Ahem... I'm just going to apologize for taking so long to get this up, and leave it at that.
Not long after Aravis and Lasaraleen left for a nearby village, Cor decided to explore the area around the campsite in order to do something besides worry about the girls. Corin opted to stay behind, perhaps sensing that Cor was in the mood to be alone. So Cor grabbed a skin of water and set off in an eastward direction.
The salty scent of the ocean was on the air, indicating that they had camped not far from the shore. However, Cor was surprised to discover exactly how close they truly were. He had been leisurely walking for no more than a quarter of an hour before he came to the edge of the beach. The trees through which he had been walking ended abruptly, mere feet from the edge of a sandy dune, and Cor found himself staring down at a broad strip of beach and the seemingly endless expanse of ocean beyond.
There's a sight I haven't seen in a long time, Cor mused. Then, pushing aside memories from his past that had sprung unbidden into his mind, he grinned and ran down the steep dune. Stiff, sparse grass rustled as he plowed through it and his feet left deep pockmarks in the sandy slope. Air whistled past his ears, and for a moment, however brief, he felt carefree.
Once at the bottom, his momentum carried him towards the water. Cor slowed, but continued to where the waves lapped the shore. He hesitated at the edge, contemplating whether to enter the water, but the ocean made the decision for him when a larger wave came swiftly up and soaked his boots, even splashing higher up to his knees. Gasping in shock at the cold temperature, Cor decided it best not to get any more wet.
The prince turned and headed down the beach, after moving out of reach of any more wayward waves. For the first time since the journey had begun, Cor was thankful that it was the rainy season. Though the sun shone down on him, the air was not overwhelmingly hot and a refreshing breeze blew. It was altogether a pleasant day to walk on the beach.
However, pleasant or no, Cor's legs soon tired from walking in the sand. This – and the fact that he had noticed a shack a short distance down the beach – was a good enough reason for him to decide to turn back and explore somewhere else. But no sooner had he taken two steps back up the beach than he heard a choked cry and a great deal of splashing out in the water.
Cor spun, his eyes searching for the source of the noise. A small, rickety boat that had escaped his earlier observation floated twenty yards from shore and almost parallel to the shack down the beach. It was empty, though it rocked wildly, and the splashing came from a person who flailed next to the tiny vessel.
With no further hesitation, Cor sprinted down the beach, kicking off his boots and dropping his skin of water as he did so. When the boat was directly to his left, he turned and entered the ocean with a great splash. Heedless of the cold that he had earlier avoided, he swan toward the person with strong, fast strokes, sending a quick prayer to Aslan that he would reach the drowning man in time.
The man disappeared beneath the water before Cor reached him, and Cor covered the final few yards of distance in an adrenaline-powered lunge that sent him nearly all the way to the rickety, bobbing boat. Then, treading water to stay in one place, Cor ducked his head beneath the waves to locate the man. A breath of oxygen suddenly rushed from his lungs, and he yanked his head back from the waves. He shuddered as he realized how close he had come to diving before checking the depths beneath him, for he surely would have ended up trapped in the tangle of fishing net that floated just below his churning feet.
Once recovered from the scare he had received, Cor cautiously sank beneath the surface and opened his eyes once more. His heart sank when he located a still body entangled in the very net he had managed to avoid. Steeling himself for what he was likely to find when he pulled the man from the water, he reached down and carefully took hold of the net. Cor managed to tug the net – and the man with it – to the surface and over to the nearby boat.
Cor grasped the net in one hand to keep it from sinking beneath the surface again while he clambered over the side of the boat. Then, grunting, he tugged the net bit by bit towards him until he was able to grab the coarse fabric of the man's shabby and soggy tunic. The man was in the boat in another moment, and Cor hesitated slightly before leaning down to check for a sign of life. A breath of relief escaped him when he felt a pulse. Then, Cor was momentarily startled as the man began to cough violently. Water gushed from the man's mouth. It was a nasty business, and Cor looked away until the coughing subsided. Then he helped the man to lean against the side of the boat. The man's eyes remained shut while Cor hunted for oars.
Soon Cor had rowed the rickety vessel to shore. He pulled the boat as far up onto the beach as he could, then helped the recovering man over the side and onto the sand. They both lay there panting for a moment before Cor realized that he had lost his turban. Panicked, he frantically glanced around for it before realizing that it must have come off in the water. There would be no disguising his blond hair now. Thankfully, the dye on his skin was water-resistant and remained the same shade of dark, golden brown that it had been before he had entered the water.
It was at this moment that the man Cor had rescued seemed to pull himself out of the daze that he had been in. The man struggled to a sitting position, looking around in amazement before his eyes fell on Cor. Then he promptly threw himself onto his face before the prince.
To Cor, the gesture seemed ridiculous and unnecessary, and his cheeks burned. He muttered something about silly Calormene customs as he stood. Then he extended a hand to the Calormene. It went unnoticed, for the old man had buried his bearded face in the sand.
"Oh, for goodness' sake! I didn't just save you from drowning in the ocean so that you could go and suffocate yourself on the beach! There's no need for you to bow to me like that."
The old man pulled his head up, but remained on his knees. "You have saved my life, humble and worthless though it may be. I am indebted to you for all of eternity!" He seemed as though he wanted to say more, but he lapsed into a coughing fit.
Cor shifted uncomfortably. "Perhaps you should change into dry clothes… is that your home over there?"
The old man nodded, still coughing. Cor helped him to his feet and they slowly made their way to the dilapidated shack. An uneasiness developed in the prince as they drew closer, for there was a nagging familiarity about the place that he could not quite put a finger on. When they stumbled through the door, realization finally hit him like a ton of bricks. His breath caught in his throat and he very nearly ran out the door as fast as his legs could take him.
It was different than he remembered. Smaller, and much more dingy – though that could be expected since Cor had grown used to living at Anvard. What sparse furniture that occupied the small room was unfamiliar and very shabby. Arsheesh had come farther down in the world since Bree had helped Cor escape to Archenland.
Somehow, something stopped the prince from following his first instinct – namely, running like a frightened rabbit. Cor watched the old man totter pathetically across the tiny room towards a ratty curtain that scarcely covered a low doorway. The hut reeked strongly of fish and another stench that Cor could not quite place. He breathed through his mouth and sat down hard on a poor, threadbare excuse for a cushion as the old fisherman disappeared into the shack's only other room.
Aslan, there must be a reason that you have brought me back here. I only ask that he not realize who I am. Cor pulled his knees to his chest and buried his face in his arms. Please, please don't let him remember me!
"I would offer you something to eat, but my food is all gone, O my Savior," the old man wheezed as he rejoined Cor in the main room of the hut.
The disguised prince lifted his head sharply. "Don't call me that!"
"But –"
"No!"
"It is only proper –"
Cor jumped to his feet, towering over the confused, shrunken Calormene. "Only One deserves the title of Savior, and I am not He. Do not call me by that name again!"
Shaking, the old man threw himself to his knees again in front of Cor. "I only meant to honor you, my lord! I meant no offense! Please, have mercy on your humble servant!"
Cor snorted. "I'm not going to hurt you, Ar… fisherman. Though, I might be tempted to if you don't stop groveling."
"Of course, of course!" Arsheesh jumped up and motioned to the cushion that Cor had abandoned. "Please, sit, my lord!"
Reluctantly, Cor sank back down onto it. As his former master scuttled to a corner for another cushion – this one in even worse shape than Cor's – the prince wondered not for the first time why he had not run when he had the chance. At least now there probably was not a chance that Arsheesh would recognize him, for when Cor was a slave he never would have dared to even think about yelling at the man. Discovering that he was a prince and learning how to be one had given Cor more confidence and the ability to exude authority when necessary.
After settling himself on his own cushion, Arsheesh cocked his head and squinted at his guest. His curiosity had first been piqued when Cor had refused to accept the flattery that was customarily due one who had saved another from some awful fate. Now, looking at the youth, the fisherman realized that Cor was a very interesting person indeed. He was clearly a foreigner, though his skin was definitely much darker than would be expected on one with blond hair and blue eyes. People with the coloring of the barbarian North very rarely came this far south unless they were slaves. Yes, the boy was quite interesting.
Cor was uncomfortable with the old man's scrutiny, and he shifted uneasily on his cushion. I wish I hadn't lost my turban. Then, an idea occurred to him, and he knew how to turn the unwanted attention to another place… or rather, person.
"How did you come to live in such a condition, fisherman? And how did you end up in the water today? Your boat wasn't capsized."
The old man nodded and frowned theatrically, and Cor knew his ploy had worked. Arsheesh loved to talk about himself, and the prince was pleased that he had remembered the fact. That is, he was pleased until he realized exactly what he had set himself up for.
"Those questions can be answered with one story, O mysterious stranger," Arsheesh said. Then he proceeded to spin the tale of his life since the night that Cor had escaped.
When Anradin Tarkaan, the honored and esteemed guest of Arsheesh, had discovered that his noble war horse had wandered off, he was furious and had set off right away towards his home. However, his fury of that morning had no compare to that when he had returned to the hovel of the humble fisherman and servant of Tash (the inexorable, the irresistible) and learned that the fisherman's missing slave boy had disappeared the same night as the horse. It did not take much thought to realize that the boy had taken the horse. (Never mind that the boy could scarcely ride, Cor thought wryly.) The Tarkaan had blamed the poor Arsheesh for the actions of the slave, had the fisherman beaten, and had the man's cottage and stable burned to the ground after everything of value had been removed in order to compensate for the loss of the horse. Arsheesh had been disgraced, and even though his boat had been spared the fate of his house, few people wanted to do business with him after the incident with the red-bearded Tarkaan. Barely able to scrape by, Arsheesh had done his best to rebuild his home on the foundations of the old one, though it was much smaller and clearly inferior to the original. He had gone from living in poverty to being very nearly destitute, and he finally could not take it anymore. One morning he discovered that he had no more food, and he had taken his boat out to try and catch something. Once out on the water, he had watched the waves, thinking how peaceful they seemed. Drowning would be a fitting way for a fisherman to die, he had thought. Then he had made up his mind and thrown himself into the ocean. No one would miss him, and his misery would be over.
"But I did not even have the courage to end my life," Arsheesh whined. "I am a poor excuse for a human being and have nothing and no one to live for, but when I felt the water filling my lungs, I wanted nothing but to live even a few seconds longer. And then Tash, the inexorable, the irresistible, sent you, O blue-eyed one, to save me from the fate I had chosen and then didn't want."
"It was not Tash who sent me," Cor muttered. He was disgusted with exactly how far Arsheesh had fallen – though the man had not been honorable to begin with. Cor wanted nothing more than to be away from the dingy, grimy hut and the pathetic man who owned it.
Arsheesh had lapsed into cursing his former slave and blubbering about how it was all the boy's fault that Arsheesh was so poor. He announced how he hoped the boy had fallen off the horse and died. Or made it to the desert and thirsted to death. Or been caught by someone and sent to work in the mines and fallen into a bottomless pit. The fisherman also gloated about how the Tarkaan who had destroyed his home and livelihood had gone to war and been killed.
Cor finally had enough. He stood without warning and turned to go. Then, remembering how the pathetic man had saved him when he was a baby, he spun around and tossed a small sack on the ground. Arsheesh's eyes glittered greedily when he heard the unmistakable clink of coins inside.
"Consider my debt to you paid."
Barely having heard the words the prince had uttered, Arsheesh was already counting the gold and silver while Cor walked out of the door and away from the man he had once called 'Father.'
This has to be my least favorite chapter so far. I had the biggest writer's block I've ever experienced while attempting to write it, and it didn't turn out the way I wanted. When I finally overcame my procrastination and the block evaporated, I was at the point that I just wanted to get it over with. I may someday come back and redo it, but for now I'm more than happy to leave it and move on.