My Own Wolves

At my father's house, I was known by many names. Lady Tarkheena, Lady Tarkheena, the maids would say as they bade me wake in the mornings, Lady Tarkheena, your tutoress is waiting for you, Lady Tarkheena, you look so beautiful in that gown, but I knew that when I was absent the compliments would disappear from their lips like wax melting from a candle, dripping and congealing into lumps at its base, and instead – bitch, whore, orphan. I was not an orphan, no, for my father continued to live, a miser who would not let the mere light of day see his treasures for fear it would steal them away, even I, the least-prized of these possessions, was kept locked up. He did not wish to see me often, he was the only person who did not call me anything, even my stepmother, the cruellest woman I ever did see, deigned to address me.

The men, the suitors, the Harlequins whom my stepmother introduced me to had names for me too, showering upon me sweethearts and darlings in equal measure as they did crystallised fruits, perfumes and lissom, cool silks. Fools I called them then, fools I think of them now, for what was I! a girl barely passed thirteen summers of age, what use had I then for sweet and empty words poured away as confetti, for confessions of love I would not have understood, even had I studied them for millennia?

Yet I did not reveal this dissatisfaction to anyone, not my father's secretary, nor my brother, on whom be the peace of the gods, for he was dead, nor my beloved horse, Hwin, for she, I then supposed, the wool having been pulled over my eyes until no more light penetrated the world, could offer no words to placate me.

Gradually, the ebb of young men died away, the encomiums fading until nought but memory remained. By my maids I was called Lady Tarkheena once more, my stepmother, an insolent wretch, my young brother, nothing at all. He was just a child, I am convinced she fed him sweets laced with vitriol to induce in him the hatred she harboured for me. She tended to it as a gardener to a prized rose.

My father summoned me to his office, I did not know why, he faced the window, I could see in it his reflection, I knew he was looking at mine. He cleared his throat, he started to speak, his voice sounded like a burnt loaf of bread, he paused, began again. I realised as I observed him in the glass that he was scared, he was afraid of me. O my daughter and O the delight of my eyes. Oh my father and O the delight of my eyes. He continued to watch me, his eyes seared mine, I could stand it no longer, I closed my eyes, I did not see his face as he uttered the words.

"You are to marry Ahoshta Tarkaan."

My father, what do you mean? He means what he said, or are you deaf as well as stupid, my stepmother told me, for she had entered the room without a sound. I do not understand, what is to become of my life, am I to move to Tashbaan, I entreat you, do not make me do this, I do not love him.

Enough.

Enough, do not plead with me upon this matter, o my daughter, for it does not become you or your station. As for love, what has love do to with anything, my father said, love is neither as important nor as fulfilling as duty, love is misery, love is nothing, do you think I loved your mother, do you think I love my wife, nay, I did not, I do not. And father, what if I should say no? My daughter, we cannot force you to partake in this endeavour, but know that, should you refuse this offer, my favour shall never fall on you again, you will be outcast, alone. Ahoshta is a magnanimous Tarkaan, he wishes for no great dowry, in fact, he has agreed to endow our family well.

Oh! Sold, sold to the highest bidder, I was a slave, he was the master, I was his daughter, he was my father, he owned me, nay, he had owned me, for Ahoshta had me now. Sold, for what, perhaps for the string of red rubies that now adorned my stepmother's neck, sold for the new colt in the stables, sold for a price too low, always too low.

I knew I would find no comfort from my father or his wife, I returned to my room and wept, I locked my door, I would allow none to see me. The next morning I awoke, rather, I did not have to wake, for I had not slept. My brother had carried a dagger, the blade was unsoiled, he had not used it, he had not the time before a similar dagger plunged into his chest, I wondered whether that one had been cleaned, I thought that no amount of polishing could wipe off the stain of a man's life. I was glad he had not used it, his soul was as untainted as the shank.

I caused Hwin to be saddled and rode into the wood, all was quiet, all was as it seemed. I offered the necessary prayers, I prepared to stop my heart, the gods would accept ten gold crescents and an orchid as recompense.

"O my mistress, do not by any means destroy yourself, for if you live you may yet have good fortune but all the dead are dead alike."

Hwin, why, Hwin, is it you who utters the language of men?

Indeed it is, she said, and told me the tale of her childhood, of the land of Narnia, where I could be free. I did not know if I wanted freedom, no, for there was a certain comfort in the safety of Calormen. There are wolves in Narnia, she said, they have such big eyes and such big teeth and if you stray too far into the woods, they will gobble you up. And yet, dearest, if you do stay on the path, so will your own wolf, this Ahoshta Tarkaan whom you so loathe.

And so we planned to flee. Convincing my father of my happiness was simple, I then needed to discourse with his secretary, he scolded, argued, begged.

O my mistress, you must marry Ahoshta, but I cannot, for you must realise the struggles of maids and spinsters, but I will not, and how do you suppose you will find happiness in this life without a husband to support and finance your endeavours, but I shall not, I must not. His black eyes turned into rivulets before my own and I fancied that perhaps he was weeping for me, yet his words held in them reason; golden bathrooms and stuffed peacocks are nothing to cry about.

I would rather be free with no bathroom or peacocks than live in his household, I told the secretary, he sighed, had the air been cooler we would have seen his breath, he agreed to write a letter for me, I feigned that Ahoshta had seen me, been so enamoured that he had carried me to Tashbaan then and there.

We flew, Hwin and I, she ran through the woods.

"Awake, dear Aravis," she said on the first day of our escape, I paused, I scarce remembered that Aravis was my name, "I shall call you Aravis, not mistress nor Tarkheena, and you shall call me Hwin" she continued, "for now we are equals."

Aravis, it means gift from the gods, my mother told me, she named me Aravis, was the horse to be my new mother? So used to being addressed by those of lower rank, I still miss being addressed as Tarkheena, I want to tell them that I am descended from Tash, they should bow to me, yet with Hwin I do not mind, she is my gift from the gods and I am hers.

We continue our journey, we are closer to Narnia every day, true to her oath she never calls me anything but Aravis, and although we ride in moonlight, she sees me more clearly than anyone.

A/N: Reviews are lovely. A xo