Daring to Dream

Daring to Dream

Chapter Seven

-dedicated to Sally Grant

Warning: If you do not like violence, then I must warn you that there is semi-explicit reference to an animal sacrifice within this chapter, so if you would not rather read it, please skip over it.

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Karna tossed restlessly on her mattress, unable to sleep, all the time her thoughts filled with the image of Master Lavarin, large, powerful and frightening. She shuddered, desperately trying to banish him from her mind as she endeavoured to get comfortable once more, but always it was there, a nagging fear, a dread that caused her to tremble with every remembrance of his behaviour. The sly, lustful looks, the large, damp lips slobbering upon her skin, filling her revulsion, intensifying her horror.

Desperately, in a final attempt to shake off her trepidation, Karna thought of anything that might divert her thoughts, even allowing herself to think on that which she had purposefully ignored for days now; her dreams and hopes. In a moment of rare bliss, she indulged that which her mother had told her to banish, dreams of an existence where her wildest imaginings could be real. A wondrous life where she would be able to choose whom she would marry, a world where none had to suffer, but all had enough to eat, where everything was green and lush, where water flowed through dewy forest glades, an existence where the god that they worshipped would act for the good of those that he had created, not praising the powerful, but the compassionate, the truthful, the just, the caring. As she allowed her imagination to run wild, a single word entered her mind. Narnia.

In her mind’s eye, she pictured the land that Peridan had described, and in place of Tashbaan’s dusty, cobbled streets with Calormen’s warm, arid climate, she imagined high green hills, deep, lush valleys and rivers running everywhere. She thought of the small, carefully tended gardens of the Tarkhaans and Tarkheenas homes, imagining them as unordered and wild, growing freely across a vast landscape. She envisaged a society where people went about their daily lives with joy, not attempting to be mysterious and distant, but real and honest, throwing back their heads to laugh in joy, openly showing affection and hugging one another. She dreamt of a land where everything made sense, where the heavenly being that they worshipped did not seek to destroy the life that he had created, but protect it, even love it because it was his creation.

With these thoughts lulling her into a glad, peaceful sleep, Karna attempted to picture the lion within her thoughts, recalling the sweetness of his breath, the tenderness of his lick, the calm of his voice. Yet, at the same time, she thought of his claws, saw the power of the animal, and instead of fearing them, felt reassured. For, having been born to a society where power was all, she took comfort from the lion’s proof of his strength, feeling safer in the knowledge that he could also protect and defend that which was his.

In her head, Karna saw the lion’s face, heard the words that he had almost seemed to speak repeated.

“Courage, dear one.” She was back in the garden, and the lion was there also, regarding her with those depthless eyes, within which seemed to dwell the wisdom of years long forgotten. Yet, that face also held strength, power, and most amazingly of all, tenderness, even love.

With a great gentleness, he once again approached, softly breathing upon her, that sweet, wonderful breath that filled her with courage, gave her once more the strength to endure. This time, he did not merely look upon her, but touched his nose to hers, and spoke.

“Peace, my daughter. For your sufferings are not in vain.” Amazed, Karna realised that she truly was speaking to the lion, that this was not a dream at all. Without knowing how she dared, she spoke,

“Please, sir, are you the one who is worshipped in Narnia?”

“I am, dear one. I am Aslan.” Karna gasped.

“The great lion that Peridan spoke of?” In response, the beast nodded his great shaggy head,

“But you must not fear me, Karna, daughter of Haradin. For though I am a lion and would not hesitate to do attack my enemies, I am also the protector of my children, for does not a lioness protect her cubs against any predator? I have seen your suffering, and know that you fear, yet take heart my daughter, for you will find the joy that you seek. But also know, that the path to joy will be wracked with great sorrow; you will need to trust in your courage dear one, but also in me.”

“What do you speak of, sir? What great sorrow?”

“I cannot say, child; you must simply learn to trust. Know that not every situation is, as it would first appear to be. Most importantly, take heart, dear one, and know that you are never alone.”

With these words, he bent his head, gently touching her brow with his tongue before turning to leave. Realising that he was going, Karna desperately called out,

“Must you go?” He turned for a moment, and almost unmistakably, seemed to smile at her,

“It will not be long before we meet again, my daughter. Fear not, but trust in those who love you.”

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The days passed with a greater rapidity than Karna could stand. Before she knew it, she was being fitted for the wedding gown, her mother was sewing a necklace of copper and silver coins to represent her dowry, and Tarlana was sent scurrying to the market for different foods each day, in readiness for the great meal to be prepared upon the day of the wedding. In a rare moment of peace, amidst the tumult of preparation, Karna stole away from the house on the pretext of drawing water, but really to gain some solitude. She walked slowly from the house, taking as much time as she dared, unable to maintain the role that she had been playing. For she and Tarlana had met every night to discuss how her new role might act, and between them, they had been able to create the submissive, dutiful wife that Lavarin would eventually marry, the part that she would be acting for the rest of her life. Yet, despite the duty that she knew it was her duty to fulfil, Karna could not remove the lion’s words from her mind, “Your sufferings are not in vain … you will find the joy you seek.” What had he meant by it?

Karna was so wrapped up within her own thoughts, that she did not think of where she was walking, and when she did finally stop, she found to her astonishment that she had, instead of heading for the well, been moving in the direction of Master Tirshan’s house. Suddenly afraid that she might meet Lavarin by chance, Karna hurried back the way that she had come, only to find the street was so busy that she was forced to delay, hurriedly pushing her way through, until she heard words that caused her both joy and sadness in the same moment. For, above the ordinary bustle of the shouts and braying of mules; she distinctly heard the words, “Way, way for the barbarian lords of the north!” above the din, and thought instantly of Peridan.

However, she was not given time for extra thought as she was pushed firstly from one way and then from another as people struggled to get out of the procession’s way. In the end, she found herself standing in the front row of the crowd that stood, squashed back against the walls of the buildings in an attempt to let the group of foreigners past. Thus it was that she got a clear view of the approaching Narnians, and could not help smiling as she saw the merry, pale faces that passed, all of them lacking the beards and turbans of the Calormens, and looking, in her opinion, much nicer for it.

She watched them pass, and was about to move on, when she saw Peridan, laughing as he walked, talking amiably with another man, and seeming oblivious to his surroundings. With a smile, she watched him go by, feeling glad for some reason that he smiled, wishing with all her heart that she could have just another moment’s conversation with him, but knowing that it was impossible. Yet, in a way, she was glad that she would not, for it would almost have seemed like a moment of delusion, before she accepted her fate. No, she saw that it was easier to treasure the conversation that they had had and not wish for more.

The Narnian party had, by this time, all but passed by, and she walked across the street to find a way through the crowd, when she saw something glinting on the ground. It was a dagger. Thin, finely carved and clearly valuable, she picked it up, staring in awe at the workmanship that had gone into it, for the blade was pure silver, with pearl worked into the handle, it was a veritable work of art. She glanced up at the retreating party, knowing that it must have been dropped by one of their number, and yet a weapon of that value would surely sell for a fine price.

Karna stood there for a moment of indecision, uncertain as to what she should do, before the decision was made for her, and, before she knew it, she was face-to-face with a Narnian lord. He was barely taller than she was, but much broader, with a thin, noble face and thoughtful eyes that were somewhere between grey and green.

“I am sorry,” she stuttered, nodding her head and making to leave, forgetting that she held the dagger in her hand in her haste to depart.

“Wait,” he said, in a voice that expected to be obeyed. Karna halted, not daring to lift her eyes, realising with horror what she had been about to do. “I believe that you have something that belongs to me,” he said, waiting expectantly. With a shaking hand, Karna was about to place the dagger in his, when a familiar voice called,

“Marken, have you found your dagger?” And before Karna could react, Peridan stood before her, tall and suddenly frightening. He stared for a moment at his companion, before turning to look at the girl who stood opposite, recognising her with a surprised exclamation of, “Karna!”

“You know this girl?” Marken inquired, regarding Karna with a sudden interest, “how did you come to be acquainted?”

“This is the girl I sat with on the evening of our welcome feast, in the house of Master Tirshan,” Peridan exclaimed, turning to smile at her. Reassured, Karna felt her fear leave her. “But how do you come to be here, Karna? Why are you not at work?” Hurriedly bowing her head, Karna lowered her eyes, before replying.

“I am soon to quit my employment of Master Tirshan, my lord.”

“Really? Why would that be?”

“I am to married, my lord. I will therefore not need the employment.” Both men gasped,

“Married? But Karna, you cannot be above seventeen.”

“I am eighteen year old, my lord.”

“But you are so young, too young for marriage surely.” Karna raised her head in surprise,

“Indeed I am not, my lord. I am old to be getting married, my younger sister was recently wed and she was fifteen.” Both men looked at Karna in horror,

“How old are they normally married in this land?” Marken asked his friend. Peridan shrugged, his voice suddenly sad as he addressed Karna,

“Could you tell us?” Still surprised, Karna replied without thought of decorum.

“The majority of girls are married at the age of fifteen or sixteen, my lords.” A thought suddenly struck Peridan,

“Do you wish to marry this man, Karna?” In embarrassment, Karna lowered her eyes, wishing that she had not spoken so openly,

“Of course my lord, my father has chosen him for me and I am content.” Not convinced, the Narnian lord raised her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes, remembering their conversation from the feast quite clearly, and in her face, he found his real answer.

“Why is your father forcing you to marry, Karna?” Karna bowed her head, trying to stop her voice from shaking,

“It is his will, my, lord, I cannot act otherwise, it would bring dishonour to my family and pain my mother, I would not do that.” Not wishing to force her, Peridan merely nodded.

Confused by this strange conversation, Marken watched first his friend, and then this girl, wondering at what lay between them. She did not seem to be different from any other Calormen woman that he had seen. She wore a simple, slightly stained dress, portraying her humble upbringing, and though quite pretty, even by Narnian standards, he could see nothing very unusual about her. Only her height surprised him, f0r she could not be much shorter than he himself, and the majority of the common people that he had seen within Tashbaan were always of a shorter, stockier build. Yet this girl was tall and surprisingly slender.

What also surprised him was the intensity with which Peridan beheld her, for, for one who was normally so straight-laced and practical, he now regarded this girl with an expression that was an odd mixture of compassion, sadness, and oddly, determination. For, usually, Peridan was quick to laugh, but practical enough to not be troubled by much, yet also fiercely loyal, and now, this loyalty was carved upon every feature, and yet, he was giving it to a Calormen servant girl that he had met but once.

Anxious to have some questions answered, Marken remembered the original reason for his returning, and glanced at his dagger, still held firmly in the girl’s hands, so tightly that her knuckles were white.

“I am sorry for your plight,” he said with real regret, “but I am afraid that we must be going, or we shall be late for our luncheon with the grand Vizier. May I have my dagger?” Karna blushed suddenly at the realisation that she had been holding it, and hurriedly handed it over, avoiding Peridan’s eyes as she did so. Although he tried to read her face, he did not grasp her chin again, now regretting that he had the first time.

“I am sorry for the mistake, my lord,” she replied, bowing low to Marken before hurrying off into the crowd, wishing to make as much distance between herself and them as she could, her mind a jumble of confusion, fear and oddly enough, exhilaration.

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Normally known for his restraint, Marken struggled greatly as he and Peridan headed towards the large, luxurious home of the Grand Vizier, a number of times just managing to bite back a question when it was on the tip of his tongue. But he was intrigued and he could not blame himself for wanting to ask Peridan about the nature of his interest in the servant girl. He was freely willing to admit that the traditions of Calormen differed greatly to that of Narnia and at times seemed bordering on barbaric to him, but why did this particular girl inspire such loyalty from his friend? In their long friendship, he had never known Peridan to attach himself so firmly, and so swiftly to another, except to the kings and queens, to whom he was as close as a brother. But this behaviour was decidedly odd for Peridan, and that truth alone fired his curiosity to an almost unbearable level.

However, all thought of the girl was swept from his mind, as they entered the Grand Vizier’s home and were instantly surrounded by people; slender, pretty slave girls in beautiful clothes, fierce, heavily armed guards, and at the centre, adorned in a jewelled turban and heavily embroidered robes stood Ahoshta Tarkhaan, the Grand Vizier himself. He bowed to them, a gesture which they returned with less of a flourish, but a great deal more grace. He then proceeded to welcome them in the name of Tash, the hideous spectre that they worshipped, and ushered them regally into the grand dinning hall of his home. It was a large, elaborately furnished room hung with bright silks, yet, despite the beauty of the day; the windows were shut fast and the air heavy with incense. He motioned his guests into their seats, and then, with a dramatic wave of his arms, ushered a group of slaves into the hall, bearing a covered object between them.

“Barbarian lords of the north,” the Grand Vizier exclaimed, “honoured guests of the Tisroc (may he live forever), I present to you a spectacle never before seen by any of your land. A sight that will glorify the great god Tash, the inexorable, the irresistible, a sacrifice to his everlasting power!” In an instant, the cloth was thrown back, and before them sat a girl, pale, slender and breathtakingly beautiful, she was enticingly clad, her naval and a good percentage of her legs exposed, she carried in her arms a snow-white kid. It was a charming little creature, delicate and small, with large, liquid eyes and spindly legs. However, Peridan and Marken had only regarded the sight for a moment, before they saw the golden tray and silver dagger being brought forth, and suddenly realised the intention of the Tarkhaan. In the next moment, the girl held down the kid, while the Tarkhaan approached, raising the knife high; they looked away, disgusted and slightly horrified by the obvious delight with which the Tarkhaan killed the baby goat.

After the last pitiful bleat had died away, they looked back, and saw the Tarkhaan holding the dead animal high, allowing its blood to stain the neck of the kid red as is trickled down in a thin, glistening thread, dropping on to the tray in thick, slow droplets. In the moments that followed, the Grand Vizier raised a loud, bellowing prayer to Tash, offering their bloody sacrifice, proclaiming the greatness and dreadfulness of Tash.

It finally ended. Peridan found himself feeling unnerved and rather sickened by the spectacle; praying silently to Aslan for strength, he had forced himself to endure the circumstances without flinching, and now felt weakened by the effort it had cost him. For within Narnia, even the dumb animals were respected, and though killed for food, no man would have ever taken pleasure from the action. The fervour with which the Tarkhaan had killed the kid had appalled him, and now, try though he might, he could not lift the dread that consumed him. He found that he had no greater wish than to be as far from this place as he could, but was completely powerless to do so.

On top of having to endure that appalling spectacle, he was also expected to sit amongst the Calormens and act as though nothing had disgusted him, to seem as though he every day saw innocent newborn animals being slaughtered. As well as this, he had to again tolerate the oily courtesy of the grand Vizier, to remark as mildly as he could upon the horrific display that he and his men had been forced to suffer. However; praise be to Aslan, he was not been directly asked his opinion of the sacrifice, and mercifully to, as he could not have been certain that his composure would have held.

When the vile meal had finally ended, after many polite good byes, he and his men gratefully left that vowing that they would never, of their free will, return to that place.

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Tarlana’s morning had been a flurry of activity, and, between them, her mother, herself and Karna had cleaned their small dwelling from top to bottom in preparation for the arrival of her sister’s betrothed. It was only now that they had settled themselves for a quiet midday meal that Karna once more fell back into the reverie within which she had dwelt for the past few days, a stupor caused by the alarming rate at which the days seemed to go by. There were now just two days before the wedding, and, try though she might; Tarlana could not even gain a single smile from her sister. Instead, Karna had become completely inward looking, often not speaking to any unless spoken to directly.

It was a state that had not been unmissed by their mother, and, try though she might; she could not gain a smile either, and was becoming deeply concerned at her daughter’s deteriorating state. Thus it was that she took Tarlana by the arm, and, leaving her oldest daughter alone, led her younger into the other room for some privacy. Once there, she turned to Tarlana sadly, and asked,

“My daughter, do you know what has happened to your sister? For over these past few days it seems that she has lost all recollection of who she was. She does not laugh or smile, nor even talk as times. What is it that ails her? Can this alone be her reaction to her betrothal?” Tarlana saw the fear in her mother’s eyes, feeling tears stinging her own as she responded,

“Oh Mother! She said that she couldn’t be herself and submit to this marriage. She had decided that she would rather act a submissive role for the rest of her life than cause you pain.”

In that moment, her mother’s face paled so drastically that Tarlana thought she should faint, for even her dark colouring seemed to facd. Suddenly motionless, she brought her hand to her mouth, closing her eyes as though in pain, she clutched for the table, sitting heavily on the chair.

“Mother, are you well?” Tarlana asked in alarm, hurrying to fetch some water. In response, her mother simply sat, her head in her hands, unable to control the sobs that burst from her normally placid self. Over and over, she said the same simple phrase,

“What have I done? Oh what have I done?”

Surprised by the sudden noise from the kitchen, Karna came through the doorway, immediately as alarmed as Tarlana by the sight of their mother; she hurried over, putting a comforting hand upon her shoulder.

“Mother, what ails you? Are you unwell?” Looking up with eyes that were half-blinded by tears, her mother beheld her, her pain and sorrow etched into every feature and line of that gentle face.

“Oh Karna, my daughter, what have I done to you?” Horrified by the guilt she saw in that face, Karna took the cup of water from Tarland, gently easing it into those shaking hands.

“Peace, Mother, you must drink something, please. You are not well.” Her mother shook her head,

“No, my daughter, I am well, it is you who is not.” Karna stared at her mother in surprise,

“Mother, what do you mean? I am quite well.”

“No, my daughter, you are not. You are abandoning who you are to reconcile yourself to a marriage, as I told you to.” Karna suddenly understood, and, taking her mother’s face in her hands, kissed her gently on the forehead.

“Mother, it could not have been any other way.” Shaking her head, her mother sighed, taking her daughter’s hands in her own.

“I would not see you become a shadow of yourself, Karna. For you have too precious a joy in life to live it as a ghost, your gift is such a rare one; it breaks my heart to see you let it go. I now see that I was wrong.” Karna felt tears coming to her own eyes as they sat thus, their hands clasped, miserable in the acknowledgement of what their existence was, knowing that there was no escape from it. The next moment, they shared a desperate embrace, both allowing the tears to fall as they took comfort from one another, letting themselves have a final mourn for the life that could never be, for the unreachable dreams that characterised youth.

How Karna wished that she had the stoic patience of Tarlana, and that she could accept her lot in life, but she had never had it. She knew, that even in her loveless marriage, she would always hope for better, and it was that strength that would carry her forward, though she knew not to where it would lead.

After a time, both women regained their composure, and, wiping the tears from the other’s face, knew that they would and must endure.

“This is the way it has to be, Mother,” Karna stated once they were calm, “I have to marry Lavarin, or Tarneesh will banish me from this roof, you know this is true.” Though she felt fresh tears threatening, her mother nodded, recognising the truth of her daughter’s words. “I will be provided for, and I can ask no more than that.”

With this settling of her emotions, Karna felt ready and composed, prepared to face her fate with courage. So, though it greatly saddened her, she took her memories of Peridan and Narnia, her dream of the lion, Aslan, and, with the best of her ability, banished them from her mind.

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