又痛。他步履蹒跚，不止一次险些被石子崴着脚脖子。
树木越发茂密起来，欧洲蕨长在越来越多的空地上。太阳已经落山，可是温度却没有下降。在这种炎热而沉闷的日子里，蚊蝇要比平时多出一倍。夏斯塔的脸上趴满了蚊蝇，他甚至顾不上驱赶他们——他有更多的事情要做。
突然他听到了一声号角——不是塔西班那种令人心悸的号角声，而是一个欢快的召唤，嘀－啰－多－多－和！紧接着他进入一片宽广的林中空地，来到一群人中间。
至少，他认为那是一群人。其实只有十五个到二十个人，全都是穿着绿色猎装的绅士，有的骑在马上，有的站在马的旁边。在人群中间，有人扶着马镫正在帮助一个人上马，那个准备上马的人，是你所能想象到的最肥胖、最快活、脸颊通红，眼含微笑的一位国王。
看到夏斯塔，国王将骑马的事忘到了脑后。他朝着夏斯塔张开双臂，满脸放光，用发自丹田的低沉而又洪亮的声音高喊道：
“科林！我的儿子！走着来的，而且衣衫褴褛！怎么——”
“不，”夏斯塔一边摇头，一边气喘吁吁地说，“我不是科林王子。我——我——知道我跟他长得很像……在塔西班见到过王子殿下……捎来他的问候。”
国王的脸上浮出现一种异乎寻常的表情，他紧紧盯着夏斯塔。
“你是鲁恩王-王吗？”夏斯塔喘息着问道。不等对方回答，“国王陛下——快回——安发德——关上城门——敌人来进攻你们——拉巴达西带着两百名骑兵。”