Disclaimer: a legal statement denying all claim to; as to a piece of land, a piece of art, or a piece of literature.

Chapter Ten

I woke up the next morning, and it was already perhaps ten o'clock. I lay there on the grass for a minute, wondering where I was, and then I remembered, and with a curse, I jumped up.

"Rabadash! Oh, it's my fault!" I couldn't help but say. "Hwin, Hwin, get up! One wouldn't expect Horses to keep awake after a day's work like that," I muttered, "Even if they can talk. And of course that Boy wouldn't; he's had no decent training. But I ought to have known better. Bree! Shasta! Get up. Now."

Bree shifted, and Shasta groaned. Hwin was already standing. "Heigh-ho-Broo-hoo," yawned Bree. "Been sleeping in my saddle, eh? I'll never do that again. Most uncomfortable-"

I interrupted. "Oh, come on, come on! We've lost half the morning already. There isn't a moment to spare."

Bree blinked. "A fellow's got to have a mouthful of grass," he said, as Shasta sat up.

"I'm afraid we can't wait," I told him, not unsympathetically.

"What's the terrible hurry?" he asked. "We've crossed the desert, haven't we?"

"But we're not in Archenland yet," I reminded him. "And we've got to get there before Rabadash."

"Oh, we must be miles ahead of him. Haven't we been coming a shorter way? Didn't that Raven friend of yours say this was a shortcut, Shasta?"

Shasta shook his head regretfully, standing. "He didn't say anything about shorter. He only said better, because you got to a river this way. If the oasis is due North of Tashbaan, then I'm afraid this may be longer."

I bit back an exclamation. Shasta, too, looked in alarm at the sun. But Bree balked.

"Well I can't go on without a snack," he announced. "Take my bridle off, Shasta."

"P-please," said Hwin. "I feel just like Bree that I can't go on. But when Horses have humans (with spurs and things) on their backs, aren't they often made to go on when they're feeling like this? And then they find they can. I m-mean- oughtn't we to be able to do more even, now that we're free? It's all for Narnia."

I flung my arms about her, bravely willing to go on, even as exhausted as she was, but Bree said coldly. "I think, Ma'am, that I know a little more about campaigns and forced marches and what a horse can stand than you do."

Hwin's tail swished, and she looked down. I glared at Bree, but Shasta shrugged, and took off Bree's bridle.

He took out some food. "He's going to eat anyway," he murmured to me and to Hwin. "We might as well eat something while he does and take what we can from it."

I glared at him for caving so easily, but got out my own food and unbridled Hwin. When we finally got started, at nearly noon, I was almost bursting with impatience and anxiety.

But Bree did not seem to want to go. He followed the same program as the day before, but the walks were longer, and the trots were shorter, and less brisk.

Finally, Hwin took the lead, going a bit faster than Bree had been taking us. I was very proud of her; I knew her paces and her strength, and she was still nearly spent from the day before, and still in awe of Bree.

We rode down the valley, all lovely grass and beautiful little shrubs of flowering plants, and the shrubs gradually gave way to short trees, and then to big trees. It was nothing like the day before. The river let off a lovely chirping and a nice breeze. Finally, the gorge widened, and I saw a wonder.

The river we had been following joined a larger, great, rushing, roaring giant of a river up ahead, flowing away towards the east. Just past the river the country rose up again in hills, up to the Northern mountains. To the east lay rocky cliffs, and I saw actual snow on some of them- something I had heard about only in stories. To the west the mountains went on forever, blue in the distance, yet green with spiny pines closer to us, and riddled with valleys and gorges beyond count. Just ahead the mountains dipped in what I assumed must be the pass from this mountain country- Archenland- to Narnia beyond.

"Broo-hoo-hoo," cried Bree, apparently getting a wind back. "The North! The green North!"

We went to try to find a place across the great river to cross. Ahead of us it was too swift, and to the west too full of rapids to cross, but a ways down the river we found a place where it widened and became shallow. The water cast up cool air in our faces. I looked over at Bree and saw Shasta, eyes bright, cheeks red with excitement. He looked over at me and simply beamed. As if in instinct, I smiled back. To a face that full of happiness, I think I would have been less than human not to smile back.

"Friends, we are in Archenland!" said Bree, shaking his mane and dripping water over the Northern bank. "I think that river we've just crossed is called the Winding Arrow."

Hwin looked back south nervously. "I do hope we're in time," she muttered to me.

It was hard, though, to go fast now, for the hills were steep, and there was just so much to look at. Doing switchbacks up the hills, I looked here and there and everywhere and simply couldn't take it all in. There were trees I'd never seen before everywhere, great, tall, magnificent trees with silver bark or wide, pale leaves. Every now and then a rabbit would break out from behind the next hill, and just over another ridge I saw, in the distance, more deer than I'd ever seen go off in a herd together, at peace and in their element rather than locked up in some Tarkaan's menagerie.
"Isn't it simply glorious!" I couldn't help saying, without knowing whom I addressed.

"Hullo!" came Shasta's voice suddenly. "What's that?"

I looked, and Bree and Hwin looked where he pointed, back south, where the desert had completely swallowed up Tashbaan.

"That!" Shasta said. "It looks like smoke. Is it a fire?"

"Sand-storm, I should say," Bree said.

"Not much wind to raise it," I said, with a sudden chill of foreboding.

"Oh!" cried Hwin. "Look! There are things flashing in it. Look! They're helmets- and armor. And it's moving: moving this way."

"By Tash! It's the army. It's Rabadash."

"Of course it is," moaned Hwin. "Just what I was afraid of. Quick! We must get to Anvard before it." Without waiting for Bree, without waiting for me, she began galloping North. I clutched on to her.

She did not stop or slow, and I cried back to Bree to come on.

The ridges and hills just went on, and Shasta looked back.

"They're on the river!" he yelled out.

"Quick! Quick! We might as well not have come at all if we don't reach Anvard in time. Gallop, Bree, gallop. Remember you're a war horse!" Hwin was slowing, but I hoped that if we had to stop and hide, at least Bree and Shasta could make it.

He had caught up to us now, and just then an awful noise rent the air behind us. The hair raised up on my forearms. It was a lion.

Hwin's ears went flat, but she could go no faster. Bree could, though, and he did. He was going faster and outstripping us, and I looked back, and my heart flew into my throat at once. There it was, gaining and gaining on us, a huge, golden cat, with teeth longer than my hand, it looked like. It was headed straight for me and for Hwin.

Now it was nearly upon us, every footfall getting closer still, snapping at Hwin. I bent over, trying to reach my scimitar, for all the good it would do. I wanted a weapon, anything!

Hwin let out a high, harsh, scream, and I suddenly saw that boy right there, standing not ten feet in front of us, face twisted in pain and horror, and then I was screaming. Hot, stabbing pain tore my shoulders once, twice. I just managed to stay in the saddle, and the boy was screaming out at the lion, running towards it and us, against all reason and towards death.

"Go home! Go home!"

The awful, punishing paw retreated, and a breeze stung my back. To my amazement, we were at a gate, and there was a man there, in autumnal orange with a long, white beard. But I was biting my lip to keep from weeping and hoping I did not faint. Hwin stumbled and I felt her shaking beneath me.

"Come in, my daughter, come in," the man said to me, and with gentle, firm hands he helped me out of the saddle. My clothing shifted and stuck to my back, and I nearly cried out again.

"Are-are-are you," Shasta was saying, and I heard him as if from a distance, "Are you King Lune of Archenland?"

The man, still helping me to stand, shook his head. "No. I am the Hermit of the Southern March. And now, my son, waste no time on questions, but obey. This damsel is wounded. Your horses are spent. Rabadash is at this moment finding a ford over the Winding Arrow. If you run now, without a moment's rest, you will still be in time to warn King Lune."

Shasta's face twisted in despair, but squared his shoulders. "Where is the King?" was all he asked.

"Look," the Hermit said pointing with his staff towards the north, and still supporting me with his other arm. "There is another gate, right opposite to the one you entered by. Open it and go straight ahead: always straight ahead, over level or steep, over smooth or rough, over dry or wet. I know by my art that you will find King Lune straight ahead. But run, run: always run."

Shasta gave a short, jerky nod, but it appeared dim to me. My head was spinning, and I felt myself half carried into a dark little house, and laid upon a bed, and then I relaxed blissfully into unconsciousness.

When I woke up, for a moment I was very frightened. I did not remember where I was or why I was there, and I looked around wildly for Bree, Hwin, and Shasta. I was lying on my stomach, and my shirt was gone. I tried to turn, but cried out softly as it stung me. Then I remembered what had happened. The lion, my back, the hermit.

The room was cool and bare, made of stone in a simple, homely style. The door opened just then, and the old man entered- the Hermit of the Southern March, he'd called himself. He set down a bowl on a nearby table, and asked me, "How do you find yourself, my daughter?"

I responded in like kind, "My back is very sore, father. But there is nothing else wrong with me."

He knelt beside the bed and placed a cool, dry, wrinkled hand upon my forehead gently. "There is no fever," he said softly. "You will do well. Indeed, there is no reason why you should not get up tomorrow. But now, drink this."

He came back with the bowl and held it to my lips. Normally I would have been embarrassed by this, but now I was simply grateful for his kindness. It wasn't what I had been expecting- water or stew. Instead, the strong taste of goat's milk met my tongue. I drank it all, though. It was cold and fresh and good, and as I drank it I relaxed. He reached down, and slowly, avoiding chafing my bandaged wounds, pulled a coverlet over my back.

"Now, my daughter, you may sleep when you wish. For your wounds are washed and dressed and thought they smart they are no more serious than if they had been the cuts of a whip."

I immediately felt sorry for anyone I had ever seen or ordered to be whipped.

The Hermit went on. "It must have been a very strange lion; for instead of catching you out of the saddle and getting his teeth into you, he has only drawn his claws across your back. Ten scratches: sore, but not deep or dangerous."

I blinked. "I say! I have had luck."

The Hermit looked down at me seriously. "Daughter, I have now lived a hundred and nine winters in this world and have never yet met any such thing as Luck. There is something about all this that I do not understand: but if ever we need to know it, you may be sure that we shall."

"And what about Rabadash and his two hundred horse?" I asked.

"They will not pass this way, I think. They must have found a ford by now well to the east of us. From there they will try to ride straight to Anvard."

I remembered Shasta had been running to warn the king. "Poor Shasta," I found myself saying. "Has he far to go? Will he get there first?"

"There is good hope of it," said the Hermit with a smile.

Slowly, slowly, I turned over to my side. "Have I been asleep for a long time?" I asked. The light was leaving the window. "It seems to be getting dark."

The Hermit looked away out of it. "This is not the darkness of night. The clouds are falling down from Stormness Head. Our foul weather always comes from there in these parts. There will be thick fog tonight."

I nodded, and he left. But I did not sleep right away. My back was still very sore. "Like the cuts of a whip," the Hermit had said. But oh, it stung, and more than that, it sapped my strength like the desert. I thought of all the times I had seen slaves or servants beaten for laziness or clumsiness, the few times I had ordered it myself in a fit of ill temper. I wasn't one of those that had liked to see them beaten, but I hadn't abstained, either. I wondered what it was like for them when they were beaten and had had to get right up and go back to work again, and do it well.

Then, I recalled with shame the one time I may have caused a slave to be beaten- in my escape, with poor, stupid Nasreen the servant of my stepmother. "You'll make a beautiful bride," she had said. "I worried that you were not pleased with me," she had said, and I had smiled contemptuously and drugged her and left her to be punished. I wondered who on earth I had thought I was. I remembered how disdainful, how proud I had been and despised myself.

For it had not just been to Nasreen, though that perhaps was the worst of it. I had been disdainful of Baba, who I'd known had loved me, trampling over him to get away. I had tyrannized poor Lasaraleen, who had done nothing but shelter and care for me, even as silly and as frightened as she was.

And then there was Shasta, I thought ruefully. The image of him, running at the lion, was forever going to be burned into my brain. With no weapon, no hope of possibly driving off the lion, still he had jumped off of a galloping war horse and run back to save Hwin, and yes, I thought, to save me. Oh, the brave, brave fool. And good. I considered how I had treated him, and briefly wondered if it had been him lagging behind, if I would have done the same. I did not like the conclusion I came to.

Here I had been, treating Shasta as if I were so much better than he, barely talking to him, still less saying anything remotely civil, calling him 'that boy' in my head, by Tash! And still he was good enough, and courageous enough to face certain death for a girl he knew disliked him. And it just got worse, I realized. This hadn't been, if I was honest with myself, the first time I had noticed something good, or brave, or even intelligent in Shasta. I had known early on in our journey that he was good, and useful, and still I had held him in contempt, as if I had behaved any better than he.

And now we were in Archenland, and should Lune vanquish Rabadash, we would be free. He could go on his own way. But now, I realized, now I didn't want him to. We had been through so much together, and I was only just now realizing what a worthy friend he would be in this strange, beautiful land. I hoped he would stay. I hoped Rabadash was vanquished so we both could stay.

The next day, after a breakfast of porridge and cream, my faintness and lethargy had fled, just as the Hermit had said. After I had eaten it, I asked if I could get up.

"Dear daughter, there is no reason why you should lay abed anymore than I," he said with a smile. "Your wounds are healing. Indeed, in a month I suspect even the scars shall only be a memory." He had ready for me a soft robe of white like he wore, and though it was far too big for me, I was able to roll up the sleeves and manage well enough.

I dressed, and left the room. The hermit's enclosure was beautiful- perfectly round with green hedges. The early morning sun danced on a still pool beneath a single, enormous tree. Over behind the hut from whence I had just come were a few goats, from which I assumed the milk I had drank last night had come. It was a peaceful place, a good place.

I saw Hwin, and she saw me. She looked well- near completely recovered from our ordeal. She came over to me at once, fairly trotting, and put her nose into my hair fondly. I supposed she was kissing me, as near as she could.

"Aravis," she said. "You are well?"

"I have rested," I said, "And the Hermit says my wounds aren't serious. My back is sore, but the scratches are already beginning to heal. And you? You nearly killed yourself trying to get us both away."

"That was nothing a little sleep and food couldn't cure," Hwin said softly. "I thought the lion had killed you, for a minute. I don't know what I would have done."

I patted her neck. "You don't ever have to know, thank the gods. But where's Bree?"

Hwin indicated the far side of the enclosure. "Over there. And I wish you'd come and talk to him. There's something wrong; I can't get a word out of him."

I went with her to where Bree was lying with his face towards the southern gate. He heard us coming, but he did not even twitch his ears.

"Good morning Bree," I said cautiously, unsure what was going on. "How are you this morning?"

He muttered something under his breath.

I began again, a little louder, forcing a cheerful tone. "The Hermit says that Shasta probably got to King Lune in time, so it looks as if all our troubles are over. Narnia, at last, Bree!"

"I shall never see Narnia," he said.

I began to honestly worry. "Aren't you well, Bree dear?" What could possibly keep him from Narnia?

He finally got up, and turned to face us. "I shall go back to Calormen," He announced.

"What? Back to slavery!"

"Yes," confirmed Bree. "Slavery is all I'm fit for. How can I ever show my face among the free Horses of Narnia?- I who left a mare and a girl and a boy to be eaten by lions while I galloped all I could to save my own wretched skin!"

I was silent, at last realizing what this was about. Hwin, however, shook her head. "We all ran as hard as we could," she said gently.

Bree snorted. "Shasta didn't!" Then he modified, realizing Shasta had. His head drooped. "At least, he ran in the right direction: ran back. And that is what shames me most of all. I, who called myself a war horse and boasted of a hundred fights, to be beaten by a little human boy- a child, a mere foal, who had never held a sword nor had any good nurture or example in his life!"

I blushed, realizing I must speak. "I know," I said softly. "I felt just the same. Shasta was marvelous. I'm just as bad as you, Bree. I've been snubbing him and looking down on him ever since you met us and now he turns out to be the best of us all. But I think it would be better to stay and say we're sorry than to go back to Calormen." I, at any rate, couldn't go back.

"It's all very well for you," Bree said. "You haven't disgraced yourself. But I've lost everything."

"My good Horse," said the Hermit. I turned to see he had come upon us silently. "My good Horse, you've lost nothing but your self-conceit."

Bree began to look annoyed, but the Hermit held up a hand. "No, no, cousin. Don't put back your ears and shake your mane at me. If you are really so humbled as you sounded a minute ago, you must learn to listen to sense. You're not quite the great Horse you had come to think, from living among poor dumb horses. Of course you were braver and cleverer than them. You could hardly help being that. It doesn't follow that you'll be anybody very special in Narnia. But as long as you know you're nobody very special, you'll be a very decent sort of Horse, on the whole, and taking one thing with another. And now, if you and my other four-footed cousin will come round to the kitchen door we'll see about the other half of that mash."

That afternoon we talked of our journey, and wondered where Shasta was, and if he had gotten through, and Rabadash had been stopped. One thing I noticed is that Bree was actually very worried about Shasta, even more, now, than he was worried about King Lune stopping Rabadash. I wouldn't have thought it- he always seemed so much of a teacher to Shasta, digging at him about his mistakes, dragging him about Calormen and all, but now I remembered that Shasta was the first friend Bree had had since his imprisonment. He, to some extent, had been much lonelier than Hwin, who had been given to me right after her own capture.

That, evening, though, we found the Hermit under the tree by the pool. A lantern was set in the ground beside him against the setting sun. He was staring into the pool with intense concentration. I looked from him to the water, and saw strange, fuzzy shapes moving there. "Pardon, father," I said. "What are you doing?"

"Come here, daughter," he said, and to Bree and Hwin with me he said, "You, too, cousins. See this pool? I have been gifted to see sometimes, what happens through Archenland and beyond in the water here. Now I have bent it to show truly what is even now taking place at Anvard. You will not be able to see, as I, but would you care to hear?"

"Oh, yes, father, please. And thank you," Hwin said.

"Rabadash and his men are come to Anvard," he announced, "But the gates are shut tight, and even now as they approach, arrows come from the walls. Good, then! You may trust to it that your Shasta has followed my instructions and has warned the king of Rabadash's attack. Five- seven Calormenes have fallen, but they know now that the attack has failed, and their shields are over their heads now. Rabadash is testing the gate now, his men surround him to protect him. He knows the gate is strong. There is no one for him to fight. He will go, but he will be back. The proud fool will not go back to Tashbaan with this news. He will hold them at siege and attempt to take the castle."

"With two hundred men?" Bree snorted.

"Rabadash has never been reasonable," I said.

"What is happening now?" Hwin asked.

The Hermit waved his hand impatiently. "He has ordered his men to withdraw. He will mount a guard, think of another plan, and attack again tomorrow. You should sleep, cousins, daughter. The pool will still be here tomorrow, and so will I."

A/N: Some of you expressed confusion as to how Aravis deserved to be "whipped by Aslan". While I was brought up in a home that preferred reasoned discussion of fault, I also grew up in a home that followed the maxim "Spare the rod and spoil the child" in extreme cases. I really DO think Aravis deserved her punishment, leaving a maid a casualty of her getaway: to be whipped or worse. if Kidrash Tarkaan had been the vindictive sort he may have blamed the maid: my Nasreen, and worse could have happened to her. It was proud and thoughtless of Aravis- an attitude she couldn't sustain if she was to come live in the North. That's just my view, mind. Like it or not, it's what I tried to express here. And anyway, it's canon. I'm glad you're enjoying this, and that you've borne with me all of this time. Leave a review!

God Bless!

L.M. Sharp