Out of Season 4/4 - for lady_songsmith
Title: Out of Season
Author: edenfalling
Recipient lady_songsmith
Rating: PG-13
Possible Spoilers: no plot spoilers, extensive use of background and settings from The Horse and His Boy
Warnings: background presence of slavery, discussion of and planning for something equivalent to human sacrifice
Summary: In the fourteenth year of Rishti Tisroc's reign, a demon in the shape of a beaver is captured and brought to Tashbaan. Shezan Tolkheera, high priestess of the goddess Achadith, is given the responsibility of guarding the demon until its sacrifice at the Spring Festival. Complications ensue.
Part 2
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Out of Season, part 3
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Shezan always slept badly the nights before the four great festivals that marked the cycle of the sun and the change of the seasons. She expected to sleep even worse this year, what with the beaver locked up in her temple and the escape plans she still hadn't passed on to anyone. Instead, she fell into deep, drowning blackness the minute her head touched her pillow, almost as if she were drugged or caught by sorcery.
It seemed only a breath later that she opened her eyes to gray light seeping through her gauzy curtains. She had a vague memory that she had had an important dream -- something about light and darkness and a high mountain, and two voices (one sweet like a knife in the heart, one deep and bright like sunlight on the summer earth) that each made her want to follow forever -- but the details were leaking away like sand poured through the sieve of wakefulness.
Well, if it was important, she would remember sooner or later.
In the meantime, Shezan had a morning invocation to perform and all the madness of the Spring Festival to manage -- not to mention she still had not warned anyone about the Narnians' plan to rescue Marigold Beaver, nor did she know if Rabadash had come to his senses and abandoned his dream of patricide, nor had she spoken with her grandfather about how to warn the guards to watch for assassins without pointing them specifically at Rabadash.
Groaning, Shezan set her feet on the cool stone floor and wondered if she would survive the day.
When the morning invocation was finished, she summoned Muthori and told her to manage the preparations for a time. "I will return by the fifth hour and accompany you to the great temple," she said. "Until then, keep the initiates in order and oversee the purifications. Have two guards remove the tub from Soorabadeen Takhun's contemplation chamber and fasten the chain to the demon's collar, so all will be ready for the sacrifice."
"To hear is to obey," Muthori said. Her eyebrows and the set of her jaw expressed the disapproval she did not voice.
"When you are in my position, you can criticize my choices," Shezan said sharply. "Until then, veil your thoughts in deed as well as word. Now go."
Muthori bowed and departed. Shezan finished her breakfast and followed shortly thereafter.
Rabadash rarely rose before the fourth hour when he was not on campaign or training his followers, but proud as he was, he knew better than to offend or dismiss the gods by sleeping through one of the great festivals. He and a handful of his closest companions were sitting around a low table in his chambers, drinking watered wine and laughing over battle stories from their last battle, when Rishti Tisroc's army had finally broken the western rebels at the fortress of Teebeth and run the remnants down like dogs near the village of Zulindreh.
"O my sister, the sun is bright in my eyes now that you grace us with your holy presence," Rabadash said, motioning for a slave to pour wine for Shezan. "Come, sit, and tell us the will of the gods, for surely they have taken notice of such a band of warriors and have some grand and improbable task for us to achieve."
His friends laughed, some politely and some with true amusement.
"I have had no vision or sign to that effect, O my prince and O my brother," Shezan said as she accepted the wine and sat, folding her linen skirts under her crossed legs. "I merely wished to speak with you before my responsibilities draw me away. This is, after all, a most momentous day."
Rabadash and Ilgamuth were better about concealing their reactions this time -- they gave no sign that anything was amiss. Chlamash Tarkaan, on the other hand, subtly made a warding sign against sorcery with the hand on his thigh, while Anradin Tarkaan ran his hand down his crimson beard and frowned suspiciously for a moment.
"The changing of seasons is always a day of significance," Rabadash agreed. "The old gives way to the new and we begin again. Such is the way of life."
"Wise words, O my prince," Shezan agreed. "But it is well for all things to have their fullest chance to grow and thrive, lest pearls and gems be lost simply because they are stored in an old box that is throw away in favor of a new container. There is no sense in uprooting an ancient tree that provides good shade simply to plant a new one and wait a score of years for it to be of use."
Rabadash frowned. "Strange words, for one who serves Achadith. Is she not the goddess of chance and change, and breaks in worn-out patterns?"
Shezan lifted one shoulder and offered a self-deprecating smile. "So she is. But it is not for us to say which pattern should break, or when, or how. That is for the gods alone to decide."
"As the poet Ilmuzin has said, the gods pour wisdom down upon us like life-giving rain, but our souls are like the desert and channel it away," Ilgamuth put in before Rabadash could retort. "Tolkaars and Tolkheeras are those who have learned to make an oasis in their hearts. Therefore, we should heed their words."
Shezan bowed her head.
After a long moment, Rabadash exhaled explosively. "Truly, you have a verse for every occasion. It would behoove you not to flaunt your learning in the teeth of us rough souls, who are more attuned to the arts of war," he said to Ilgamuth. "As for you, O my sister, while I note your concern, I remind you that Idrath World-Conqueror had already begun to fight the wayward cities before Achadith took mortal shape and advised him. Sometimes men must take the first step instead of always cringing in fear of the gods' displeasure."
"That is so and I would never dispute that it is so," Shezan said, still with her head bowed respectfully. "Nonetheless, one must take care when choosing a new path not to disregard the commandments of Tash, for while a man can succeed in his enterprise with or without the gods' aid, he can never overcome their anger."
She stood in a graceful swirl of linen and a chime of bells. "I leave you with that thought on this holy day, O my prince. I will see you again for the sacrifice."
The room was silent as she departed, and she could feel Rabadash's eyes burning into her back.
---------------
Axartha Tarkaan was nowhere to be found, so far as the servitors and courtiers Shezan asked were concerned. After checking his rooms, the Tisroc's rooms, and several gardens, Shezan admitted defeat and returned to the temple complex via the Courtyard of Butterflies and the Courtyard of Bones. The procession did not begin until half past the fifth hour, so that the death of the yearling bull would fall precisely at noon, but even now at the fourth hour the temples and courtyards were filling with people. The rich and poor of Tashbaan rubbed shoulders, smashed together in a riot of color, sound, and body heat, on equal footing before the gods.
Shezan fought her way through the press into Achadith's temple, unlocked a door into the private areas, and slipped into a relatively empty corridor with a sigh of relief. In the distance, she heard splashes and ragged, antiphonal singing as priestesses and initiates worked through their purification rites one by one.
Assuming Muthori had things well in hand, Shezan retreated to her chambers to purify herself and dress in her full formal regalia. The purifications took nearly an hour -- as high priestess, she had to do every step twice, first to cleanse her body and again to cleanse her soul so that she would be a fitting sheath for the goddess should she choose to descend to earth. Then Shezan dressed in a long-sleeved tunic and trousers of pure black silk, tied a short-sleeved robe of pure white silk over them, and fastened it with a belt of silver links. She left her hair long and loose, and fastened the sheath for her obsidian knife to her belt. The spellstone hung around her neck along with a blackened silver disc to represent the eclipse and the dark of the moon.
She wore no shoes.
Thus prepared, Shezan went to fetch the beaver from her cell.
Two nervous initiates were standing outside the door of Soorabadeen Takhun's contemplation chamber, one carrying a curved sword and the other a spear taller than her head. They held the weapons in awkward grips that would make a soldier wince. Shezan could almost hear Rabadash's scathing commentary and see the elaborate roll of his eyes. But only initiates could carry Achadith's arms in the Spring Festival -- two girls or young women who had chosen to serve the goddess but had not yet made their formal oaths. They would not receive weapons training until they were full priestesses.
"You are the right and left hands of the goddess today," Shezan told them. "Acquit yourselves with honor and bring no stain upon her name."
"To hear is to obey," the initiates chorused, looking even more nervous. One of them, a hawk-nosed girl who seemed vaguely familiar, added, "Will we be the only guards for the demon?"
"Of course not," Shezan said. "The temple guards will be present, as will the initiates from the other eight gods, and the Tisroc (may he live forever) will naturally have his personal guards. As for the demon, I will hold its leash."
She took the key from its hook and unlocked the door.
Marigold Beaver was sitting in the center of the barren room, wards strung around her neck, pinned to the bars of the window by the steel chain fastened to her collar. She was grooming her red-brown fur over and over again, combing the claws of her hind feet down her sides and back. At the soundless swing of the door, she looked up and then quickly back down again.
"Is it... is this it?" she said, sounding for all the world like a third nervous initiate.
"Yes," Shezan told her. "Come. It is time to face the gods."
She unfastened the chain from the window and looped it around her wrist. Then she walked into the corridor and down into the tunnels that led to the great temple. Marigold shuffled after her, and the initiates trailed behind, their sword and spear pointed tremblingly at the beaver's hunch-backed form.
Shezan had led beasts to the altar before. This felt nothing like that. This was leading a child to the executioner's axe.
But it was Achadith's will. She could not shirk her duty.
Shezan put one foot in front of the other, step by step, toward the moment of truth.
---------------
The doors of the great temple were closed, leaving the cavernous interior full of ringing echoes as the priests and priestesses sorted themselves into position, leaving space for the Tisroc (may he live forever) and his entourage of guards and family. Shezan climbed out of the tunnels with Marigold Beaver and her two initiates in tow and headed for the front of the procession, right between the priests of Tash and Rishti Tisroc's first line of guards.
Her grandfather stood beside the Tisroc, leaning heavily on the cane he so rarely deigned to use. Rabadash stood on Rishti Tisroc's other side, ivory-sheathed scimitar slung at his side and a look of frustrated anticipation on his face. Shezan attempted to catch her grandfather's eye and signal him to watch Rabadash, but he was deep in conversation with the Tisroc (may he live forever) and didn't notice.
Shezan resolved to try again later. She led her little trio into the empty space assigned to them and waited for everyone to stop shuffling about. Finally Nakdeh waved a hand to one of his initiates, who blew a long, deep note on a war horn.
Silence fell in the temple.
Nakdeh raised his hands and began to recite: "In the name of Tash the Inexorable, king of heaven and master of war. In the name of Achadith, queen of heaven and lady of change. In the name of Sokda, lord of wind and wave. In the name of Garshomon, father of river and stone. In the name of Zardeenah the Pure, lady of the night and its thousand stars. In the name of Soolyeh the Fair, mother of mares and grain. In the name of Nazreen the Wise, lady of memory and choice. In the name of Nur, master of scholars and physicians. In the name of Azaroth the Silent, guardian of death and darkness. We celebrate the turn of the year from winter to spring, and pray for the favor of the gods. So may it be."
"So may it be," Shezan chorused with the rest of the gathering.
"So may it be!" Nakdeh said, and the third time sealed the prayer. The initiate blew the war horn again. Beside him, one young man gripped the cords that dangled from the yearling bull's neck, while another hoisted the male calf awkwardly in his arms.
Nakdeh lowered his hands and led the procession toward the north gate of the great temple, out into the Courtyard of Bones. The temple guards had kept the steps clear of people, and the bull was easily visible as it stepped gingerly onto the wide stone stairs. Quiet rippled out over the vast crowd, sweeping around the corner of the temple to the great courtyard and even the Courtyard of the Willows, until the temple complex was as nearly silent as five thousand people could possibly be.
"The old year ends and the new year is born. The old bull dies and the new bull thrives. In the name of Calormen. In the name of the gods. In the name of Tash!" Nakdeh called, spreading his arms toward the crowd, palms open and turned up to hold his ceremonial sword. The initiate blew the war horn three times.
"So may it be!" the crowd shouted, a massive assault of noise.
At Shezan's feet, Marigold Beaver flinched.
Nakdeh led the procession around the temple, stopping every fifty feet to repeat the invocation, until everyone present had seen the bull and the calf. They returned in through the great south gates, and the crowd streamed in behind them, filling two thirds of the open space. The temple guards held the press back from the dais and the altar, where the procession circled. Nakdeh and his initiates ended directly behind the altar; Shezan and her trio stood to his right, and Azaroth's priest and single initiate stood to the left. Rabadash, Axartha, and Rishti Tisroc (may he live forever) stood just to Shezan's right, to signal the link between the throne and the gods; other members of his family, including Malindra Takhun and her son, Prince Ilragesh, stood beside Azaroth's servants.
Nakdeh and the initiate holding the yearling bull led the docile animal up the low steps to the massive altar and forced it to lie down on folded legs. Nakdeh raised his sword -- cried, "In the name of Tash!" -- swung the blade down.
Blood splashed and pooled in the hollow carved into the ancient stone. The war horn blared. The crowd screamed in response: "So may it be!"
The initiate holding the calf set the trembling, spindly-legged little beast on the other side of the altar. Nakdeh reached his hand into the pooling blood and brushed his red, sticky palm down the calf's forehead and nose. "The old year gives life to the new," he said. "So it has been, so it is, so will it ever be, to the end of this world and beyond."
"So may it be," Shezan repeated with the rest of the crowd.
Normally that would be the end of the ceremony -- the Tisroc (may he live forever) and the members of the procession would depart through the tunnels while the crowd slowly dispersed to the food, drink, song, and dance that formed the less religious part of the festival -- but this year, of course, Marigold Beaver had complicated matters.
The temple guards held the surging crowd back while Nakdeh led the procession out through the east gate of the temple, onto the steps that faced the great courtyard and which currently held an improvised stone altar, perhaps half the size of the true altar in the temple. "People of Calormen!" Nakdeh said as the members of the procession arranged themselves around the new altar. "This year, we are blessed with a sign from the gods themselves. A demon, one of the never-born, the chaos spirits that follow the Accursed Lion, has been captured and brought to Tashbaan. Today we will send it to face judgment from the gods."
"So may it be!" the crowd roared.
Shezan bent down and hoisted Marigold Beaver onto the altar. She positioned the chain so it ran over Marigold's throat, an easy threat of suffocation should the beaver try to struggle.
"Don't fight," Shezan whispered. "Whatever happens will be the will of the gods."
"Will of Aslan," Marigold wheezed, somehow sounding defiant despite the panic clearly visible in her rolling eyes and twitching paws.
Shezan pressed down on the chain to silence her. In the corner of her eye, she saw Rabadash drawing closer to his father, one hand sliding into the seam of his tunic. Birds circled overhead, most likely Tash's vultures waiting for the yearling bull to be left out as carrion for them to consume. One of them wheeled steadily lower and lower.
Nakdeh raised his sword, still red and wet with the blood of the yearling bull.
He drew breath, opened his mouth, cried, "In the name of Tash!"
The sword drew back another inch, to the top of its arc.
It began to fall.
Something slammed down onto the altar, knocking Nakdeh aside in its mad descent. Huge talons hooked around Marigold Beaver's hind legs, massive wings beat in a mad frenzy, and a golden eagle launched itself toward the sky.
Shezan stumbled forward, pulled by the tightening chain, which was still looped around her wrist.
For two breaths, she clutched it tightly within both hands. She could play deadweight, could pull the eagle to the ground where it would be easy prey, could force it to drop Marigold Beaver so the sacrifice could continue.
Shezan let go.
The chain whipped over her hand, scraping her knuckles raw, and the eagle vanished over the spires of the great temple, heading northwest. Marigold Beaver dangled helplessly it its claws.
She was laughing.
---------------
Shezan turned, feeling drunk and half-asleep, wondering what the others would make of her sudden change of heart. Had they even noticed? Would they assume she simply lacked the strength to resist the force of the eagle's pull, or would they accuse her of blasphemy? Either way, she needed to confess.
The steps seemed locked in a frozen tableau. Nakdeh lay sprawled on his side, his sword knocked a yard away from his hands. The three initiates of Tash stood like dazed sheep, waiting for a dog to sweep them into order. The other Tolkaars, Tolkheeras, and initiates seemed equally confused.
Rishti Tisroc was staring skyward with an inscrutable expression. His guards surrounded him with drawn swords, ready to strike down any suddenly appearing demons. Just inside their circle, Axartha had grabbed hold of Rabadash's arm and was forcing his hand back inside his tunic. Rabadash's sword hung at his side, still sheathed, despite the soldier's reflexes that should have had it drawn and in his hands.
Behind her, the crowd had gone so silent Shezan wondered if they still breathed.
Into that silence, a voice rang out like honey and razors, so sweet it stabbed the heart and left nothing but the aching yearning to follow forever. Shezan knew that voice. She had heard it first when she was fifteen, and had listened for it every day of her life since that night in the dark of the moon.
"All that happens here today is my sign and my will," Achadith said. "It is time for the pattern to break."
The echoes grew and grew until the words sounded all at once, a meaningless jumble of sound like shards of glass piercing Shezan's ears with their beauty. And then, all at once, silence.
She drew a deep breath and turned to face the crowd, knowing that whatever she said would be taken as the will of the gods -- that it would be the will of the gods, whether she understood their reasoning or not. She could change the world.
"Achadith has spoken!" Shezan shouted, raising her arms to show her empty hands, palms forward and fingers spread. "Calormen must change. In the beginning, Idrath World-Conqueror drew us together and set us against a hostile world. Lately we have turned on ourselves. Now we must look outward once again, starting with Narnia and the north. This world is ours, given to us by the gods. We must make peace with each other and return to our ancestors' path."
She drew another breath, but the crowd took the pause as a conclusion and a ragged shout began: "So may it be! So may it be! SO MAY IT BE!"
Three times sealed the prayer.
Shezan lowered her arms. What had she done?
---------------
Some time thereafter, she found herself in a small room in Rishti Tisroc's (may he live forever) private chambers, along with the Tisroc himself, Rabadash, Malindra Takhun, her grandfather, and Ahoshta Tarkaan. Someone handed her a glass of red wine and told her to drink.
She drank.
"Again," said a familiar voice, and Shezan obeyed. "Good, good. O my granddaughter and O most excellent Tolkheera, are you returned from communion with the goddess and ready to convey her intent to us, her mortal servants?" the familiar voice -- her grandfather's voice -- said, as Axartha stroked his wrinkled hand along Shezan's windblown hair.
"O my grandfather and O the delight of my eyes, I will try," Shezan said. She realized she was sitting in the presence of the Tisroc, and hastily stood from the satin-covered sofa, setting the empty wine glass aside on a gilded table. "What do you wish to know?"
"For a beginning, what was that nonsense about looking outward toward Narnia?" Malindra said from her position against the far wall. "What could a tiny, pitiful barbarian country -- a country, moreover, that is infested with demons -- have to offer Calormen?"
"And what do you mean, make peace with each other?" Rabadash demanded as he paced back and forth in agitation, kicking irritably at the tassels that edged the intricately woven carpet. "Just the other day, you advised me to consider a campaign against the lords of Rachegra province in order to remind them that tax evasion is a first step on the road to treason."
"O my wife and O my son, desist in your troubling of the Tolkheera," Rishti Tisroc said in his cool, placid voice. "If you think for a moment, the answers are clear. The gods have reminded us that this world was given to us for the taking. We have simply strayed from that path and begun to squabble amongst ourselves over petty trifles. We must turn our soldiers' attention outward to the barbarian countries that ring our empire. That is clear. As for Narnia, since that nation has just handed us a humiliation -- for though Achadith used the disruption to send her message, elementary logic assures us that if a demon may take the shape of a beaver, another demon may equally well take the shape of an eagle -- it is only good sense to learn what we can about Narnia that we may avenge the insult and avoid a repeat of the mistake."
"Your words, most discerning of Tisrocs, are enlightening as always," Ahoshta Tarkaan said.
"The question then becomes how to approach Narnia," Axartha said, aiming a quelling frown toward Ahoshta, who lowered his face to the carpet once again. "We must seem neither conciliatory, nor as though we bear a grudge for the blatant disrespect they have shown to our territorial waters and our gods."
"And?" Malindra Takhun said, folding her arms. "Do you have any ideas, or are you simply fishing for thoughts that you can claim as your own?"
Axartha glanced at Shezan, and then at Rabadash's hand where it rested on the hilt of his sword. His sword, Shezan suddenly recalled, which should have been drawn during the commotion, but which had remained in its scabbard while his hand was otherwise occupied, gripping something hidden within his tunic.
Gripping a knife.
He truly had intended to kill his father in front of five thousand people.
"I suggest that we propose a marriage treaty between Prince Rabadash and Queen Susan of Narnia," Shezan said.
"You suggest what?" Rabadash shouted. "I am the blood of Tash. How can I pollute that bloodline with a barbarian whore of no known ancestry? She consorts with demons, she is no better than a daughter of midden-cleaners, she has--"
"She is reputed to be very beautiful, in a washed-out foreign way," Axartha interrupted. "And no one said you needed to go through with the arrangement. This is simply a way to get you and a handful of your men into Narnia, to scout its strengths and weaknesses. We can send ambassadors tomorrow, to make the offer. If all goes well, you could be in Narnia within a fortnight. Even if they refuse, we will have achieved the useful goal of confusing them when we seem to show no resentment over being played for fools."
"I have heard that the barbarians are fond of fighting games," Malindra Takhun added abruptly. "You might appreciate the chance to try your strength against new styles of battle, inferior though they doubtless are."
"I am certain you would love to see me killed by chance in a tournament gone awry," Rabadash snapped.
"Did I say any such thing?" Malindra asked, spreading her hands and attempting to look innocent.
"I know what you whisper between your words, O daughter of vipers," Rabadash snarled, his hand clenching around the hilt of his sword. "O my father, put an end to this nonsense and let us plan a war against the southern heathens in their jungles. It may be that a show of force against them will both satisfy the gods and remind the lords of Rachegra what their duties are to the throne and the empire."
Rishti Tisroc (may he live forever) stirred on his couch and said, slowly, "I think not. The Grand Vizier and his granddaughter make an excellent point about Narnia. It is important not to let an insult languish unanswered, lest other barbarian nations become emboldened in their resistance to our trade policies. The southern heathens, on the other hand, are weak and can wait. You will travel down the coast to Elith to learn all the details about the ship from which the escaped demon was captured, while ambassadors sail north to treat with Narnia. When they send word of their success, you will join them and remain as long as courtesy allows. We will discuss other ventures when you return."
"But--" Rabadash started.
Shezan stepped on his foot. He glared at her, but muttered, "To hear is to obey, O my father and O the sun in my sky."
"That is well," Rishti Tisroc said. "Gather your companions and leave as soon as you may."
Rabadash stormed out of the room.
"The rest of you may also leave, save for my wife," Rishti Tisroc added with a languid wave of his hand. "Today remains, in the end, a festival as well as a day of great moment for Calormen. I suggest you enjoy it while you may."
"To hear is to obey," Shezan murmured along with her grandfather and Ahoshta. She and Axartha supported each other as they exited the room and began the walk back to less rarified areas of the palace.
Ahoshta hurried past them, intent on some machination of his own. Axartha waited until the other man was long gone, then turned to Shezan with a proud smile. "That was a difficult hand most excellently played, O my granddaughter. It is never easy to know what the gods mean when they place their hands in human affairs, and I have seen many such signs come to nothing because no person could impose his view of the message quickly and clearly enough to convince others to follow."
Shezan shook her head. "It wasn't like that," she protested -- except, of course, it was exactly as her grandfather had described. She had spoken whatever came into her head, never stopping to think if what she wanted was also what the goddess wanted. And she had presumed to speak for Achadith after allowing the Narnians carry out their secret plans. The humiliation of Calormen was her fault and hers alone. Even if Achadith claimed all things had happened according to her will, Shezan had still made a choice to betray her country and her gods. She had made the mistake of seeing a beast as a human child and she had not been strong enough to put that notion aside, nor to ask for help in carrying out her duty.
"You may attribute your words to the gods, but you are still the one who spoke them, and who found a way to get Rabadash out of Tashbaan until his blood cools, for which I thank you," Axartha said. He patted Shezan's hand. "Treaties for this sham marriage will take two months at least, I should think, and if Rabadash should become infatuated with the Narnian queen, as he often does with inappropriate women, that will simply serve to distract him further."
"Susan of Narnia is less inappropriate than many of his favorites," Shezan said. "A woman who knows when not to start a war, and who keeps her own envoy in the dark about her plans, is someone who might be able to manage Rabadash even in the worst of his tempers." She paused. "Speaking of which, what did become of the Narnian messenger? He said he would stay to watch the sacrifice, but I don't recall seeing him."
Axartha smiled wryly. "In point of fact, the barbarian lord Peridan left a note in his rooms claiming that he had been summoned home and departed early this morning. If that was this Queen Susan's work, that was also well considered. If he had remained, either Rishti or Rabadash might well have chosen to avenge the slight on his body."
And there was no sense in rescuing one vassal only to lose another. Queen Susan of Narnia seemed an admirable woman, for a barbarian and a friend of beasts, Shezan thought. If for some reason she played along with the marriage treaty long enough to visit Tashbaan, Shezan would like to meet her.
But for now, she should return to the temple complex and help oversee the crowds that took advantage of the free meat and drink the gods provided (via their servants) on the great festival days. She said as much to her grandfather, who nodded in agreement.
"I will lie down and ease my old bones," he said, "but I hope we will see each other tomorrow night at your mother's home for a family supper."
"To hear is to obey," Shezan said with a teasing smile, and left her grandfather with a kiss on his wrinkled cheek.
---------------
When the chaos of the day was done and the initiates were beginning to clean the mess left behind by thousands of feet, Shezan retreated to her chambers for a much-needed moment of peace and quiet.
She found someone waiting for her.
Ilgamuth Tarkaan sat on a chair in her receiving room, reading a treatise on natural philosophy -- specifically on the nature of water, both from a spiritual and an engineering perspective. He looked up as torchlight fell through the open door, and smiled around his scarred lip.
"Shezan Tolkheera, please excuse my rudeness at entering unbidden," he said, setting his book aside. "I did not want to disturb you in your work, and I will not have time to find you tomorrow morning before I accompany Rabadash south to Elith."
"It is of no moment," Shezan said, sinking onto her sofa with a deep sigh. She removed the silver belt and obsidian knife and slipped the white silk robe off her shoulders, leaving her in nothing but a thin black silk tunic and trousers. Her feet were still bare, and she tucked them up under her crossed legs to warm them.
"I thank you," Ilgamuth said. He looked down, clasped his hands, unclasped them, and clasped them again -- a strange hesitation from a noble and a soldier.
"I also wish to thank you and your grandfather for stopping my prince," he said slowly. "I could not speak against him, but the action he intended troubles my conscience, and I would not see Rabadash begin his reign with the gods set against him. It was wise of you to make reasons for him to be away from Tashbaan for a time, without sending him into battle, where his disgust at his father's growing sloth would only ferment the more."
Shezan waited a long moment, to be sure that Ilgamuth had confessed what she thought he had. Then she said, "I stopped nothing. I simply interpreted the words of the goddess."
"You did your duty," Ilgamuth interpreted, still looking down at his clasped hands. "That is more than I had strength to do. What is the use of a Tarkaan if he cannot tell his prince when he is riding over a cliff?"
Shezan thought about Rabadash's temper, his dislike of being crossed, and his certainty -- reinforced by dozens of successful battles -- that his choices were right and justified. It was easy to see why people would hesitate to tell him his choices were wrong. She herself had never come out and told him, in so many words, not to kill his father... though it had been clear that he knew what she meant underneath what she said, just as she had figured out his intentions from his surface obfuscation.
On the other hand, once Rabadash had seen clearly that he had chosen badly, and been made to endure the consequences, he never repeated the same mistake twice. He was, in fact, nearly as intelligent as he considered himself to be. He simply needed more people who could tell him no without risking death for taking a stand.
Shezan had such immunity. Ilgamuth did not.
Then again, what was the use of a soldier if he lacked the courage to face certain death?
And Shezan could use something for herself, something solely human and of Calormen, to wipe away the confusion of Narnian beasts and the nagging uncertainty of how many of her recent choices had been hers and how many had been forced by Achadith to achieve her own mysterious goals. She could do far worse than Ilgamuth.
"A Tarkaan who dares not tell his prince that they are galloping toward a cliff is not much use," Shezan agreed in a deceptively light tone of voice. "Indeed, I would say such a Tarkaan is hardly a man at all."
Ilgamuth jerked his head up, injured surprised written all over his face. Then Shezan's words and her teasing expression seemed to snap into place in his mind like a dislocated joint sliding into its socket. He smiled, his scarred lip twisting the expression into something nearly predatory. "Is that so?" he said. "When I return from Elith, we must talk more about your definition of manhood... and about your sad lack of perfume."
"If you think you will survive the long, arduous trip down the coast, and are competent enough to buy perfume without losing all your money in the bargaining," Shezan said, matching his smile.
She was high priestess of Achadith in Tashbaan. She had reached that height on her own merit, regardless of who she was related to. She served the goddess faithfully and well. She had helped prevent Rabadash from killing his father and plunging Calormen into civil war.
She had survived this test.
If she wished to reward herself by courting Ilgamuth Tarkaan, that was nobody's business but her own.
Shezan walked Ilgamuth out of the temple, exchanging more barbed steps in the opening dance. Then she went to the inner shrine, bowed before the statue of Achadith, and prepared to start the evening invocation.
In the flickering light of the lamps, the goddess seemed to smile.
---------------------------------------------
End of Story
Original Prompt: What I want:
any of:
-moral/ethical dilemmas: doing the wrong thing for the right reasons
-Susan solves a major national/international problem with her wits/words
-the first time (any of) the Pevensies leave Narnia-the-country or the first time they meet someone from another country.
-a crisis at Cair Paravel told from a non-Pevensie perspective
Prompt words/objects/quotes/whatever:
home, allegiance, discovery, secrecy, oath, perception
What I definitely don't want in my fic:
I don't like the preachy, convert-to-Christianity-today! tone found in a large subset of Narnia fic (no problem with religious themes; just over the top tone). I don't like the infantilization of the female characters - Lucy always a naive child whatever her age, Susan helpless and weepy, Jill confused and lost. That's about it, I think.
Author: edenfalling
Recipient lady_songsmith
Rating: PG-13
Possible Spoilers: no plot spoilers, extensive use of background and settings from The Horse and His Boy
Warnings: background presence of slavery, discussion of and planning for something equivalent to human sacrifice
Summary: In the fourteenth year of Rishti Tisroc's reign, a demon in the shape of a beaver is captured and brought to Tashbaan. Shezan Tolkheera, high priestess of the goddess Achadith, is given the responsibility of guarding the demon until its sacrifice at the Spring Festival. Complications ensue.
Part 2
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Out of Season, part 3
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Shezan always slept badly the nights before the four great festivals that marked the cycle of the sun and the change of the seasons. She expected to sleep even worse this year, what with the beaver locked up in her temple and the escape plans she still hadn't passed on to anyone. Instead, she fell into deep, drowning blackness the minute her head touched her pillow, almost as if she were drugged or caught by sorcery.
It seemed only a breath later that she opened her eyes to gray light seeping through her gauzy curtains. She had a vague memory that she had had an important dream -- something about light and darkness and a high mountain, and two voices (one sweet like a knife in the heart, one deep and bright like sunlight on the summer earth) that each made her want to follow forever -- but the details were leaking away like sand poured through the sieve of wakefulness.
Well, if it was important, she would remember sooner or later.
In the meantime, Shezan had a morning invocation to perform and all the madness of the Spring Festival to manage -- not to mention she still had not warned anyone about the Narnians' plan to rescue Marigold Beaver, nor did she know if Rabadash had come to his senses and abandoned his dream of patricide, nor had she spoken with her grandfather about how to warn the guards to watch for assassins without pointing them specifically at Rabadash.
Groaning, Shezan set her feet on the cool stone floor and wondered if she would survive the day.
When the morning invocation was finished, she summoned Muthori and told her to manage the preparations for a time. "I will return by the fifth hour and accompany you to the great temple," she said. "Until then, keep the initiates in order and oversee the purifications. Have two guards remove the tub from Soorabadeen Takhun's contemplation chamber and fasten the chain to the demon's collar, so all will be ready for the sacrifice."
"To hear is to obey," Muthori said. Her eyebrows and the set of her jaw expressed the disapproval she did not voice.
"When you are in my position, you can criticize my choices," Shezan said sharply. "Until then, veil your thoughts in deed as well as word. Now go."
Muthori bowed and departed. Shezan finished her breakfast and followed shortly thereafter.
Rabadash rarely rose before the fourth hour when he was not on campaign or training his followers, but proud as he was, he knew better than to offend or dismiss the gods by sleeping through one of the great festivals. He and a handful of his closest companions were sitting around a low table in his chambers, drinking watered wine and laughing over battle stories from their last battle, when Rishti Tisroc's army had finally broken the western rebels at the fortress of Teebeth and run the remnants down like dogs near the village of Zulindreh.
"O my sister, the sun is bright in my eyes now that you grace us with your holy presence," Rabadash said, motioning for a slave to pour wine for Shezan. "Come, sit, and tell us the will of the gods, for surely they have taken notice of such a band of warriors and have some grand and improbable task for us to achieve."
His friends laughed, some politely and some with true amusement.
"I have had no vision or sign to that effect, O my prince and O my brother," Shezan said as she accepted the wine and sat, folding her linen skirts under her crossed legs. "I merely wished to speak with you before my responsibilities draw me away. This is, after all, a most momentous day."
Rabadash and Ilgamuth were better about concealing their reactions this time -- they gave no sign that anything was amiss. Chlamash Tarkaan, on the other hand, subtly made a warding sign against sorcery with the hand on his thigh, while Anradin Tarkaan ran his hand down his crimson beard and frowned suspiciously for a moment.
"The changing of seasons is always a day of significance," Rabadash agreed. "The old gives way to the new and we begin again. Such is the way of life."
"Wise words, O my prince," Shezan agreed. "But it is well for all things to have their fullest chance to grow and thrive, lest pearls and gems be lost simply because they are stored in an old box that is throw away in favor of a new container. There is no sense in uprooting an ancient tree that provides good shade simply to plant a new one and wait a score of years for it to be of use."
Rabadash frowned. "Strange words, for one who serves Achadith. Is she not the goddess of chance and change, and breaks in worn-out patterns?"
Shezan lifted one shoulder and offered a self-deprecating smile. "So she is. But it is not for us to say which pattern should break, or when, or how. That is for the gods alone to decide."
"As the poet Ilmuzin has said, the gods pour wisdom down upon us like life-giving rain, but our souls are like the desert and channel it away," Ilgamuth put in before Rabadash could retort. "Tolkaars and Tolkheeras are those who have learned to make an oasis in their hearts. Therefore, we should heed their words."
Shezan bowed her head.
After a long moment, Rabadash exhaled explosively. "Truly, you have a verse for every occasion. It would behoove you not to flaunt your learning in the teeth of us rough souls, who are more attuned to the arts of war," he said to Ilgamuth. "As for you, O my sister, while I note your concern, I remind you that Idrath World-Conqueror had already begun to fight the wayward cities before Achadith took mortal shape and advised him. Sometimes men must take the first step instead of always cringing in fear of the gods' displeasure."
"That is so and I would never dispute that it is so," Shezan said, still with her head bowed respectfully. "Nonetheless, one must take care when choosing a new path not to disregard the commandments of Tash, for while a man can succeed in his enterprise with or without the gods' aid, he can never overcome their anger."
She stood in a graceful swirl of linen and a chime of bells. "I leave you with that thought on this holy day, O my prince. I will see you again for the sacrifice."
The room was silent as she departed, and she could feel Rabadash's eyes burning into her back.
---------------
Axartha Tarkaan was nowhere to be found, so far as the servitors and courtiers Shezan asked were concerned. After checking his rooms, the Tisroc's rooms, and several gardens, Shezan admitted defeat and returned to the temple complex via the Courtyard of Butterflies and the Courtyard of Bones. The procession did not begin until half past the fifth hour, so that the death of the yearling bull would fall precisely at noon, but even now at the fourth hour the temples and courtyards were filling with people. The rich and poor of Tashbaan rubbed shoulders, smashed together in a riot of color, sound, and body heat, on equal footing before the gods.
Shezan fought her way through the press into Achadith's temple, unlocked a door into the private areas, and slipped into a relatively empty corridor with a sigh of relief. In the distance, she heard splashes and ragged, antiphonal singing as priestesses and initiates worked through their purification rites one by one.
Assuming Muthori had things well in hand, Shezan retreated to her chambers to purify herself and dress in her full formal regalia. The purifications took nearly an hour -- as high priestess, she had to do every step twice, first to cleanse her body and again to cleanse her soul so that she would be a fitting sheath for the goddess should she choose to descend to earth. Then Shezan dressed in a long-sleeved tunic and trousers of pure black silk, tied a short-sleeved robe of pure white silk over them, and fastened it with a belt of silver links. She left her hair long and loose, and fastened the sheath for her obsidian knife to her belt. The spellstone hung around her neck along with a blackened silver disc to represent the eclipse and the dark of the moon.
She wore no shoes.
Thus prepared, Shezan went to fetch the beaver from her cell.
Two nervous initiates were standing outside the door of Soorabadeen Takhun's contemplation chamber, one carrying a curved sword and the other a spear taller than her head. They held the weapons in awkward grips that would make a soldier wince. Shezan could almost hear Rabadash's scathing commentary and see the elaborate roll of his eyes. But only initiates could carry Achadith's arms in the Spring Festival -- two girls or young women who had chosen to serve the goddess but had not yet made their formal oaths. They would not receive weapons training until they were full priestesses.
"You are the right and left hands of the goddess today," Shezan told them. "Acquit yourselves with honor and bring no stain upon her name."
"To hear is to obey," the initiates chorused, looking even more nervous. One of them, a hawk-nosed girl who seemed vaguely familiar, added, "Will we be the only guards for the demon?"
"Of course not," Shezan said. "The temple guards will be present, as will the initiates from the other eight gods, and the Tisroc (may he live forever) will naturally have his personal guards. As for the demon, I will hold its leash."
She took the key from its hook and unlocked the door.
Marigold Beaver was sitting in the center of the barren room, wards strung around her neck, pinned to the bars of the window by the steel chain fastened to her collar. She was grooming her red-brown fur over and over again, combing the claws of her hind feet down her sides and back. At the soundless swing of the door, she looked up and then quickly back down again.
"Is it... is this it?" she said, sounding for all the world like a third nervous initiate.
"Yes," Shezan told her. "Come. It is time to face the gods."
She unfastened the chain from the window and looped it around her wrist. Then she walked into the corridor and down into the tunnels that led to the great temple. Marigold shuffled after her, and the initiates trailed behind, their sword and spear pointed tremblingly at the beaver's hunch-backed form.
Shezan had led beasts to the altar before. This felt nothing like that. This was leading a child to the executioner's axe.
But it was Achadith's will. She could not shirk her duty.
Shezan put one foot in front of the other, step by step, toward the moment of truth.
---------------
The doors of the great temple were closed, leaving the cavernous interior full of ringing echoes as the priests and priestesses sorted themselves into position, leaving space for the Tisroc (may he live forever) and his entourage of guards and family. Shezan climbed out of the tunnels with Marigold Beaver and her two initiates in tow and headed for the front of the procession, right between the priests of Tash and Rishti Tisroc's first line of guards.
Her grandfather stood beside the Tisroc, leaning heavily on the cane he so rarely deigned to use. Rabadash stood on Rishti Tisroc's other side, ivory-sheathed scimitar slung at his side and a look of frustrated anticipation on his face. Shezan attempted to catch her grandfather's eye and signal him to watch Rabadash, but he was deep in conversation with the Tisroc (may he live forever) and didn't notice.
Shezan resolved to try again later. She led her little trio into the empty space assigned to them and waited for everyone to stop shuffling about. Finally Nakdeh waved a hand to one of his initiates, who blew a long, deep note on a war horn.
Silence fell in the temple.
Nakdeh raised his hands and began to recite: "In the name of Tash the Inexorable, king of heaven and master of war. In the name of Achadith, queen of heaven and lady of change. In the name of Sokda, lord of wind and wave. In the name of Garshomon, father of river and stone. In the name of Zardeenah the Pure, lady of the night and its thousand stars. In the name of Soolyeh the Fair, mother of mares and grain. In the name of Nazreen the Wise, lady of memory and choice. In the name of Nur, master of scholars and physicians. In the name of Azaroth the Silent, guardian of death and darkness. We celebrate the turn of the year from winter to spring, and pray for the favor of the gods. So may it be."
"So may it be," Shezan chorused with the rest of the gathering.
"So may it be!" Nakdeh said, and the third time sealed the prayer. The initiate blew the war horn again. Beside him, one young man gripped the cords that dangled from the yearling bull's neck, while another hoisted the male calf awkwardly in his arms.
Nakdeh lowered his hands and led the procession toward the north gate of the great temple, out into the Courtyard of Bones. The temple guards had kept the steps clear of people, and the bull was easily visible as it stepped gingerly onto the wide stone stairs. Quiet rippled out over the vast crowd, sweeping around the corner of the temple to the great courtyard and even the Courtyard of the Willows, until the temple complex was as nearly silent as five thousand people could possibly be.
"The old year ends and the new year is born. The old bull dies and the new bull thrives. In the name of Calormen. In the name of the gods. In the name of Tash!" Nakdeh called, spreading his arms toward the crowd, palms open and turned up to hold his ceremonial sword. The initiate blew the war horn three times.
"So may it be!" the crowd shouted, a massive assault of noise.
At Shezan's feet, Marigold Beaver flinched.
Nakdeh led the procession around the temple, stopping every fifty feet to repeat the invocation, until everyone present had seen the bull and the calf. They returned in through the great south gates, and the crowd streamed in behind them, filling two thirds of the open space. The temple guards held the press back from the dais and the altar, where the procession circled. Nakdeh and his initiates ended directly behind the altar; Shezan and her trio stood to his right, and Azaroth's priest and single initiate stood to the left. Rabadash, Axartha, and Rishti Tisroc (may he live forever) stood just to Shezan's right, to signal the link between the throne and the gods; other members of his family, including Malindra Takhun and her son, Prince Ilragesh, stood beside Azaroth's servants.
Nakdeh and the initiate holding the yearling bull led the docile animal up the low steps to the massive altar and forced it to lie down on folded legs. Nakdeh raised his sword -- cried, "In the name of Tash!" -- swung the blade down.
Blood splashed and pooled in the hollow carved into the ancient stone. The war horn blared. The crowd screamed in response: "So may it be!"
The initiate holding the calf set the trembling, spindly-legged little beast on the other side of the altar. Nakdeh reached his hand into the pooling blood and brushed his red, sticky palm down the calf's forehead and nose. "The old year gives life to the new," he said. "So it has been, so it is, so will it ever be, to the end of this world and beyond."
"So may it be," Shezan repeated with the rest of the crowd.
Normally that would be the end of the ceremony -- the Tisroc (may he live forever) and the members of the procession would depart through the tunnels while the crowd slowly dispersed to the food, drink, song, and dance that formed the less religious part of the festival -- but this year, of course, Marigold Beaver had complicated matters.
The temple guards held the surging crowd back while Nakdeh led the procession out through the east gate of the temple, onto the steps that faced the great courtyard and which currently held an improvised stone altar, perhaps half the size of the true altar in the temple. "People of Calormen!" Nakdeh said as the members of the procession arranged themselves around the new altar. "This year, we are blessed with a sign from the gods themselves. A demon, one of the never-born, the chaos spirits that follow the Accursed Lion, has been captured and brought to Tashbaan. Today we will send it to face judgment from the gods."
"So may it be!" the crowd roared.
Shezan bent down and hoisted Marigold Beaver onto the altar. She positioned the chain so it ran over Marigold's throat, an easy threat of suffocation should the beaver try to struggle.
"Don't fight," Shezan whispered. "Whatever happens will be the will of the gods."
"Will of Aslan," Marigold wheezed, somehow sounding defiant despite the panic clearly visible in her rolling eyes and twitching paws.
Shezan pressed down on the chain to silence her. In the corner of her eye, she saw Rabadash drawing closer to his father, one hand sliding into the seam of his tunic. Birds circled overhead, most likely Tash's vultures waiting for the yearling bull to be left out as carrion for them to consume. One of them wheeled steadily lower and lower.
Nakdeh raised his sword, still red and wet with the blood of the yearling bull.
He drew breath, opened his mouth, cried, "In the name of Tash!"
The sword drew back another inch, to the top of its arc.
It began to fall.
Something slammed down onto the altar, knocking Nakdeh aside in its mad descent. Huge talons hooked around Marigold Beaver's hind legs, massive wings beat in a mad frenzy, and a golden eagle launched itself toward the sky.
Shezan stumbled forward, pulled by the tightening chain, which was still looped around her wrist.
For two breaths, she clutched it tightly within both hands. She could play deadweight, could pull the eagle to the ground where it would be easy prey, could force it to drop Marigold Beaver so the sacrifice could continue.
Shezan let go.
The chain whipped over her hand, scraping her knuckles raw, and the eagle vanished over the spires of the great temple, heading northwest. Marigold Beaver dangled helplessly it its claws.
She was laughing.
---------------
Shezan turned, feeling drunk and half-asleep, wondering what the others would make of her sudden change of heart. Had they even noticed? Would they assume she simply lacked the strength to resist the force of the eagle's pull, or would they accuse her of blasphemy? Either way, she needed to confess.
The steps seemed locked in a frozen tableau. Nakdeh lay sprawled on his side, his sword knocked a yard away from his hands. The three initiates of Tash stood like dazed sheep, waiting for a dog to sweep them into order. The other Tolkaars, Tolkheeras, and initiates seemed equally confused.
Rishti Tisroc was staring skyward with an inscrutable expression. His guards surrounded him with drawn swords, ready to strike down any suddenly appearing demons. Just inside their circle, Axartha had grabbed hold of Rabadash's arm and was forcing his hand back inside his tunic. Rabadash's sword hung at his side, still sheathed, despite the soldier's reflexes that should have had it drawn and in his hands.
Behind her, the crowd had gone so silent Shezan wondered if they still breathed.
Into that silence, a voice rang out like honey and razors, so sweet it stabbed the heart and left nothing but the aching yearning to follow forever. Shezan knew that voice. She had heard it first when she was fifteen, and had listened for it every day of her life since that night in the dark of the moon.
"All that happens here today is my sign and my will," Achadith said. "It is time for the pattern to break."
The echoes grew and grew until the words sounded all at once, a meaningless jumble of sound like shards of glass piercing Shezan's ears with their beauty. And then, all at once, silence.
She drew a deep breath and turned to face the crowd, knowing that whatever she said would be taken as the will of the gods -- that it would be the will of the gods, whether she understood their reasoning or not. She could change the world.
"Achadith has spoken!" Shezan shouted, raising her arms to show her empty hands, palms forward and fingers spread. "Calormen must change. In the beginning, Idrath World-Conqueror drew us together and set us against a hostile world. Lately we have turned on ourselves. Now we must look outward once again, starting with Narnia and the north. This world is ours, given to us by the gods. We must make peace with each other and return to our ancestors' path."
She drew another breath, but the crowd took the pause as a conclusion and a ragged shout began: "So may it be! So may it be! SO MAY IT BE!"
Three times sealed the prayer.
Shezan lowered her arms. What had she done?
---------------
Some time thereafter, she found herself in a small room in Rishti Tisroc's (may he live forever) private chambers, along with the Tisroc himself, Rabadash, Malindra Takhun, her grandfather, and Ahoshta Tarkaan. Someone handed her a glass of red wine and told her to drink.
She drank.
"Again," said a familiar voice, and Shezan obeyed. "Good, good. O my granddaughter and O most excellent Tolkheera, are you returned from communion with the goddess and ready to convey her intent to us, her mortal servants?" the familiar voice -- her grandfather's voice -- said, as Axartha stroked his wrinkled hand along Shezan's windblown hair.
"O my grandfather and O the delight of my eyes, I will try," Shezan said. She realized she was sitting in the presence of the Tisroc, and hastily stood from the satin-covered sofa, setting the empty wine glass aside on a gilded table. "What do you wish to know?"
"For a beginning, what was that nonsense about looking outward toward Narnia?" Malindra said from her position against the far wall. "What could a tiny, pitiful barbarian country -- a country, moreover, that is infested with demons -- have to offer Calormen?"
"And what do you mean, make peace with each other?" Rabadash demanded as he paced back and forth in agitation, kicking irritably at the tassels that edged the intricately woven carpet. "Just the other day, you advised me to consider a campaign against the lords of Rachegra province in order to remind them that tax evasion is a first step on the road to treason."
"O my wife and O my son, desist in your troubling of the Tolkheera," Rishti Tisroc said in his cool, placid voice. "If you think for a moment, the answers are clear. The gods have reminded us that this world was given to us for the taking. We have simply strayed from that path and begun to squabble amongst ourselves over petty trifles. We must turn our soldiers' attention outward to the barbarian countries that ring our empire. That is clear. As for Narnia, since that nation has just handed us a humiliation -- for though Achadith used the disruption to send her message, elementary logic assures us that if a demon may take the shape of a beaver, another demon may equally well take the shape of an eagle -- it is only good sense to learn what we can about Narnia that we may avenge the insult and avoid a repeat of the mistake."
"Your words, most discerning of Tisrocs, are enlightening as always," Ahoshta Tarkaan said.
"The question then becomes how to approach Narnia," Axartha said, aiming a quelling frown toward Ahoshta, who lowered his face to the carpet once again. "We must seem neither conciliatory, nor as though we bear a grudge for the blatant disrespect they have shown to our territorial waters and our gods."
"And?" Malindra Takhun said, folding her arms. "Do you have any ideas, or are you simply fishing for thoughts that you can claim as your own?"
Axartha glanced at Shezan, and then at Rabadash's hand where it rested on the hilt of his sword. His sword, Shezan suddenly recalled, which should have been drawn during the commotion, but which had remained in its scabbard while his hand was otherwise occupied, gripping something hidden within his tunic.
Gripping a knife.
He truly had intended to kill his father in front of five thousand people.
"I suggest that we propose a marriage treaty between Prince Rabadash and Queen Susan of Narnia," Shezan said.
"You suggest what?" Rabadash shouted. "I am the blood of Tash. How can I pollute that bloodline with a barbarian whore of no known ancestry? She consorts with demons, she is no better than a daughter of midden-cleaners, she has--"
"She is reputed to be very beautiful, in a washed-out foreign way," Axartha interrupted. "And no one said you needed to go through with the arrangement. This is simply a way to get you and a handful of your men into Narnia, to scout its strengths and weaknesses. We can send ambassadors tomorrow, to make the offer. If all goes well, you could be in Narnia within a fortnight. Even if they refuse, we will have achieved the useful goal of confusing them when we seem to show no resentment over being played for fools."
"I have heard that the barbarians are fond of fighting games," Malindra Takhun added abruptly. "You might appreciate the chance to try your strength against new styles of battle, inferior though they doubtless are."
"I am certain you would love to see me killed by chance in a tournament gone awry," Rabadash snapped.
"Did I say any such thing?" Malindra asked, spreading her hands and attempting to look innocent.
"I know what you whisper between your words, O daughter of vipers," Rabadash snarled, his hand clenching around the hilt of his sword. "O my father, put an end to this nonsense and let us plan a war against the southern heathens in their jungles. It may be that a show of force against them will both satisfy the gods and remind the lords of Rachegra what their duties are to the throne and the empire."
Rishti Tisroc (may he live forever) stirred on his couch and said, slowly, "I think not. The Grand Vizier and his granddaughter make an excellent point about Narnia. It is important not to let an insult languish unanswered, lest other barbarian nations become emboldened in their resistance to our trade policies. The southern heathens, on the other hand, are weak and can wait. You will travel down the coast to Elith to learn all the details about the ship from which the escaped demon was captured, while ambassadors sail north to treat with Narnia. When they send word of their success, you will join them and remain as long as courtesy allows. We will discuss other ventures when you return."
"But--" Rabadash started.
Shezan stepped on his foot. He glared at her, but muttered, "To hear is to obey, O my father and O the sun in my sky."
"That is well," Rishti Tisroc said. "Gather your companions and leave as soon as you may."
Rabadash stormed out of the room.
"The rest of you may also leave, save for my wife," Rishti Tisroc added with a languid wave of his hand. "Today remains, in the end, a festival as well as a day of great moment for Calormen. I suggest you enjoy it while you may."
"To hear is to obey," Shezan murmured along with her grandfather and Ahoshta. She and Axartha supported each other as they exited the room and began the walk back to less rarified areas of the palace.
Ahoshta hurried past them, intent on some machination of his own. Axartha waited until the other man was long gone, then turned to Shezan with a proud smile. "That was a difficult hand most excellently played, O my granddaughter. It is never easy to know what the gods mean when they place their hands in human affairs, and I have seen many such signs come to nothing because no person could impose his view of the message quickly and clearly enough to convince others to follow."
Shezan shook her head. "It wasn't like that," she protested -- except, of course, it was exactly as her grandfather had described. She had spoken whatever came into her head, never stopping to think if what she wanted was also what the goddess wanted. And she had presumed to speak for Achadith after allowing the Narnians carry out their secret plans. The humiliation of Calormen was her fault and hers alone. Even if Achadith claimed all things had happened according to her will, Shezan had still made a choice to betray her country and her gods. She had made the mistake of seeing a beast as a human child and she had not been strong enough to put that notion aside, nor to ask for help in carrying out her duty.
"You may attribute your words to the gods, but you are still the one who spoke them, and who found a way to get Rabadash out of Tashbaan until his blood cools, for which I thank you," Axartha said. He patted Shezan's hand. "Treaties for this sham marriage will take two months at least, I should think, and if Rabadash should become infatuated with the Narnian queen, as he often does with inappropriate women, that will simply serve to distract him further."
"Susan of Narnia is less inappropriate than many of his favorites," Shezan said. "A woman who knows when not to start a war, and who keeps her own envoy in the dark about her plans, is someone who might be able to manage Rabadash even in the worst of his tempers." She paused. "Speaking of which, what did become of the Narnian messenger? He said he would stay to watch the sacrifice, but I don't recall seeing him."
Axartha smiled wryly. "In point of fact, the barbarian lord Peridan left a note in his rooms claiming that he had been summoned home and departed early this morning. If that was this Queen Susan's work, that was also well considered. If he had remained, either Rishti or Rabadash might well have chosen to avenge the slight on his body."
And there was no sense in rescuing one vassal only to lose another. Queen Susan of Narnia seemed an admirable woman, for a barbarian and a friend of beasts, Shezan thought. If for some reason she played along with the marriage treaty long enough to visit Tashbaan, Shezan would like to meet her.
But for now, she should return to the temple complex and help oversee the crowds that took advantage of the free meat and drink the gods provided (via their servants) on the great festival days. She said as much to her grandfather, who nodded in agreement.
"I will lie down and ease my old bones," he said, "but I hope we will see each other tomorrow night at your mother's home for a family supper."
"To hear is to obey," Shezan said with a teasing smile, and left her grandfather with a kiss on his wrinkled cheek.
---------------
When the chaos of the day was done and the initiates were beginning to clean the mess left behind by thousands of feet, Shezan retreated to her chambers for a much-needed moment of peace and quiet.
She found someone waiting for her.
Ilgamuth Tarkaan sat on a chair in her receiving room, reading a treatise on natural philosophy -- specifically on the nature of water, both from a spiritual and an engineering perspective. He looked up as torchlight fell through the open door, and smiled around his scarred lip.
"Shezan Tolkheera, please excuse my rudeness at entering unbidden," he said, setting his book aside. "I did not want to disturb you in your work, and I will not have time to find you tomorrow morning before I accompany Rabadash south to Elith."
"It is of no moment," Shezan said, sinking onto her sofa with a deep sigh. She removed the silver belt and obsidian knife and slipped the white silk robe off her shoulders, leaving her in nothing but a thin black silk tunic and trousers. Her feet were still bare, and she tucked them up under her crossed legs to warm them.
"I thank you," Ilgamuth said. He looked down, clasped his hands, unclasped them, and clasped them again -- a strange hesitation from a noble and a soldier.
"I also wish to thank you and your grandfather for stopping my prince," he said slowly. "I could not speak against him, but the action he intended troubles my conscience, and I would not see Rabadash begin his reign with the gods set against him. It was wise of you to make reasons for him to be away from Tashbaan for a time, without sending him into battle, where his disgust at his father's growing sloth would only ferment the more."
Shezan waited a long moment, to be sure that Ilgamuth had confessed what she thought he had. Then she said, "I stopped nothing. I simply interpreted the words of the goddess."
"You did your duty," Ilgamuth interpreted, still looking down at his clasped hands. "That is more than I had strength to do. What is the use of a Tarkaan if he cannot tell his prince when he is riding over a cliff?"
Shezan thought about Rabadash's temper, his dislike of being crossed, and his certainty -- reinforced by dozens of successful battles -- that his choices were right and justified. It was easy to see why people would hesitate to tell him his choices were wrong. She herself had never come out and told him, in so many words, not to kill his father... though it had been clear that he knew what she meant underneath what she said, just as she had figured out his intentions from his surface obfuscation.
On the other hand, once Rabadash had seen clearly that he had chosen badly, and been made to endure the consequences, he never repeated the same mistake twice. He was, in fact, nearly as intelligent as he considered himself to be. He simply needed more people who could tell him no without risking death for taking a stand.
Shezan had such immunity. Ilgamuth did not.
Then again, what was the use of a soldier if he lacked the courage to face certain death?
And Shezan could use something for herself, something solely human and of Calormen, to wipe away the confusion of Narnian beasts and the nagging uncertainty of how many of her recent choices had been hers and how many had been forced by Achadith to achieve her own mysterious goals. She could do far worse than Ilgamuth.
"A Tarkaan who dares not tell his prince that they are galloping toward a cliff is not much use," Shezan agreed in a deceptively light tone of voice. "Indeed, I would say such a Tarkaan is hardly a man at all."
Ilgamuth jerked his head up, injured surprised written all over his face. Then Shezan's words and her teasing expression seemed to snap into place in his mind like a dislocated joint sliding into its socket. He smiled, his scarred lip twisting the expression into something nearly predatory. "Is that so?" he said. "When I return from Elith, we must talk more about your definition of manhood... and about your sad lack of perfume."
"If you think you will survive the long, arduous trip down the coast, and are competent enough to buy perfume without losing all your money in the bargaining," Shezan said, matching his smile.
She was high priestess of Achadith in Tashbaan. She had reached that height on her own merit, regardless of who she was related to. She served the goddess faithfully and well. She had helped prevent Rabadash from killing his father and plunging Calormen into civil war.
She had survived this test.
If she wished to reward herself by courting Ilgamuth Tarkaan, that was nobody's business but her own.
Shezan walked Ilgamuth out of the temple, exchanging more barbed steps in the opening dance. Then she went to the inner shrine, bowed before the statue of Achadith, and prepared to start the evening invocation.
In the flickering light of the lamps, the goddess seemed to smile.
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End of Story
Original Prompt: What I want:
any of:
-moral/ethical dilemmas: doing the wrong thing for the right reasons
-Susan solves a major national/international problem with her wits/words
-the first time (any of) the Pevensies leave Narnia-the-country or the first time they meet someone from another country.
-a crisis at Cair Paravel told from a non-Pevensie perspective
Prompt words/objects/quotes/whatever:
home, allegiance, discovery, secrecy, oath, perception
What I definitely don't want in my fic:
I don't like the preachy, convert-to-Christianity-today! tone found in a large subset of Narnia fic (no problem with religious themes; just over the top tone). I don't like the infantilization of the female characters - Lucy always a naive child whatever her age, Susan helpless and weepy, Jill confused and lost. That's about it, I think.