Emeth stared with widened, dark eyes in absolute wonderment at the sight of blue sky and clear, running water. A ridge of mountains shielded by white clouds appeared off in the distance. How had he come to this incredible, breathtaking land?

He remembered walking through the stable door, confronting that vile Tarkaan and seeking Tash. Throughout his entire life, he had always sought Tash.

As a youth, his beautiful mother and wise father debated sending him to be pledged to the great god, so fervent was his devotion. Many a young boy was given to the temples as an acolyte and, with years of dedication, rose through the ranks to serve as a priest. The high priest of Tash's main temple himself held the greatest of respect and power, second only to the Grand Vizier.

But to be initiated into the temples took many pieces of gold, that which his family did not have to spare for him. He was not the favored eldest, only the mere seventh son of Harpha Tarkaan. There was no wealth within his father's household in the city Tehishbaan, westward beyond the desert. So as many did in his predicament, he joined the Tisroc's army as a lowly foot soldier. He had toiled and worked hard, gaining a position as a loyal officer and earning a brave reputation in battle.

Then came the fated call to Narnia.

Narnia.

That strange Northern land where beasts were larger than life and walked and spoke as humans did. The same beasts were ruled most often times ruled by a single sovereign, but there had been a golden age when two warlike brothers and equally two beautiful sisters shared the burden of power. But that was not what caught Emeth's attention about the barbaric country. It was said that their god took the form of a great lion.

Aslan.

Emeth had read dissertations on the mythical beast eager to absorb all knowledge about that cursed name. The lion was said to have aided the end to the Sorceress' one hundred year rule of ice and snow, crowning the royal siblings himself with his bare paws. Rabadash the Ridiculous (no one ever called him Rabadash the Peaceful after his death) himself saw the demon god's mighty fury, after the Tisroc of old had invaded the North in an attempt to seize the eldest of the sister-queens and bring her to Tashbaan.

And that was what stuck with Emeth throughout his years in battle. In the beginning of time since the word was first sung, no mention of Tash taking form amongst the people existed in any of the ancient or modern works. The young soldier had scoured the tomes in his travels and the painted depictions of the vulture headed god. Tash had never once taken tangible amongst his believers, only appearing in visions dating back to ancient times. Yes there were many works describing his birdlike head and multiple arms, but no one had ever described Tash's eye color as he peered into your soul or felt if his hands were smooth like a nobleman or roughened like the warrior Emeth was.

These answers the man sought with single-mindedness, to know his god's face. Many have told him it was not for a rash boy to know. Only when his life was to be judged before the great and terrible being would his questions be satisfied, and that moment would only come in death.

He had chosen death by walking through the stable door in his hope to find Tash.

But Emeth had found something more, something grand and beautiful and wondrous.

After slaying the hidden Tarkaan, he had wandered a lush countryside, the scent of sweetness wafting in the air. Surely this was the land of Tash, and the youth would find the most fervent of his desires satisfied by finally seeing his god's face, but between two rocks sprang an entirely different being instead.

The lion, as fast as an ostrich and large as an elephant, had given him salvation, understanding, and most of all forgiveness for all of his actions in the name of Tash. The warrior had blood upon his hands and darkness upon his soul, but his heart was pure. The Glorious One had called the lowly him, Beloved, though he had been a servant of the enemy. It was all too much to take in as he sat beneath a chestnut tree beside a babbling stream of water.

Eight Kings and Queens had approached him, all with crowns upon their heads and dressed in glittering clothes. Though Emeth saw the men dressed in mail with swords in their hands, he knew these great warriors would not slay him. They too possessed the happiness of one who had seen the Lion.

Not knowing where to go, and wishing with all of his being to see the great beast again, the single Calormene followed the menagerie of Dogs, Unicorn, Tigers, and Bears ever Westward, further up and further into the green and vibrant country.

Past the rich valleys, up the mighty waterfall, and through the golden gate, all present realized this was truly home. This was their real country, and the land they had been looking for all of their lives.

Emeth hung back watching as the noble rulers embraced a talking mouse with a red feather stuck in a circlet upon its head. Its hand rested upon a sword belted to his side. Was Narnia so warlike that they gave weapons even to the smallest of creatures?

Centaurs, Owl, a great winged horse. It was all too much to take in. The soldier knew none of those so fondly greeted by the Narnian Kings and Queens.

He was alone in a sea of people.

A beautiful figure clothed in a long, soft dress, with black, silky hair cascading down to her waist entered his vision.

Emeth scrambled down to his knees bowing his head in supplication.

A melodious voice laughingly entreated him, "Rise, my child, you need not bow to me."

"I cannot, for one so lowly such as myself should not look upon Zardeenah, Lady of the Night and of Maidens, for surely you must be her."

The young man had never considered whether the minor gods took corporeal form, but this woman was too beautiful to be a mere mortal.

The woman smiled, "I am honored that you think of me as such, but I am not she," and with strong hands upon his shoulders guided him up to stand before her.

Emeth blushed and shyly looked upon the figure. No blemish or wrinkle marred her face, and her dark eyes were only filled with kindness.

"I have not seen expected to see another citizen from Tashbaan," he admitted with reluctance.

He glanced around to the fair skinned Narnians milling around in the distance. He and the mysterious woman were the only ones dark of skin.

The woman gave him a wistful smile. "I am no longer of Tashbaan, young one. I am an Archenlander now."

The man looked upon her in surprise, "But no one has ever left to join the barb-" He caught the insult just in time. "To join another country before. Why would you leave paradise behind?"

"It was not paradise though I was a Tarkheena surrounded by the riches of my father's household and promised in marriage to a Grand Vizier. I would only have been exchanging one cage for another."

"Sometimes," she continued, "One must face death in order to gain the world."

Emeth followed her line of sight to two fair headed men, both handsome in face and so similar in features they must have been related.

He nodded in understanding. There had been many things he had questioned in his years of service to ruler and country. This peaceful land, its people, and the Great Lion! How he understood it now! "I was wrong to believe Tashbaan was so. This truly is paradise."

The woman gave him a beautiful smile. "It is, but Tashbaan can also be, after all it is only across the ridge away." She gestured with an elegant hand, and the man followed her direction.

To his immense surprise, Emeth could see his homeland off in the distance. The tall minarets of the temples devoted to the gods, the sun colored dunes of sand, even the Tisroc's (may he live forever) palace appeared as if a stone's throw away. But that was impossible. Such places were miles away. He could see his childhood home. The palace was at the heart of the city. From his homely dwelling it would have taken a half days' march as the egret flies. Everything was nearer than it should be. The colors flickered in his vision, but they were more real, more tangible than he had ever seen before. How could this be? No, it was as if the land he knew before was only a foggy image in a looking glass. This was the true Tashbaan, shining like a piece of gold upon a jut of land branching from the great mountains.

"Perhaps I can find some of my kinsmen there," he spoke with excitement.

"There may be some as pure of heart as you are, young one."

He shook his head emphatically, "I am not a clean man. I have sinned and done many things in the name of Tash. I should have been following the Lion all along."

"I too have committed wrongs, but Aslan has forgiven me." She placed a hand against her shoulder, still bearing the marks of his lesson. "And so you must also forgive yourself. That is the hardest thing to do. Perhaps this is why you tarry when you should be celebrating."

Emeth frowned in his place. Why had he been reluctant to explore this brave, new world? He had been holding himself back, thinking himself unworthy to be in such splendor. Aslan had already judged him to be true at heart. Graciously he bowed to the grand lady.

"You have my thanks and gratitude, my lady."

She returned his bow with grace. "May I have your name?" she questioned.

"Emeth, son of Harpha Tarkaan of Tehishbann."

The woman seemed to be unfamiliar with the city of his birth, which was odd seeing as the city had been in existence for 500 years.

"My name is Aravis of Archenland." She had dropped the title of Tarkheena soon after her relocation to Anvard.

The young man gave a sudden start. "That is my sister's name, also my grandmother's."

Aravis gave a curious smile, "It was never a common name amongst the women of Tashbaan."

Emeth shook his head, "No, but within the bloodline of my father it is an honored name often passing from mother to daughter. It is told that the ritual was in honor of my greatest great-grandfather's sister who ran away from an arranged marriage in his youth.

His companion's breath caught, a hidden hope rising within her heart. "Your grandfather must have loved his sister very much."

The soldier nodded, "Many stories were passed down of her kindness and bravery."

Aravis frowned, "She was a selfish girl who only thought of herself without understanding the consequences of her actions."

It was Emeth's turn to look displeased. "Yes, she disobeyed the wishes of my grandfather's father but it turned out for the best. The Tarkaan she was promised to was found in disfavor and stripped of his titles and riches soon after Rabadash's return from his foolish invasion of the North. Had she been married to him as was planned our family name would have been blighted from her association to him. We always supposed she died in the desert crossing, but she is still fondly thought of in my family for changing her destiny in the end. Perhaps now I may find out what truly happened to her."

He glanced over at the woman beside him only to be shocked to find her with tears in her eyes.

Aravis seized both his hands within her firm grasp. "And I always wondered what happened to my beloved baby brother. I'll be happy to tell you what happened to your grandfather's sister, my nephew."

His eyes widened with shock as she led him to the two men she was gazing at with such love and devotion before.

Emeth considered Aravis' earlier words:

"Sometimes one must face death in order to gain the world."

He had left behind a land of cruel orders, deceptive leaders, and black hearts. What a contrast in the place he was in now! Amongst the back drop of sunny forests, green slopes, and falling waterfalls, carefree laughter and stories were passed amongst strangers and friends equally.

On the path to death, Emeth had truly found a world worth gaining.

And by the grace of the Lion, he might have found family he never knew he had along the way.

I suppose this is turning into a series of sorts. There are so few stories of HHB on the website. As always, many scene descriptions and phrases of speech were taken from the original source material, C.S. Lewis' Horse and His Boy and The Last Battle. The concept of one must facing death in order to gain the world is taken from a line similar in What Dreams May Come – "Sometimes, when you lose, you win." The idea for this story is taken from leggomystego's O the Delight of My Eyes. The portrayal of Aravis as a mother figure to her little brother made me write this to portray the strength of that bond.

Please review,

Grignard