Foreword
O Gentle Reader, perhaps you recall Lasaraleen Tarkheena, from the book known as The Horse and His Boy?
Yes, she, a great lady living in the heart of Tashbaan, married to a bright and influential lord. She, of mercurial disposition but tiresome and vain, and so concerned with being seen-to-be-seen and consolidating her status as a palace favourite.
Ah, but yes, also she, who against all odds, had secretly aided her younger friend Aravis Tarkheena, in a desperate flight to an uncertain, faraway country, to effect escape from child-marriage to a powerful and hideous old man.
With Aravis out of the way, it may be imagined that the shallow and privileged Lasaraleen would have simply returned to her usual ebullience and delirious self-satisfaction.
But on this day that we encounter Lasaraleen, we see she was quite miserable.
'Lasaraleen miserable?' you may well gasp in disbelief and for that doubt, you may be forgiven.
As you shall see, Lasaraleen may have been capable of deeper thinking about her own affairs and genuine concern for others than you imagined. And generous... to a point.
It may even be that Lasaraleen was early on the road to becoming strategic and clever, though still not the sharpest scimitar in the scabbard. The uncharitable may even call her scatterbrained. Others may beg to differ.
For surely, it must not be overlooked that being kept ignorant of her own husband's doings and the true machinations of the world around her, may well have kept her edge blunted.
You, O Valued Reader, may come to your own conclusions.
Our story opens on a sultry mid-morning in Tashbaan.
In a large gauze tent, under the shade of the spreading Silk Tree in the side garden of she and her husband's uptown villa, sprawled Lasaraleen Tarkheena, face down on a horsehair divan, upholstered in silk and angora brocade. Bees and flies buzzed above but could not get in.
Lasaraleen had flounced out here since refusing her early breakfast.
She rolled over restlessly, creasing her dress yet again and looked upwards. A pair of golden orioles searched quietly for insects and nectar in pink powder-puff blossoms against a blue sky, but she gave the rare birds little heed. The troublesome young monkey that had so irritated Aravis was nowhere about. It had escaped sometime in the last few days, during Lasaraleen's preoccupations. Perhaps she felt some relief at its disappearance, though certainly not guilt. Someone would give it another home, or it would find companions of similar persuasion and make a nuisance of itself somewhere. Not her problem anymore. Hmph.
The rose sherbet ice, which Lasaraleen had accepted from the kitchen an hour ago, to calm her inner churning, had mostly melted now, and her mind would not be still. The sherbet had been making her teeth feel furry anyway, so she took a flask, rinsed her mouth and then a long draught of cool water.
She stretched, felt a few joints pop, and flopped face down again, feeling hopeless, and eyed the tassel of the bolster close at hand. The exquisite colours and graceful fall of the silk and linen threads, that other people had laboured to produce for her pleasure and comfort did nothing for her today.
Apart from two servants, Lasaraleen was alone in the garden. They sat discreetly on a distant bench, occupying themselves playing shatranj. It was silent apart from the occasional soft clonk of their pieces and the background rippling of the fountain.
But this green, quiet garden surrounded by high walls, which should have felt like a sanctuary, over the last few days had felt increasingly like a trap.
Lasaraleen had heard nothing of profit over the seven long days and nights since she had eavesdropped on that terrifying late-night conversation in the Old Palace, between Rabadash, Ahoshta and the Tisroc, before helping Aravis to the water-door of the palace and then making her own terrified way home alone.
She had stayed well away from the palace on her own account since. No point in tempting fate. But the anticipation of the heavy tread of soldiers' feet in the courtyard, and being taken into custody for interrogation, had made her bite many a nail almost to the quick. She was not even sure whether the chief god of Calormen, Tash the Inexorable the Irresistible, should be praised for the lack of intervention so far, or feared.
Lasaraleen swallowed heavily, feeling sick, and had to admit to herself that deep down, she had always found the palace frightening, and had only been affecting blithe ease through her vivacity, and thus almost convinced herself. To make matters worse, there were other bothersome thoughts jangling, dragging her down. Just like the sherbet, her natural effervescence had turned to sludge.
For instance, Lasaraleen had heard nothing from her husband, Ramak Tarkaan, a rising diplomat, in nearly a month! So, he was not here to clutch onto for stability. He did what duty and pleasure demanded certainly, and usually told her much of his planned movements, and when he would be back. But not this time. He was just 'away'.
She thought broodingly of the man she adored. Ten years her senior, he was tall, handsome, athletic, and gallant. And one of those edging into the coterie of Rabadash, the crown Prince; although in a guarded fashion. Another reason to cultivate such a close relationship with Rabadash's sisters. She had always known she had done better than well, for he was also gentle, loving, astute, attentive and a forthright communicator, except for this current unexplained absence.
Early in the courtship, her heart had melted, because Ramak had been so delighted with Lasaraleen's sense of the ridiculous and the way she made shallowness a virtue. They had spent many hours convulsed in laughter together, just enjoying each other's wit. Indeed, it was he who had encouraged her to persist with her nonsensical threats such as the one Lasaraleen had issued the day Aravis had arrived.
'And anyone I catch talking about this young lady will be first beaten to death and then burned alive and after that, be kept on bread and water for six weeks. There!'
Who in her retinue would ever forget that threat? Ha-hah! The servants would have giggled about it for the rest of the day and the next, no doubt. But most would also have successfully committed themselves to pretending that Aravis was not there and never had been. For the threat of even a light beating was all too real.
Some months ago, Lasaraleen had imposed a month of bread and water on one maidservant three years her junior, but it only lasted a week, as it seemed too cruel. The maid had been caught by the steward smuggling leftover saffron tahdig and a few shreds of roast peacock to hungry siblings in the lower city. But Lasaraleen had also not stopped the maidservant from visiting her family twice a week during that time, nor since. If the steward wished to ground the girl, Lasaraleen would simply over-ride his ruling and send her off to get her some frippery or other.
The steward had looked most uncomfortable as he said, 'O my Mistress, have you forgotten that your maidservant is confined to the town house for home duties for a month since being caught stealing food? She is on bread and water rations for that time, by your order.'
'Oh, all that! That was last week', Lasaraleen had drawled, 'What use is she to me here, when she knows all the best perfumers and dyers and soap-makers by name? Besides, she can just as easily eat bread and drink water while she goes about the city on my business. I shall hear no more about it or I shall talk to my husband about you having only bread and water for a whole month! See if I don't!'
He had bowed low, but not been pleased. So, whenever the young woman was due to do her visits, Lasaraleen had been careful to have the steward occupied on something or other, just to help him save face. And what did it matter if a little food from the villa went to people in need? So, she had ordered extra caraway seed-cake and halva for the maid to find and pocket here and there… and giggled to herself.
A few days after their wedding, Ramak had said, 'My bright-eyed, rapier-witted wife, if the servants think you are an airhead, there is advantage to be gained. They will be off their guard, and you, as their mistress, may then notice things that would otherwise escape your ears and eyes. But if you ever follow through on the least of the threats, they will also come to respect you. So make sure the least of the threats is not too harsh, but also not too empty. It is all about balance. The fear of the servants and slaves is our privilege awarded by Tash, but their love and willing service must be earned.'
He had then kissed her soundly and said, 'You will do me proud on this, will you not?'
What could she say? So she had kissed him soundly back and delighted in taking things to the next level… and later in earning the willing service of the household, though perhaps not the love, with her over-the-top frivolousness and outrageous humour. In Ramak, Lasaraleen really had thought she had found her soulmate, so she had sallied forth into Tashbaan high society, feeling rather triumphant.
But right now, she could find it in herself neither to behave like an airhead nor feel triumphant and instead felt utterly sober and serious. Many uncomfortable thoughts jostled for unwanted attention.
After what had transpired with Aravis, Lasaraleen was also genuinely worried that one of her servants or even her steward might pass on word to the Palace or the Grand Vizier's office, that Aravis had been harboured here secretly with her horses. For she knew in her heart that there was little she could do to prevent it, no matter the threat.
She was sure that Ramak would have known what to do, but she was also glad Aravis had not arrived when he was home, that was certain.
With the secrecy surrounding Rabadash's attempted invasion of Archenland and Narnia, which she now knew about, thanks to the secret meeting she had witnessed, she had decided her husband was all too likely to be a part of the two hundred horse that had crossed the desert nearly a week ago. No matter that he had already been away some time before.
Although even darker thoughts of female faces and her husband's lips danced in her mind. Jealousy threatened to engulf her, so she hastily pushed the suffocating visions away and returned to what she knew slightly more about.
'Oh dear, oh dear, this is far too much for a Tarkheena! Worries like mine should be banned by the Tisroc! What am I to do?' she moaned under her breath repeatedly. 'Is Ramak even alive? Look what happened to Aravis's brother! In this day and age too! Treachery within Calormen's own ranks if Aravis's suspicions are true. Deliberately trampled to death by Calormene cavalry! No. No! It can't be true. It's unthinkable!' But she continued to think it, and worse things, nonetheless.
'Or is Ramak at this very moment in hand-to-hand combat against some of those lovely Narnian men? What a waste!' Here she took an in-drawn breath, 'Oooh! Will I soon find myself become a rich, influential, childless widow?' There was something in that idea to be sure. But it sounded too lonely. She pushed the thought away. 'Oh no, I am not ready for that.'
Lasaraleen sighed fretfully again and stirred herself to unfold long limbs from the divan. She sat on the edge looking down at her bangled, henna-patterned feet and painted nails in the cool grass.
She shivered despite the heat, winced and her eyes stung for the fiftieth time that long week. Oh, this was intolerable!
Lasaraleen jumped up. 'Enough! I need to know!' she exclaimed out loud, not caring who heard. It was time for her next move. She clapped her hands.
...
Five minutes later she was dictating a letter to her friends, the Princesses Farzaneh, and Shokoufeh, asking them over to please bear witness to a private fortune telling at her home, that very night, if possible, else the night after. Once the letter had left, there was no time to waste, so Lasaraleen called for her palanquin, kept the curtains down, and shortly thereafter was jostled through the shadowed streets on the lower north side to a door under a carved dark wood portico with bones hanging in an intricate fringe. The home of a soothsayer.
Her maidservant; the same one who had smuggled the food, because she knew these streets like the back of her hand, knocked and had a brief conversation through a small portal in the door. Shortly thereafter, a figure shrouded in dark green cloth emerged and, poking its head under the curtains, engaged in a muffled conversation directly with Lasaraleen.
If any of her servants had been allowed to speak, one may have been able to report that Lasaraleen had hissed to the soothsayer, 'And if there is anything that comes up about horses, you are not to speak of it, do you hear?'
'Of course, great lady. If my palm is crossed with extra silver,' came an equally low voice.
At the end, Lasaraleen's louder voice was heard to ring out lazily, 'And if you do not come tonight at the appointed time good mother, I will see to it that your coffee supply and bone reading collection is confiscated, to help rid Tashbaan of your abominable art and that you are then flogged. And if that does not make you come by tomorrow evening, I shall have your teeth pulled because they are all rotten and I'll get them replaced with ivory dentures. You wouldn't like that would you!' There was a pause. 'So, tonight then! Eight o'clock. And I shall provide both the coffee AND the beans, none of your stinking bones.
On the way home, she called at the east bazaar for her favourite date and sesame sweetmeat and some of almond and orange that she knew Shokoufeh particularly liked, as well as to purchase some of that simply awful cardamom coffee that was Farzaneh's current fancy. Sigh. All for a good cause.
And jasmine-scented white beans from the bean merchant. 'And if you don't make it an exact three and fifty, I shall have your abacus dashed to pieces. And then I shall call the watch to restore the peace! See if I don't! And keep the change.'
A small silk purse with the fifty-three beans was handed over to her embarrassed maidservant before Lasaraleen's silent and stoic bearers and palanquin disappeared into the throng with cries of 'Way! Way!'
Once she had departed, a whoop of joyous hilarity rang out from the merchant. Lasaraleen had just made a friend.
This was followed by an affronted 'Pshaw!' from his neighbour, 'She paid you how much for a handful of beans?'
...
Upon Lasaraleen's return home, she found a reply from the palace had already arrived. It was just as well the two princesses had agreed to come that very night, else Lasaraleen would have had to turn away the snaggle-toothed old crone and ask her to return.
Some hours later, at the very moment the last crescent of sun disappeared below the western desert horizon, the palanquin of the two princesses arrived at her gate and were ushered in by the doorkeeper. In that golden-pink glow that follows a stunning sunset, they stepped onto Lasaraleen's dusky lawn wafting frankincense and rose, into the light of lamps hanging from the Silk Tree and inside the gauze tent. They were both dressed in curl-toed shoes, leggings with see-through gauze skirts, hanging-sleeved velvet jackets and caps with cloths that were pinned across as veils.
Lasaraleen, knelt and her servants prostrated themselves.
'Get up off the ground you naughty minx! Drawing good girls like us away from the palace at night to witness shady arcane practices!' It was Farzaneh.
Shokoufeh giggled, 'What can you have been thinking of darling?' and holding out her hands, helped Lasaraleen up.
Lasaraleen wasted no time and after hugs all round, Lasaraleen clapped her hands and the servants brought out the hot coffee and sweets.
Once the servants were out of the way, the princesses entered the tent, seated themselves, and removed their veils, revealing long, hanks of dark bound hair over each shoulder down to their waists. Shokoufeh sat primly, knees together on the divan opposite whilst Farzaneh sat cross-legged next to Lasaraleen with one knee upwards so she could lean her elbow on the knee and chin on her hand, whilst she gazed at their host.
'Well, my dearest friends,' began Lasaraleen, after sipping the awful, brewed coffee from its fine porcelain cup, 'It's been simply horrible. I need to find out what's going on. I haven't heard from my husband in weeks. I'm as worried as a shag-pile-carpet in a desert storm!'
Shokoufeh smirked at the choice of words and flicked a hank of hair back but looked concerned. Farzaneh blinked and made a moue of compassion. 'Go on', was all she said.
'My annoyingly officious steward doesn't even know where he went, and none of our enquiries have turned up anything. I'm even beginning to wonder if Ramak is... well... d-d-dead! And, what would… well… become of m-m-me!' Lasaraleen twirled a nervous finger in one of her lovely locks, her kohl-lined eyelids all a tremor. Her welling tears were not feigned.
Farzaneh leaned forward solicitously and applied a handkerchief to the business and patted her shoulder whilst Lasaraleen tried to pull herself together.
'Oh, and then there is my young friend Aravis Tarkheena, from Calavar Province. You know, the noble girl who was due to marry old Ahoshta so he could claim Old Blood connections?
At Ahoshta's name, Shokoufeh and Farzaneh shared another glance, curled their lips loathingly, but still didn't say anything yet.
Lasaraleen was too self absorbed to notice that glance, and sailed on, 'As you know, simply everyone was talking about her for the last few weeks because the silly girl ran away. And all those ropes of pearls and the palace on the lake in Ilkeen wasted!'
Farzaneh shrugged and held her hands palm upwards at that protest, as if to say, 'so what about the wasted pearls?'.
'But it's simply frightful darling!' went on Lasaraleen? 'I'm so concerned for her! Aravis remains a missing person! The whole city and the provinces have been awash with rumours about her but it all just points to her having vanished into thin air. Not even a b-b-body or a wandering horse, as far as I can find out. It's like the djinn stole her away! And her father has turned for home none the wiser. He came to visit me just before he went south again, hoping I might have some clue. Aravis and I used to go to the same parties you see, back in my country days. He was so upset. And exhausted. He looked terrible. He even got down on his knees and begged me to share anything I knew. It was terribly embarrassing! It put me in the most awful flummox.'
Here, Lasaraleen girded herself to lie further to the very people she most desperately wanted to blurt out the truth to.
'But what can I know?', she moaned, 'Living in Tashbaan, far away from anywhere that Aravis might have ended up? Oh. Oh. Oh. I wouldn't have put it past Aravis to do something quite drastic. And she was always sooo difficult.'
There was a pause, whilst Lasaraleen sniffled some more and dabbed her eyes. Over the last few days Lasaraleen had had to face up to a harsh reality in her life. She would never share her role in Aravis's escape unless it came to torture… or deep trust.
'So, I still know nothing about Ramak either', she moaned. 'Just the other day, I went simply everywhere about the city I could think of and listened... oh, to so many people. But nothing! Just boring nonsense about how the errand runners from Azim Balda are too slow, or how a lot of water buffalo in Varadesh province mysteriously stampeded, or how Ahoshta's failed bid to marry into true nobility has embarrassed his first weeks in office. Even Ramak's father, much though I love him to pieces, says he doesn't know anything either, just told me not to worry. Darlings, he actually patted me on the head! What's a girl to do? So, I'm beginning to wonder whether Ramak doesn't really trust me with his secrets as much as I thought; that maybe he sees me as a shameless gossip who couldn't keep a secret to save my own life!'
Here, the two visitors shared a glance but let her go on.
'Or that something else is terribly, terribly wrong... well... between Ramak... a-a-and me.' At this point, Lasaraleen gazed miserably at her friends and finally felt that she had bared just a little bit of her soul to them. 'So, I decided I cannot stand it anymore. I have to consult the oracles. I have a soothsayer due here in a few minutes.'
Farzaneh put her finger on the matter at once. 'Oh, so that's what's bothering you? You worry that Ramak's got a wandering eye? I doubt it Las. He adores you. But who's truth do you want to uncover tonight anyway Las?' she asked, her eyes wide. 'Yours? Ramak's? Or Aravis's?'
Then Shokoufeh added, 'Can an oracle even tell the fates of those not here? Or are you really just wanting to mine us for… intelligence? Not that we know anything much.' Shokoufeh batted her eyelashes knowingly at Lasaraleen, but smiled and leaning across the table, patted her knee. 'I don't blame you, but you could have just asked, you know.'
Lasaraleen froze inside momentarily and knew it was time to school herself and attempt to appear even more ingenuous.
'Oh, Princess Shokoufeh, you mean you know something about Aravis or Ramak? Do tell me anything you can! But truly, the soothsayer is about to arrive, and I would love to know what you think about what she says. She's absolutely frightful, but she is meant to be the best. And I couldn't bear hearing fortunes told all alone. That really is why I asked you here, just as I said in my letter.'
Lasaraleen looked at Farzaneh and then at Shokoufeh pleadingly. 'I need friends around me at a moment like this.'
She clutched both their hands, and they all closed their eyes momentarily in sisterly companionship whilst Farzaneh took the initiative to intone some bonding homily.
...
All light was now gone from the sky, and no stars were visible in the thick cloud that had begun to roll over Tashbaan. A cool breeze wafted into the garden and somehow seemed to settle on the trio. One by one, they all shivered and pulled jackets and pashminas about their shoulders.
Then all three jumped.
On the ground in front of them, inside their tent, just discernible outside the pool of soft light, had appeared a puddle of dark green cloth, out of which extended a claw-like hand, palm up, waiting.
'How did you get past the doorkeeper?' squeaked Lasaraleen. She was both frightened and embarrassed. But there was no answer. 'How un-nerving', she thought to herself. 'Did she vault the wall or climb over like a rat?'
Shokoufeh was about to call for the guards, but Farzaneh forestalled her sister with a shake of her head.
And seeing her fortune teller had arrived, even if in a disturbingly unannounced kind of way, they might as well get started rather than make things complicated. So Lasaraleen placed several pieces of silver in the hand rather shakily, then said, 'Pray sit up good mother' and drew up a stool that stood nearby and patted it nervously.
The old woman put the silver pieces away most swiftly, and then groaned and huffed, but got up well enough, sitting on the proffered stool.
She would have been strapping and handsome in her day. Her fine features with the facial cast of the Azars, traditional worshippers of Azaroth, were still striking. Her knowing black eyes in a lined dark face studied the three women in front of her in turn, a heavy mane of near-white hair, just visible tied back inside her hood.
Finally, she spoke, 'Witnesses, eh? High Royalty unless I'm hugely mistaken.' Her voice was a tad gravelly and some of her teeth were missing in receding gums, but she managed an ingratiating tone and inclined her head. 'Mother Mutakahin at your service, O great ones.'
Then turning directly to Lasaraleen, her tone changed. 'Finish your coffee,' she said tersely. Lasaraleen obeyed at once, her fingers trembling. She winced as she tasted the dregs. She had always hated cardamom.
'Turn your cup three times in your hand on its side, then give it to me', Mother Mutakahin commanded.
Once Lasaraleen had completed her rotations, the soothsayer stretched out a long, wrinkled arm and snatched the cup deftly from Lasaraleen's uncertain fingers. She held it between thumb and fore-finger mid-air, precisely upside down for a full minute, studying the pattern of the drops hitting the table, while muttering a prayer to Azaroth.
Slowly she said 'Hmm,' in an ominous kind of tone. She continued holding the cup, muttering further. Then, flipping the cup, she held it closely under the light, and studied the shapes of the coffee grounds inside, rotating it slowly for a while. Then stopped.
'Ah… once a carefree life. Hmm… how rudely time, age and responsibility interrupt it,' she said with sarcastic relish.
She turned the cup about further, peering. 'An old friendship tested, I think. Mmm. You perhaps have grown somewhat lately from… an experience. Would you say?'
Lasaraleen shook her head mutely, not wanting to appear to agree. If anything, she felt shrunken, not grown.
Mother Mutakahin rolled her dark eyes heavenward and looked across at Lasaraleen. 'Then perhaps gaining a different view of the world, and finding that your place in it is not what you thought, might make more sense to you?' Her question was almost acerbic this time.
Lasaraleen winced and nodded uncertainly. She grasped Farzaneh's hand, looking for reassurance.
The soothsayer's eyes watched this movement implacably, and then the old woman shrugged.
'But the cups cannot lie. You will grow from recent events, so much is sure. Always a good thing in a frivolous young woman.'
Farzaneh glared at Mother Mutakahin for aiming such direct criticism at her friend, but truth be told, she had to agree, so she held her tongue.
Farzaneh could think of a few times in which the liberties taken by Lasaraleen Tarkheena within the palace had made a few of the dowager aunts whisper and some of the princes cast evil glances behind Lasaraleen's back and mutter into their beards. Occasionally Lasaraleen was blind to any offence she had caused, but at other moments, her gormless enthusiasm and outrageous silliness were gifts she applied in utterly timely and sensitive ways. It was true that she had earned fond friendships in the palace, but for some, it had begun to wear thin. Farzaneh was glad that Las may at last be learning to be more judicious and aware of when to curb her excesses. For her own wellbeing as well as that of others. She still had so much to learn of Palace intrigues, let alone Calormene politics.
'So, now we come to it.'
Lasaraleen blinked three times rapidly and gripped harder.
'You… have…umm-ah', the soothsayer paused, smacking her lips and held Lasaraleen's gaze, smiling cunningly, 'a… fearful… secret.'
Lasaraleen uttered a noise not unlike a lost kitten.
Farzaneh looked slightly appalled, but Shokoufeh was gleeful. She clearly loved secrets. But both leaned in to catch every word.
'Now… there is something here to do with... err… ahem… goats or… perhaps… err… donkeys, I think?'
Lasaraleen tried to not look excited. But Shokoufeh peered over her into the cup and pointed, saying, 'What about horses? Isn't that a horse there? It's got a rider!'
Mother Mutakahin pulled away so no-one could see, suppressing an offended look with a slightly reptilian smile. 'With all due respect, my illustrious Princess, it is not all who have the gift. I know I must never presume, but ah-he-heh, nay, nay, it is a donkey. Hmm. Hmm. I think I might see... yes, two donkeys running; running away…' She paused for some time, then said 'Or perhaps it is two hundred? Do either of these mean anything to you, Tarkheena?'
Lasaraleen swallowed hard and tried to maintain a blank face. This was a true reading and no mistake! If donkeys were horses. Feigning ignorance, she shook her head.
There was another pause as Mother Mutakahin peered again into the cup.
'No…' she began. Then with an indrawn 'Oooh!' the soothsayer turned the little cup about, looked again much more closely, stood up and held it further into the light. She was silent for a long moment. Then she said, rather heavily, 'But if I look at it this way, it is just one donkey, one very stubborn, very angry, very ashamed donkey. Casting his shadow over everything! What can that mean?'
The old woman fixed her gaze—bothered, astounded even, first on Lasaraleen and then the two princesses. She clearly didn't mean a horse.
But this time Lasaraleen was not being disingenuous in her shrug. She had no idea. Lasaraleen looked across at her friends wide eyed. Shokoufeh pursed her lips and Farzaneh looked slightly grim and pensive.
A true reading, yes, but what was this donkey casting a shadow? The old woman was clearly genuinely bothered by this new angle. And then Lasaraleen finally realised she might have been better off without the witnesses, so she could question the old woman more deeply. 'I should have done this alone', she lamented internally, 'friends or no friends, they are still royals from the palace. This gets too complicated.'
Finally, Mother Mutakahin, detecting the mood, said, 'Ah well, tut-tut, perhaps we shall do better with the beans. But overall, young Tarkheena. Those in your life take great risks. But I think… I think… I think there is no indication of death here. Hmm, danger and hurt perhaps… but not death. Not to those you care about anyway.'
That was a relief, and Lasaraleen showed it. She let out a breath she had not known she had been holding in, then let out a little sob. Farzaneh patted her on the back. But the soothsayer looked fixedly at Lasaraleen and poor Las for the third time felt like she had been skewered by those eyes as she said 'But… these things can be doubtful. Perhaps it is your own fear which makes the threat greater than it is in truth. For has not the poet Apranik Banu said:
"The heavy beating of a woman's heart may keep her from the oblivion of sleep all night long, but come morning, she shall dream with the peace of the sun"?
But my throat is dry, and my mind is darkened. A break and a drink, if I may, for a few minutes? Then we shall consult the beans. They shall unravel this mystery, I think.'
Shokoufeh poured the old woman some water, who sat quietly now, sipping slowly.
In that silence, the three women got up and walked across the lawn for a stretch. It was Shokoufeh who spoke first. 'Las, have you been worrying about nothing, darling? You just need a good long massage and a holiday up at Mezreel or Ilkeen you highly strung thing. Mind you, if I had a husband who departed without saying where he was going and left me alone in a house all by myself for a month, I should think the worse of him too.'
That was small comfort.
But it was Farzaneh who drew Lasaraleen aside and spoke with her further across the lawn in an undertone. 'She is hiding something, Las. Goats? Two hundred donkeys? What nonsense. But two hundred horses. Now, that would make sense because I know what that is about.'
'Do you?' asked Lasaraleen loudly, taking a step back, looking alarmed.
'Hush', hissed Farzaneh. Then her voice dropped to a whisper. 'Of course, my fool of a brother, that's what. Can't keep his trap shut to save his own life. He is such a ridiculous idiot. Everyone else keeps his secrets except himself.'
Lasaraleen looked at her, feeling slightly crestfallen. 'Which one?' she whispered, even though she knew full well what Farzaneh would say.
'Ah, the eldest, of course. Rabadash. The one who probably has your husband and a few sensible others trying to clean up his mess. Now don't breathe a word of it. We have had secret news by relay runners that my brother and his followers tried to take the castle of King Lune of Archenland, without my father's knowledge or blessing.' Farzaneh's tone then became slightly savage, 'And failed miserably. Scores are dead!'. But she added thoughtfully, 'Though some will not be sorely missed.'
She lowered her voice further. 'But something diabolical has happened to the idiot in the lands of bestial demons. Some form of shape change imposed by their own demon-god. We just know not what.'
Lasaraleen gasped and looked pained. 'Your poor lovely brother!' she managed, even though she now knew full well what a loathsome man he was.
Here they were rejoined by Shokoufeh who had heard Lasaraleen's words, and she sighed with resignation and said softly, 'Lovely he may be, to the delight of your eyes, my dear friend. But sisters and brothers know better. To our lasting grief.'
Then Farzaneh spoke again in a whisper and said, 'But he's safe at least, and being kept prisoner there and will be returned in due course, by ship. More than he deserved. We have been promised this in writing. Not quite a reason for war now, we think. Not yet. But that last part about a great donkey overshadowing everything... I now suspect very much that that is our brother and the shape he has become. What do you think sister?'
'Oh, regardless, we know not whether to laugh, to cry or to pray to Tash for some divine intervention about our brother,' added Shokoufeh. 'But a donkey he is in spirit. So why not in body? One might even wish that second brother Khorvash could be installed as crown prince after this debacle instead. But that will be entirely up to our sweet considerate father, will it not? For what say do the rest of us have in the matter, when we deal with the one who we are meant to wish would live forever?'
'But look, we have said too much,' said Farzaneh. 'Suffice to say the rest of the sorry rout are on their way back, limping, coming very slowly, now expected to reach Tashbaan the day after tomorrow. Less than half who went off on the stupid errand.'
'I wish now I had spoken to you sooner, but you have been keeping yourself away from the palace for some reason and, honestly, things have been very tense at home lately. It is all meant to be the most dire secret. But your letter has given us just what we needed to slip out for a little while. Neither of us dared write earlier. This is a far safer place to talk than in the palace. You never know who is crouched in secret listening rooms or lying behind couches listening to what is not meant for their ears.'
Lasaraleen's stomach gave another lurch, her memory taking her back to her terror only a week ago, squashed with Aravis behind a couch in a darkened room in the Old Palace. She gave Farzaneh a frightened guilty look, wondering if someone had been listening in on everything including her and Aravis in an adjoining room. There was no accusation in Farzaneh's glance or tone, but Farzaneh did study Lasaraleen with friendly eyes before giving her a subtle wink. Then she slid her arm around Lasaraleen, patted her hand and drew her back to the tent where they poured another coffee and began again.
However, as they were halfway through the bean oracle reading, which seemed to be showing nothing particularly alarming, apart from Lasaraleen's anxiety and otherwise all turning out well, the whole dark little party was interrupted by someone ringing the bells at the gate.
There was a loud exchange of words between the doorkeeper and the palace guards stationed outside, and someone else, before into the garden stepped that someone else. It was the tall, vigorous, turbaned figure of Ramak Tarkaan, smelling of horse and dust and looking tired. He immediately bent his knee to the Princesses and then stood smiling at his wife and threw his arms wide.
Lasaraleen squealed with delight and relief, then remembered to gather her wits to have something suitably humorous and vacant to explain the soothsayer. But looking about, she realised Mother Mutakahin must have vanished the same moment her husband walked in the gate. Despite this disturbing talent for appearance and disappearance by Mother Mutakahin, Lasaraleen felt like all her troubles were suddenly dissolved. So, she just rushed forward and hugged her husband in welcome, saying 'I am so delighted you are home, darling'. Which was true, despite the anxiety and dark thoughts provoked by his unexplained absence.
It was Farzaneh who stepped in to lend some spine to the occasion. 'My Lord Ramak Tarkaan. You must surely know that your lengthy absence from Tashbaan with no explanation to your own wife has caused her considerable distress. I am most concerned. Must I demand that you explain yourself or will you make it your business to volunteer what cause you have had?'
Before he could answer, Shokoufeh added, 'And please say at once, if you have lately returned from a trip across the desert to our north?'
Ramak looked puzzled at that question, but in most sincerely apologising to Lasaraleen, he declared, 'No, indeed Noble Princesses and my dear wife. I have just returned from a top-secret trading and peacekeeping mission to the far South-West of Calormen, in quite the opposite direction. All at the behest of the Tisroc. And as it has been a success, it is secret no longer.'
He then explained how he had hurried ahead of the main company by some days, so as to be home to put any of his wife's fears to rest. Once this was achieved, and made his peace, he tumbled from his packs, samples of choice silverware and exotic fabrics that were exquisite beyond compare. He looked tired, but happy, and he asked to be excused to prepare himself for sleep.
But before he departed, he presented the Princesses with the most adorable silver oil lamp in the shape of a donkey… that could be hung on a hook! Farzaneh suppressed a sardonic smile at that apt, though surely innocent gift and she and Shokoufeh accepted it most graciously.
Then, as they prepared to leave, before the palanquin was lifted, Farzaneh drew Lasaraleen by the hand, and whispered in her ear again.
'Now we know your husband did not cross the desert with the two hundred horses, the significance and importance of your personal reading comes into high relief darling. You do realise that? This reveals there is some connection between your deep dark secret and those horses methinks, whether it be two hundred… or perhaps… only one or two... running away?'
Lasaraleen was rooted to the ground with dread yet again that night.
'But don't worry,' whispered Farzaneh with a knowing smile and another wink, 'if I guess correctly, your secret is safe with us. If little Aravis escaped the abomination of an arranged marriage to that lascivious old baboon, good luck to her. May she find a better life. You must tell me the tale some time. But not in the palace. And my thanks, because I think we are now forewarned about what shape my brother shall be in upon his return.'
With that, Lasaraleen bid her friends good night under a clear star strewn sky and returned inside to reflect on the nature of friendship, subterfuge and secret knowledge. And to join her husband in some much-needed pillow talk and marital slumber.
Afterword
It may be noted O Gentle Reader, that the poet Apranik Banu has also said, 'When the bright but naïve woman is given a glimpse of how dark and grim the world can truly be, she shall become wakeful, lonely, and anxious. But should she gain a greater share in the meaning and shaping of her world, and be fully brought into the confidence of those dear to her, she shall act with deeper wisdom and shine even more brightly. Then she shall finally bask in the sun and sleep to her heart's content'.
But now… let it lastly be explained, that the top-secret peacekeeping and trade mission, led by Ramak Tarkaan, to end the skirmishes on Calormen's south-western border, did indeed occur and was indeed successful. For the Kaish is a high land inhabited by a rustic and noble people of fine craft and diligent animal husbandry that Calormen would do well to foster rather than seek to defeat and dominate. Even Tisrocs of great empires know such wisdom.
These skirmishes had in truth been masterminded and branded as 'rebellion' by the now deceased Anradin Tarkaan, he of the crimson beard. It was he who had provoked a first skirmish there, and later a full-scale battle as cover to rid himself of an upcoming star rival in the armies of Calormen. That rival had been none other than the first-born son of Lord of Calavar, and thus the deceased brother of Aravis Tarkheena. Anradin Tarkaan it should be noted was also the same lord who lost his prized charger whilst seeking to buy Cor, the lost and destitute Crown Prince of Archenland, to use him as a bargaining chip in achieving subjugation of Calormen's northern neighbours… and perhaps for his idle pleasures as well. He was later slaughtered by enemies on the fields of Archenland, the same land of which Aravis Tarkheena herself, later became Queen.
Wheels within wheels.
So… be it known that Tisrocs may with their left hand, goad their headstrong, foolish sons and their most dangerous, bloody allies directly into harm's way, whilst with their right hand, guide people of more balanced heart and mind to mend matters on another front.
Thus, the machinations of the human world sometimes touch and close their circles, and we are reminded that the dance of the stars and the fates are wondrous things, though not all have the gift or position to fully perceive, follow or understand their poetry.
Thanks to Elizabeth Culmer (edenfalling) for the topic suggestion. Thanks to Marcia Batton for being a snarky beta-reader