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THE RIDDLE OF THE LION
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"He came to me in my dreams again, that great love"
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The lion was there yet again; for the forty second night by Arzulu's reckoning. It regarded him gravely but, in its eyes, there was also love, pity, hope and joy in great measure. All of the finest emotions were projected and seemed wont to overwhelm the sleeper. Arzulu awoke with a gasp and – now inspired - exclaimed "Uncle Zarif!"
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"It is more dangerous to be half-wise than a fool"
Year 436 (by Narnian reckoning)
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Twelve stone sepulchres brooded at the edge of the desert, a reminder of times past. They were a forceful reminder of the death that comes to all men:
"The Guzelkoku blooms for a season yet is withered by the first frost."
Flaima Khal-am on mortality -2nd century Narnian Reckoning (1)
The city dwellers knew the place as 'the tombs of the ancient kings'. The travelling folk and remote villagers called them 'the twelve brothers' but, if asked why, would shrug their shoulders, reluctant to admit they'd reached the limit of their knowledge. Those early years, when their ancestors had stepped into that world, were irrecoverable. Like unto the summer haze on the Hal Hallim desert was the fog which clouded their memories.
Twelve brothers, of the first, native born generation had tried to dominate their kin. Each in turn had styled himself Prince and each, in turn, had been cut down by a sibling. Finally, only one young Princeling remained. He, being victorious, had taken the crude sword fashioned by his predecessor. Holding this symbol of office he tapped the blade but, alas for him, it was poisoned. The venom seeped into an existing cut and ate away at him until he was dead. The people gratefully built the dead man a tomb like those of his brothers, and vowed to have no more to do with Princes.
One warm summer night, as the breeze off the desert brought no relief just more warm air, a man stood waiting by the tombs. He had come on foot for it was not far from the city. The graves seemed to be sullenly aware of him and desirous of his departure. A small, ill-favoured bird sat staring and it proved unresponsive to a tossed pebble. "Krak," it scolded him, mocking his effort. Finally, a lightly armoured horseman appeared. "Blessings of Tash upon you," he said perfunctorily, sliding off his mount. Arzulu replied using a Calormene word meaning 'ditto'.
The horseman was simply but expensively dressed. Now, later Narnians liked to mock the Calormene love of scent but, frankly, bath oils and perfume are preferable to the smell of week old clothes and cooking fat. The newcomer, Zarif Sik, smelt pleasantly of lemon and hos and his beard was treated with a musky lotion. "That's the type of remark that gets me into trouble," he cautioned. The middle-aged man had, until two years earlier, been a highly respected member of the Astrologer's Guild. (2)
"Gets?"
"Got," Zarif corrected himself. "So, nephew, I've read your letter – and destroyed it. I hope your servant is as trustworthy as mine own."
"I trust him with my life."
"I'm a dangerous man to be seen with but I can't help wondering if you aren't just as bad." Zarif took an involuntary look about the place.
"It's safe enough here at this time," Arzulu replied. "It's better than you coming into the city."
"True; besides, there's a story about these tombs that you should hear." Zarif recounted the tale of the twelve brothers which, although interesting, didn't seem to be particularly relevant. "Ah, but, there is more to the tale," said the older man. "When I worked for the Observances Bureau I had access to the secret archive."
"There truly is a hidden library?"
"Indeed there is; it's not just a tall tale. You know the legend of Falimar and of the Apparition of Tash, of course?" (3)
"Who doesn't know it? The blessed pigeons of Falimar and so on…and the Djinn in the guise of the monstrous lion…"
Zarif nodded. "The lion troubles me, nephew. There was a document in the archive, an early oral tale transcribed later; though over a hundred years ago now. It gives a very different account of the lion. It also recounts Falimar's Dream which plagued him for the rest of the life. It sounds uncommonly like your vision."
"How can this be?" Arzulu wondered. "Why isn't this text made public?"
"Oh, thou art as green as the banks of the Asha Hal Farl after the spring floods. It would undermine the whole basis of the worship of Tash. Do you think, for one moment, that the Observances Bureau would make it known? The text disappeared shortly after I'd discovered it on the shelves. Somebody noticed that it had been moved."
"What should I do, uncle? I don't want to be troubled by this vision until I bring my grey hairs to the grave."
"I've plotted your astrological chart," said Zarif. Now, I ought to explain that although astrology is a great deal of bunkum in our world, it did actually work in that strange land. "I am convinced that you must seek the site of Falimar's village; there you will be answered".
"Oh, wonderful!" Arzulu exclaimed bitterly. "Then must I count the sands of the Hal Hallim or saddle the unbroken mule of the angry Sihirbaz (4)?"
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"The rustic may know more than the courtier"
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The crooked sign over the shop door read, in large letters, "Yarim Hekim: three years with the Tashbaan Medical School." Bracketed in much smaller characters were the words "Doctor – Failed". On the blackboard was a list of ointments and medicines purporting to cure anything from scrofula to nits; intestinal worms to hair-loss. Anybody that suggested the medicines were of dubious efficacy and went on to note that they all smelt very similar surely cast a slur upon such a fine practitioner.
In ancient Calormen there was a fairy-tale about a wild dog that chased all over the land hunting his own shadow. Poor Arzulu could now empathise with that benighted creature. He had search the country for nearly a year but to no avail. The long-lost home of Falimar seemed determined to remain lost. Arzulu obviously had never heard of the fabled city of Troy that remained hidden to our world until the nineteenth century AD. Now, the trick to finding Troy was to look for it where the locals knew it had been. A similar thing was about to happen for Arzulu.
The young man sat back on the battered couch, with his feet steeped in a large bowl of water full of fragrant herbs. Doctor Hekim (for so we must call him, out of courtesy) fussed about. He was looking for a sanding block to remove hard skin, and scissors to cut Arzulu's toenails. "Oh, that's better already," said the traveller appreciatively.
"You are travelling far, Authentez (5)?" the physician asked, interested. Visitors to the small village were few and far between. Any newcomer was of interest, as was any news from the wider world.
"I have been travelling for over a year now."
"Tash have mercy," Yarim Hekim tutted. "Such a journey to make! It is of import?"
"Well, to me, yes" Arzulu admitted. "It is, what you might call, a quest".
"May the blessings of Tash rain down on you," the doctor said perfunctorily. Such utterances were something of a reflex with the good physician. "What is it that you seek, if I may be so bold, Authentez?"
"You are familiar with the tale of Falimar and the blessed pigeons?"
"But of course, who isn't?" said the Doctor. He positioned a small footstool before his customer, and draped a towel over it. "Your left leg, if you please."
"I am seeking the original village in which Falimar lived," said Arzulu, expecting to impress.
"Oh! You mean B'koy? It's not far, just towards the bend of the river."
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"Wisdom is a journey"
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Yarim Hekim had the rural habit of imputing short distances to considerable ones. Having spent the night in a guest-house, Arzulu hired a local guide to take him 'up river'. "I will only take you half way, Authentez," the guide warned him. "Nobody will take you further. There is something out there that is strange." When pressed however the man couldn't, or wouldn't, elaborate. "B'koy is an old place, Authentez, haunted by the past." It took well over three hours to get to the halfway point on the hired ponies (Arzulu's own horse having been in much need of rest). "This is as far as I go," said the guide, beginning to turn back.
"I will pay you double," suggested Arzulu.
"No, sir, you may keep that money," the man said determinedly. Left alone Arzulu plodded on along the river bank. He'd been told to look out for the remains of furrows on the left bank and towards the hills. Beyond those was the site of B'koy; ancestral home of his people. He greatly doubted whether this was even true but it was the closest he had yet come.
Arzulu became aware of a flashing before his eyes, which he attributed to the glare. It was uncommon though – like momentary glimpses of somewhere entirely different. Perturbed, he halted to rub his eyes. There it was again, but longer this time. The whole place looked utterly different, not a single bush or contour was the same. The image blinked in and out making him wholly bewildered. Surely he was, momentarily, in a lush, green place and there – yes – there – was a mighty river? He saw people in the distance, naked but for loin cloths, labouring to carry great blocks of stone. Arzulu shook his head and the verdant land disappeared.
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"Be not afraid to ask for truth"
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One moment the 'thing' was not there and the next it was. Of that, Arzulu was certain. What exactly 'it' was seemed less clear. It was big – the size of an elephant – and the body was that of a lion. It's falcon like wings were folded neatly at its side. The head was perhaps the most disconcerting thing of all for it was that of a venerable, bearded man. A venerable, bearded, sleeping man to be exact. The monster opened one lazy eye and then reared its shoulders, propping itself up on one paw. "Come closer little human". Resisting the urge to run (which he thought would be pointless anyway) Arzulu stepped forward. "Are you one of the great tomb-builders or one of the canal diggers?"
"Please…I don't understand".
"Forgive me," said the creature with a yawn. "I'm a little drowsy. I forgot where I am for a moment. You are one of the horse-warriors, yes?"
"I'm Calormene," Arzulu admitted, feeling a lot braver again.
"Calormene and most definitely a human," the strange thing decided. "I always forget that you are so much bigger on the inside. What brings you here?"
"I was drawn here and have travelled many miles," the man said hoping that this might impress his new acquaintance. "I seek knowledge."
"Then, human, you are in the right place. Always come to a Sphinx for knowledge. What is it that you want to know?" Arzulu explained about the dream of the lion and his doubts about Falimar. At the end the Sphinx nodded his great head. "I can help you and, best of all, I can show you. The great lion is Aslan, who was, is and is yet to come. He was there in the beginning and his mercy knows no limit. If he has chosen to show himself to you then you art highly favoured indeed." The Sphinx paused. "Let me ask you the first question: what is sin?"
Arzulu thought for a moment then replied, "Falling short of Tash's mark."
The creature gave a mighty 'Hm'. "Not a bad answer but most emphatically not Tash's mark."
"Was Falimar was wrong about Tash?"
"Your Falimar saw what he chose to see; he was blind to the truth. Many humans are similarly afflicted. To know what one wants one must be free of the dark wood. You will now see exactly what I mean…"
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"Perseverance is better than riches"
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"Enter by the narrow gate, you will be safe enough," the Sphinx had told him. "What you will see is both real and unreal. You must draw the lesson from it." Arzulu passed the broad gate by. He could see nothing over the fence except the tops of trees. The narrow gate was stiff and not easy to open but he thrust his way into the dreamscape that awaited him. What hellish place was it? Not hell, in fact, but lives as they were being lived.
The path was as narrow as the gate but as straight as an arrow. It went ahead without any deviation. Arzulu stepped onto it like Aeneas in the underworld (6). In parallel to it ran the broad path. It was full of twists and turns, sometimes running near to the narrow track, sometimes not. A sad congregation of supplicants trod the broad path, reaching their hands to the skies and calling upon Tash. Their litany of complaint went up even unto the heavens. Every man and woman seemed to be blind or drunk, stumbling and clutching at their fellows, yet none would help them. They were young and old, male and female, rich and poor. All though seemed deprived of their senses.
Arzulu gazed at this motley crew in horror and gradually he began to pick out the faces of the living in the crowd. Surely that was the Vizier's wife, infamous for her blatant adulteries? Yes, and there, some distance behind, was the Vizier himself. He was a byword for debauchery in the stews of Calormen. Their fine clothes were ripped and dirty from tripping through the forest. A corrupt member of the Orvam (7) followed close behind, bewailing his fate. His glorious robes were stained crimson with the blood of the poor. Three moneylenders – cheats not reputable bankers – came along in procession, shoving each other and crying out to Tash to save them. A priest of Tash fell onto the muddy floor and struggled to right himself. He lived well on the donations of the poor.
Swift-footed Achilles (8) could not have made his way out of that dread place faster than Arzulu. When he reached the narrow gate at the other end of the path, he stumbled in his haste to be free of the ghastly wood. The Sphinx sat calmly waiting for him. "So, it is time to ask you a question, human. What is the name of this terrible trap?"
Without hesitation Arzulu answered, "The Wood of Sins".
"I will accept that," the Sphinx replied primly. "Of course, it is 'sin': singular. It is not 'sins' in the plural."
The man puzzled. "But surely, those people commit many sins?"
"I believe – and I must stress that this is just my own belief – that there is only one sin. That sin is 'self-love' which may sometimes equate to pride."
"How so?"
"Consider all of those different acts," the Sphinx explained patiently, "such as the desire to possess something or someone, the desire to harm someone or do them down. All of these come from putting one's own desires first: that is self-love."
"I'd not considered it in that light," Arzulu admitted.
"It is, you understand, just my theory," the creature cautioned. "I have a question for you. What is your understanding of this Tash?"
"Well, we believe that he will defend the Calormene people and make us conquerors over all," the man said uneasily.
"Is that not self-love? What of the other peoples? Let me ask you this. Do you judge a fruit tree good or bad by the quality of its fruit?"
"Of course!"
"What does that tell you of this Tash?"
Arzulu looked down at his boots. He'd long been riddled with doubt and was finding this conversation most difficult. "I'm not sure," he said lamely.
"Don't equivocate," the Sphinx warned him. "If the fruit is bad the tree is bad. Your people have elected to worship a demon from the pit of Ashanguar (9) but it is not too late for them, or you, to turn back. Save yourself, human".
"But how?"
"The great lion has appeared to you for that very reason. You must continue to seek him." There I think we must leave Arzulu, with the words of the Sphinx pointing to a new hope. Please join me for part two of this tale soon.
END OF PART ONE
Notes:-
All section headings are quotations from 'The good news of Arzulu' [Observance Bureau secret archive] – a banned text in Calormen, regarded as heretical and heathenish.
1 Flaima Khal-am: 2nd C (Narnian Reckoning) most famous poet of ancient Calormen
2 Astrologers Guild: one of the few 'magical' arts legally permitted in Calormen
3 For more on Falimar, Tash, the pigeons & the lion see my short story "By Tash Alone"
4 The unbroken mule of the angry sihirbaz: a Calormene folk-story
5 Authentez: similar to the Turkish 'effendi' – 'master' or 'sir'
6 Aeneas in the underworld: see Virgil's Aeneid (epic Latin poem)
7 Orvam: the city council of Tashbaan
8 Achilles: the ancient Greek hero (see Homer's Iliad)
8 The demons of the pit of Ashanguar: a dread place of Calormene legend