Daring to Dream

Daring to Dream

Chapter Nine

Never in her life had Tarlana known a night quite like this one. After watching her sister’s spirit take hold, she had been powerless to hold her back as Karna had simply lost control. Abandoning all reserve and obedience, her tongue had taken on a will of its own. In front of them all, she had completely refused to marry Lavarin, insulting him and calling him vile, she had disgraced her entire family. Utterly powerless, she and her mother had been forced to watch, while first Lavarin and then their father had beaten her beloved older sister. She had turned away, unable to block out the cries and shrieks of Karna. When next she had dared to look, Lavarin was gone, and Tarneesh had bodily thrown Karna out of the house, before following to spit on her. Eagerly, his sons had followed his example. The door had slammed, and, shouting and ranting at his wife, Tarneesh had stormed through to the bedroom, closing the door so violently that it was nearly wrenched out of its frame.

So they had passed a sleepless night in the main room, trying to get comfortable on the mats and tattered rugs. Tarlana nestled her head in her mother’s lap, weeping bitterly and saying over and over again, “Why? Why did you do it Karna? Why?”

In the first light of morning, she had awoken to find her mother leaning against the wall; her pale cheeks scored with tear tracks, and her eyes staring into space. Startled by Tarlana’s movement, she had glanced down and stroked her daughter’s hair before rising, silently stretching her cramped legs to make the feeling return.

On the table, the remnants of the meal still sat, uneaten and some upturned by the violence. Tarlana helped her mother tidy the room. With care, they stepped over the two snoring figures of her brothers as they lay, sprawled upon the two mats. Neither of them said anything as they worked to meticulously clean the room. Eventually, with the task finished, they took the dirtied fragments of plate and left the house.

It was still very early when they arrived at the well. Few were about. Even the beggars still lay, huddled beneath their piles of rags. So in the dim light, they both sat, side-by-side. Each lost in their own thoughts; they were unable to speak as they thought about the previous night.

Eventually, Tarlana forced herself to look at her mother, and saw a reflection of the utter sadness and hopelessness that crushed her own heart. With an effort, she managed to say what they were both thinking, but which neither wished to admit.

“She can never can home, can she?” For a final moment, she indulged the juvenile hope that her mother might be able to do something, to say that it would be all right. Almost desperately, she sought to banish her common sense as it smothered the silly, childish hope that her sister might one day return to their home. However, her mother’s answer and tone was enough to end any foolish fancy.

“No, my daughter, she is beyond our reach. Karna is lost to us. Forever.”

There, in the light of early morning, in that back street of Tashbaan, a mother and daughter wept, openly hugging each other. They gained what solace they could from the other’s presence, weeping for a loved one whom they would never see again.

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Unlike many of his companions, Lord Marken of Narnia lacked an ability to converse easily and openly with those whom he was not acquainted. In comparison to the courteous Peridan, he had never enjoyed meeting new people. This was something that had caused him to question King Edmund’s decision to make him one of the party many times. For, their primary aim in being sent to Calormen ahead of the royal party was to oversee the preparation of the house within which Queen Susan was to reside. The fulfilment of this task required the Narnian delegation to attend meals with people of influence and importance. Action done to develop acquaintances and good relations, a thing that Marken could not have been less qualified to fulfil.

They had now been in Tashbaan for over a week, and every evening had been spent in feasting and polite conversation, whilst each day required engagements and the attendance of meetings. All in all, he had found their time in Calormen to be dull, wasteful and somewhat disconcerting, as they had been exposed to various sides of the society that he had at times thought barbaric. Only in the company of his friends had he ever felt at ease enough to laugh and truly be himself. Now, as he dressed in a clean tunic to attend yet another lunch with the Grand Vizier, he found he anticipated little pleasure in the event.

Peridan heartily agreed with him as they met in the garden of their residence.

“I do not care for this Grand Vizier either, Marken, but until Queen Susan arrives, we must maintain a show of courtesy and politeness. Though I am of one mind with you concerning this country and its people. The more I see of it, the less I am pleased.”

“What do you think of Prince Rabadash?” Marken asked as they nodded to their soldiers, good men who had come as a sort of escort for their party.

“I find him as vain and untrustworthy as I did in Narnia. I have spoken of this with Queen Lucy and she agreed with me entirely. There was a strange, veiled manipulation and cunning about his courtesy and gallantry to the queen. I find that I distrust him even more in his own country.”

“I am glad that I am not the only one who found little to trust when he was with us at Cair Paravel …”

Marken had wished to go on, but was stopped by the entrance of the Grand Vizier’s guide. Both men inclined their heads as was expected in response to the guide’s low bow.

“My master the esteemed Grand Vizier has asked me to escort you to his humble home, would you please care to follow me, my lords?”

“We humbly accept the offer of your master and will follow,” Peridan replied formally, inclining his head once more to the man before he led them away down the road. As he strode ahead, he called loudly, “Way! Way! Way for the barbarian lords of the north! Way for the lords of Narnia!”

As they passed through the dusty, cluttered streets, Peridan once again found himself wondering about the girl Karna. He recalled the expression on her face when he had last seen her. Flustered and submissive, she had shown little of the wonder and curiosity that he had seen at their welcoming feast. Instead, she had seemed almost deadened and lifeless, as she had told them of her forthcoming marriage. He had been truly shocked to find that maidens were forced to marry against their will in this country, and something within him had longed to aid her in her distress. The intensity of this longing had surprised Peridan. For, in his life, he had ever been a man of judgement and contemplation; yet now he found himself fervently wishing to help this girl, despite the impossibility and likely failure of his intervention even if he had happened to find her.

The man led them out of the more busy streets and into the wide, cleaner cobbled ways that led to the gardens and palaces of the Tarkhaans and Tarkheenas. They were taken into the now familiar garden of the Grand Vizier. As always, Peridan was struck by the lovely fragrance of the jasmine that grew in abundance. Amidst the dust and dirt of the city, the garden was a haven of beauty and serenity. But they did not dawdle in that pleasant place and had soon gone into large, cool entrance hall of the Grand Vizier’s palace.

As he entered, Peridan was once more struck by how ornately the walls were carved, beautifully inlaid with coloured stones and a masterpiece in themselves. However, he had little time to admire the beauty of the architecture, for the Grand Vizier stood before them, a silken turban upon his head and a wide smile upon his overly oiled face. He bowed low to the Narnians, all the more emphasising the hump upon his back by the action. He appeared rather silly, to bow so low before them, bedecked as he was in all his finery. Peridan had long ago got the impression that this man owed a lot of his success to having developed a great talent for flattery.

“My honoured lords, in the name of Tash, the inexorable, the irresistible, I welcome you to my humble home once more. It is indeed an honour to have been so graciously accepted by your most excellent persons. Have the poets not said that the condescension of great men is worth twenty times the flattery of a pauper?” Playing the role that was expected of him, Peridan returned the bow with one of his own,

“We in turn do thank you, most gracious host, for the kindness of your extended invitation, in the name of Aslan, we greet you.” The Grand Vizier nodded gravely before drawing aside,

“My lords, you are most welcome, please enter and partake of your refreshment. If you have any wish whatsoever, do not hesitate to ask. My slave-girls will attend to your every whim. Refresh yourselves before beginning your meal.” Still rather embarrassed by the Calormen tradition of being waited upon hand and foot by slaves, Peridan accepted the fragranced water bowl gratefully. He failed to receive even a glance from the slave girl in response, for her eyes remained downcast and obedient, as was expected. After the rest of the Narnians had seated themselves, the Grand Vizier lowered himself into a cushioned chair. At the clap his hands, and servants hurried forward. In their hands they bore countless dishes and platters, all of which were placed upon the table.

“How do you find the cuisine of Calormen compares to the fare of your own land my lord?” The Grand Vizier enquired, taking great care to only eat after his guests had started.

“I find the cuisine of Calormen quite similar, my lord,” Peridan replied, “although there is a greater abundance of somewhat simpler foods eaten within Narnia. All of the food of Calormen is wide and varying, there is such a variety. The tastes are so rich, I find myself experiencing a different dish at every meal that I attend.” The Grand Vizier nodded agreeably, taking a delicate sip of wine from his goblet, he seemed to contemplate upon Peridan’s every word.

“We take a great deal of pride in the diversity of our cuisine, my lord Peridan, it is the mark of a good host and hostess that a guest never experiences the same dish throughout their stay. I look forward to the day when I shall have a wife to aid me in the expansion of my own table’s variety.” Peridan paused.

“You are to be married, my lord Ahoshta?” The Grand Vizier nodded sagely, attempting to remain solemn, though Peridan could see eagerness in the man’s small eyes.

“I am, my lord, this coming autumn to take Lady Aravis Tarkheena as my wife. She is the daughter of Kidrash Tarkhaan the governor of Calavar Province. A lady of great family and noble birth, and I very much look forward to our forthcoming marriage.”

“How old is the lady, my lord?” Peridan asked.

“She is not yet fourteen, and of very marriageable age I have been informed by her father. He is as pleased by the match as I, and even the great Tisroc (may he live forever), has nodded in condescension at the suitability of the marriage.”

“What sort of lady is she?” Peridan asked, forcing back his exclamation at the extreme youth of the bride-to-be. Within Narnia, such a child would have still been under the tutelage of her governess.

“One of grace and virtue, modesty and beauty,” the Grand Vizier replied self-satisfactorily, “I have met the lady on three separate occasions and found her to be very pleasant and agreeable, qualities which one finds desirable in a wife.” Peridan forced himself to kept a pleasant smile upon his face.

“Have you a wife, my Lord Peridan?” The Tarkhaan asked politely, offering his guest some salmon. Taking the offered dish, Peridan placed some upon his plate and nodded gratefully.

“I have not, my Lord Ahoshta, as of yet I have found no reason to desire a wife and have not met a young lady whom I might consider as compatible with myself.” The Calormen nodded solemnly,

“If one does not find oneself compatible with a woman it does not savour of much good for the future relationship,” he agreed, taking another sip of his wine. “Have you seen any women among my own race who have caught your fancy, my lord?” The Grand Vizier’s glance became suddenly suggestive as he motioned towards the servant girls who stood along the walls. Peridan visibly struggled to maintain his composure at the implication of the Calormen’s words.

“I have seen no women who would inspire such feelings within me, my lord,” he replied somewhat stiffly, cutting his fish with more vehemence than was completely necessary. An action that was noticeable to all in the room, least of all the Grand Vizier who adroitly changed the subject to hunting and the court in general, sensing the anger of his guest.

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All of her life, Karna had loved the colour green, but in the dusty, cluttered back streets of Tashbaan, there was not a colour that they were less likely to find. As a child, she had loved walking with her mother by the side of the river and catching glimpses of the green sanctuaries that had been created for the enjoyment of the Tarkhaans and Tarkheenas. Even later in her life, when she had first gained her employment under Master Tirshan, she had loved walking with Tamara and her sisters amongst the vegetables gardens and had even dared to occasionally glance into their master’s own beautiful escape from the dust of the city.

She had never walked upon grass until that strange night with the lion, and yet now, her dreams seemed to be full of the colour green. When she slept, she would find herself within deep forest glades, either dancing among the trees in the firelight, or lying upon lush, green grass in the sun, she was always surrounded by the colour, and she loved it. At night she would remember tales that her mother had told her about the colour green, of jewels that were supposed to contain the very depths of nature in their colour, emeralds they were called.

Only in sleep did Karna find her rest and peace. When her days were filled with a pain far greater than any that she had every experienced. Every day, Karlis would sit by her, tenderly nursing her wounds and caring for her needs, whilst going about her every day life and carefully keeping her hidden. But there was very little that she was able to do for Karna’s arm. It had been hit so badly by Tarneesh that it had broken, and the result was agony for Karna. It meant that she could find no rest in the day, as she lay in perpetual misery. Rest was only found when Karlis mixed together certain herbs to give her sleep. Yet, even then Karna would wake in the morning drowsy and feel ill for the rest of the day, a condition that did little to raise her spirits or aid her recovery. However, the poverty of their lives meant that no doctor could be called for, and, as she was, Karna was forced to suffer from the broken arm, without hope of recovery or healing.

As the days passed, she grew in strength and by the end of the week was able to sit up in bed quite comfortably, although her lip was still badly scarred and her bruises quite prominent, she felt relatively comfortable except for her arm, and was able to feed herself with her left hand. Thus it was, that after much coaxing, she was finally able to persuade Karlis to leave her for an hour to visit their mother and tell her of Karna’s condition and safety. This apprehension had been concerning her all week, causing her to fear for their mother’s health. Yet, after a while, Karlis returned, bringing their mother with her, and the joy of both was greater than either could express.

With tears of relief and thankfulness in her eyes, Karna’s mother embraced her daughter, gently kissing her forehead; she looked into the bruised, abused face with a mixture of joy and terrible sadness.

“Oh my daughter, oh my child,” she exclaimed, “what has become of you?”

“Hush mother, I am well and I am safe,” Karna comforted, gently taking her mother’s hands in her own. “Karlis has taken care of me since the night of the attack and as you can see, I am alright.” Her mother shook her head,

“Karna, oh Karna, we thought that you were dead, for no-one had seen you. Though we asked far and wide throughout the city, there had been no sight of you and we were terrified that you have been killed. Oh my daughter, Tash be praised that you are all right! I have never prayed so fervently for anything in all of my life as I have prayed for your safe deliverance. But what is to become of you? We must pray that your step-father never hears of you again or it shall be worse.” Karna looked down,

“Mother, he will not care to hear my name spoken again and he will certainly not pursue me, for I am dead to him, do you not remember what he said on that night?”

“Yes, my daughter I do, but if he even hears your name again, he will seek you out to kill you, he feels so greatly dishonoured. I am never seen him more angry.” Karna hung her head as tears stung her eyes. As she did so, her arm throbbed once more, carefully bound though it was, and she lacked the strength to restrain the shudder that wrenched through her body. Always alert, her mother missed nothing and immediately reached out gentle finger to move her daughter’s hand from her arm. Fearful, Karna watched as her mother ran soft finger over the wounded limb. Even this gentle touch proved painful, and at one moment, she was unable to stop a cry escaping from her lips. When she dared open her eyes, she saw the paleness of her mother’s expression and stared at her in horror.

“Mother, is there no hope of it mending?” she asked fearfully, seeing the answer in those pained eyes.

“Oh my daughter … dearest Karna we have no money, and such an injury … it would cost more money than we could make in a year to set. A surgeon would never come to us.” Hopelessly, Karna let the tears fall, feeling the last of her hope drain away as they wet her cheeks.

She was utterly helpless, lacking even a body that worked.

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