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Emeth vaguely heard the Eagle, heard the cry to move further up and further in. The loose group he walked in, queens and kings and talking dogs and other creatures he felt too shy or dazed to even think about, heard it clearly though. They swept forward faster, animated by something he couldn't feel. They pressed forward, eagerness in each line of their bodies. They began to run. Like a river, they moved faster, further up and into this place.
Emeth felt none of that urgency, so he watched them go. He walked on steadily, delighting in the sun on his back and the spring of grass under his feet. It was greener and more alive than any he'd seen. As a child, there had been a small patch that grew in the pleasure garden at his father's house, sheltered from the sand and wind. He could remember running over it as a child and thinking it luxurious; he had laid on it in the sun and eaten mint sorbets that made his mouth sting with freshness. When he'd gotten older and left the heavy mudbrick walls of the house, to go into the world to take his place as a Tarkaan and learn all the rest of his business, he'd been stationed in the farmlands. There, everything had been green and he'd realised how sparse and dry the grass in the pleasure garden had been. For a long while, the taste of mint was the taste of disappointment on his tongue. Here, in the western wilds of this land that was all of Narnia's might-have-beens, the grass under his feet was sharp and soft together, and exactly how he remembered from his youth.
It was hard to feel alone in this world, even when he was. The day seemed to stretch on forever, the sun slowly sinking behind the mountains and staining the sky purple and salmon. Emeth stood in and looked at the sky, and every part of him heard the trumpets sound for Tash. They sounded strong and clear in his head and his heart felt the familiar thrill of terror and awe. He raised his hands to the sky, and stopped, unsure if he should still follow the memory of his muscles and the urging of his blood. He let the clear notes of the brass ring through him, surely impossibly clear. He was sure he could remember them from their dishonourable and dirty campsite in Narnia; they had sounded strident and cheap there. Still the long notes ran through him and lifted his heart up to the sky. He found his lips saying the words he'd found for himself when he became a man, and they felt right, spilling into the air. When he was finished, it was dark and he wondered belatedly what the Lion would make of his prayer in the evening light.
He sat down on the ground and watched the stars come out. There was no point worrying about it now. If he had displeased, he would find out one way or another, and worrying never brought the unpleasantness more quickly or with less pain. Best to look up at the sky and see in it the shape of Aslan and the wonder of this world, while he still had it to explore. When the sun came up in the morning, he would keep walking westward. As the night slowly quietened, he heard the slow call of the Lion's words to him. He would go further up and further in.
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The days merged into each other and he wasn't sure how long he spent along the way. Each night was just cold enough, each day just warm enough, and his strength never waned as he ate fruit and berries and drank water from streams he found. He didn't think he needed the food and drink, but he delighted in them all the same and thanked the Lion with each mouthful. He climbed the heights of the western mountains until the granite itself seemed imprinted in his skin. After, the thin, wild wind was his constant companion as he trod over the grass. Each evening, as the sun sank down in front of him, the wind bought the sound of the trumpets.
Each evening, bathed red in a sun that seemed brighter than any he could remember, Emeth spoke the words he'd found for himself. Each time, he forgot to worry about the Lion until after it was done. Eventually, the worry was just a soft kind of weariness, like a small stone in his shoe at the end of a day of tiring pleasure. He walked and ate and slept, and followed the Lion's words as he heard them whisper through him in the night.
Emeth was content to follow the thread of sound.
The day he made it to the foot of the huge, smooth grass slope was the first day he felt doubt. It sank into him, as cold as the water from the lake he'd just crossed. Walking slowly up the hill, he felt like his feet could slip out from under him any moment and send him sliding back down. He didn't dare look back to see how far he'd gone, or how far he had to fall. If he hit the water, he'd never be able to stop.
At the top, he stopped in front of the gates and his doubts rose to choke him once again. He hesitated, sure that he couldn't be allowed here, and nearly turned and let himself fall. The gates swung open briskly and Emeth stared. A thousand visions of who or what could welcome him tumbled through his mind. He gasped as he laid eyes on the person who strolled out. Dressed in the same clothes as he'd seen on the Kings and Queens, Lords and Ladies, yet she had the dark skin and eyes of a Calormene.
"Good, you're here," she said. Emeth thought wildly for a moment of stepping back and letting gravity drag him back down the slope. Instead, he remembered a thousand lessons and stepped forward, bowing low. The woman laughed and ran forward, clasping his hand as he rose. Emeth found himself smiling before he could recall any other rules of conduct.
"I am Aravis, past Queen of Archenland, though once I was called Aravis Tarkheena, only daughter of Kidrash Tarkaan, the son of Rishti Tarkaan, the son of Kidrash Tarkaan, the son of Illsombreh Tisroc, the son of Ardeeb Tisroc."
"I am Emeth, seventh son of Harpha Tarkaan," he said, voice rusty. He left off the rest of his genealogy. Their descent from Tash remained unspoken by both, but it hung heavy in his mind,even as Aravis squeezed his hand and let go of him.
"I am happy you have come, Emeth. I won't press you to come in now. I wondered if you wished to come with me instead."
"Where do you ask me to go?" he asked.
"Adventure," she said, smile bright, more joyous and uncomplicated, somehow, than he could remember seeing on any face in this world so far. He felt the joy catch alight in him also, and found that there was room for adventure in this land that still made little sense.
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The time didn't seem to stretch and warp now, not with company. The sun rose bright and huge in the morning as they walked back down, almost back the way Emeth had come. Each day was warm, each evening slowly lengthening and tinting the sky pink and purple. The first evening after Aravis joined him, Emeth had fidgeted as the trumpet's echoes blared through him. He'd ignored it as long as he could, watching Aravis out of the corner of his eye and forcing down the words he wanted to say.
Just before the sun disappeared, he'd stood and the words had poured out of him in a flood, voice louder and more definite than he remembered it being before. He sat back down and waited for censure, disapproval, stony silence.
"When I married, I had been in Archenland already for some years. I spoke the language and wore the clothes." Aravis said. She'd kindled a small fire between them, but he couldn't read the expression on her face in the flickering light. "But as my wedding approached, the call of Zardeenah, Lady of the Night, grew stronger. I had to go out into the woods, to complete the rites. It was an obsession, and I fought against it. I was sure it would not be accepted."
Emeth said nothing, just watched her turn a piece of wood over and over in her hands. He wasn't sure what she was getting at, or if there was a point to her story. There might have been the worn down rhythms of her Calormene training somewhere under the words, but it didn't sound like the tales he was used to. He sat and waited. Aravis laughed a little, softly.
"Eventually, my father-in-law had it out of me. Seems that Cor had taken my restlessness for cold feet, and everyone was relieved that it was just my last farewell to Zardeenah. I was... never sure what to make of that tolerance. It was almost indifference, like my devotions to Zardeenah could never make any real difference to me or to them. Even now, I am not sure what to make of that silence. But I went out into the woods near the castle and I built the ritual altar. I read the future in the stars, the way I had been taught, and I found my words." Emeth startled a little, and he watched Aravis's smile grow wider. "Women say them in the morning, as the sun comes up. A woman's life is surrender, so they taught me, and therefore it is fitting that we say our words as the dominion of men strengthens and we remember our subservience."
"I found my words in the desert," said Emeth. Aravis nodded. Of course, she would know of the journey boys took when they became men, the words they found from Tash on their travels. It was only the world of women that was sequestered.
"They seem to me words fit for a seeker of truth."
"What are your words?" he asked, appalled at himself even as the question slipped from his mouth. Aravis only laughed and held up her hand to forestall his apologies.
"You will hear them in the morning anyway," she said. "Let us say that they are not words of surrender or graceful compliance, nor yet subservience. Zardeenah wisely did not expect that from me."
Emeth nodded. He felt easier, knowing that Aravis had felt - still felt, if she said the words still with the rising of the sun - the deep urge to continue her observances. Her words had raised other questions, though. He felt like he would never find the end of his doubts in this strange land. He wanted to ask her what this place was, and how she had come to be here, Tarkheena and Archenland Queen in one. He wanted to ask her about the Lion and his truths. He wanted to tell her of his first home, dusty and enclosed, and how the desert had marched on their gate. It had been golden by day, ridges and valleys of dust and secrets, and grey at night. He'd kept all those memories close for a long time, not wanting to share them with people he'd not known. Even his brothers, once they had left home, had forgotten the sternness and joy of the desert and chosen worldly paths. He wanted to tell Aravis, if only he could find the words.
Instead, he poked at the fire. Even without the warping, time ran oddly here. He didn't feel tired. The nights were still, a space for reflection and thought. It opened up his mind more than sleep had done, as he sat still and made sense of the world in shades of black and grey under the moon. Aravis lay back on her side of the fire and watched the stars. She didn't seem sleepy either, so he let go of his worries about what was normal and what was not. Perhaps this was the Lion's gift, this shapeless, formless, lawless time. The flames flickered and sparked and he watched them with his heart lighter than it had been for days.
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The desert started abruptly where the hills and grass ended. Taking a deep breath, Emeth stared out over the land like he was parched for the sand. He itched to have it under his fingers, grainy and deceptive and satisfying. Sand shifted and changed; it needed one to seek the truth of each drift and slope before climbing. This sand was fiery, orange-red and ambiguous, and his heart filled with delight. He wanted to laugh out loud and run into the sand with his joy, alight and childlike, but the moment was too big. He could barely contain his heart beating in his chest; standing still and looking out over the dunes.
He wasn't sure how long he stood there, silent and full of wonder at the sand as it rose and fell in front of him. Eventually he stirred and turned to Aravis. She was watching the horizon, where the orange rose up to touch the blue of the sky, no trace of impatience on her face. He cleared his throat and she turned her head and smiled at him.
"I didn't know there would be desert," he said.
"There is everything bright and deep in this world, all things worthwhile," she said. "If you love it, if it makes you happy, it is here."
"Is this what you brought me to see? This is the adventure?" he asked.
"Part of it," she said. "If you like, we can cross the sand and find Tashbaan."
"The Lion suffers Tashbaan to exist?" Emeth asked.
"Everything bright and deep," Aravis repeated, "everything loved, that makes people happy."
Emeth considered that for a moment. Perhaps Tashbaan could make some people happy. He would like to see it, deeper and more meaningful than life, just as this desert was brighter, harsher and more indifferent than any he could remember seeing before. This desert made him happy, with it's shifting sands through which a traveller would have to comb to find surety. He remembered the joy he'd felt as a child when he'd travelled out into the desert with his father or older brothers and how he had slowly learned how to live with the desert. This desert felt like childhood and all the delights of possibility. As the shadows shifted slightly, he remembered how the desert could seem unknowably ancient at the same time. The sun was setting behind them, and Emeth sat down next to Aravis. He itched to touch the sand, but he waited, holding himself back with the patience that turned control into pleasure. Aravis smiled like she knew that the wait would make the first touch in the morning all the sweeter to his fingertips.
"Have you been here before?" he asked.
"I have," she said. "This land is not my home, but I have travelled here." She was silent for a moment, but Emeth said nothing. She would speak more or not as she wished. He'd learned much from her in the time they'd travelled together; as much in her silences as in her speech. She had been shaped by the Lion's country as much as wherever she had been before. "When I grew up," she started, "I lived in my father's house. It was green inside and out, in the heart of a woodland near the edge of the desert, several days ride from Tashbaan. I grew up with the darkness of the woods in my eyes. I did not see the desert until I was older, when my oldest brother was given his first posting and we travelled to Tashbaan to see his confirmation."
Emeth nodded. He could remember those ceremonies in Tashbaan; one for himself and six for his older brothers. He remembered travelling with his family, looking on and thinking about what his own confirmation would be like. It had seemed a time that was solemn, but also full of chaos and the noise and press of people.
"My mother came from the desert," said Aravis. "She was sunkissed and a seeker of truth, but, by the time I was born, the brown had faded from her cheeks in the closeness of the woods. I caught an echo of it when she spoke of the desert and it's unforgiving sands. I listened to all those stories, letting her yearning sink into my childlike heart. When we travelled to Tashbaan, when we came to the edge of the desert, I stood next to her at the edge of the road and shrank into her side. I was scared of the enormity and bareness. But she laughed and held me close. I heard love in her laughter, but I did not understand it, until I saw the sand in this world. She died not long after that trip."
"I am sorry," he said.
"Don't be," she replied. He looked at her and she smiled. It was a beautiful smile, as wide and joyous as the deep blue of the sky. He realised, with a start, that he'd not thought once of his family and their fate, or what they must think of his journey in this country. He couldn't find regret or worry over that in him. Smiling back, he watched the sun draw sharp shadows on the dunes and waited for the sun to set.
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That night, Emeth was sure he dreamt. Sand was under his knees, hot enough to burn through his clothes to his skin, and he faced the sunset. The landscape dwarfed him; towering dunes and the great disc of the sun. The joy of the day was on him still, giddy and almost sick through his exhaustion it flared, as bright as the red-orange around him. He was as insignificant as a single speck of the sand that made the desert, and that should have been hateful to him. But he knew, as deeply as he knew the ragged thrum of his heartbeat, that truth was found only by recognising one's inconsequence.
As the sun went down around him, Emeth found the words that he'd come out to seek. He spoke them for the first time, tasting them on his tongue and finding them to be perfect. They were hard words; would be unyielding in their demands on him. He felt joy and gratitude rise up in him and lifted his eyes to the sky. For the first time since he'd started his journey to seek manhood, he was at rest. Tash had shown him the words he needed to shape his life.
Emeth woke with the hot dust of a desert sunset still on his tongue, shivering awake in the dawn. Aravis was already awake, standing close to the edge of the desert. Staring out into the grey, she was nearly lost in the formlessness of the morning. Emeth lay still, wrapped in his cloak. Halfway between dream and wakefulness, he saw the sky slowly lighten, more shades of grey carving out spots for themselves in the dunes for a moment before fleeing the increasing light. He felt like this morning had the meaning of every one he'd ever witnessed coiled up inside it. Breathing out, he let the heat and dust of his dream go.
Sky staining pink, Aravis stood still and quiet against the streaking colour. Emeth breathed slow and deep. He liked to take the moments before the sunset to breathe deeply and turn the words over in his heart, contemplate them carefully before he gave them life with his voice. He imagined that Aravis felt the same. She took the speaking seriously; he'd seen that much. She approached them with her hands outstreched to welcome the day and whatever it brought.
The sun crept above the horizon and set fire to the topmost dunes, letting the flames of orange dance along the horizon. Aravis started to speak, a cadence as familiar as his own words, only the content was different. Emeth had had no sisters; had heard other people speak admiringly of the luck of his family in rearing seven sons. It had never occurred to him to feel grief that he'd missed something. He hadn't been sure that he could feel anything like it, in the Lion's country, but the sadness was as deep as shadows. He listened to Aravis's words carry over the dunes and felt lost for the first time since he'd been here. He wished he'd heard his mother's words, just once, or that he had a story to tell of her that matched the stories that Aravis could tell.
When he looked up again, Aravis stood in front of him. She didn't say anything about the wetness on his cheeks, just collected together her cloak and put on her light shoes.
"What is this place?" he asked.
"It is Aslan's own country," she replied.
"It is a place of beauty," he said, "but it hurts to look at, sometimes."
"That's true," she said. "That's the thing about this country; it's all true. It's sharp, sometimes, enough to break your heart."
"Yet you said not to be sorry for you."
"Truth is harsh sometimes, but would you rather it not spoken?"
Pondering her words, Emeth pulled on his own shoes and stood, stretching with his hands raised to the sky.
"I don't know," he said. "I have come to a place where there are no lies, as you say, and only now I have doubts about the truth."
"I have been here a long time," Aravis said. "I have come to love the contradictions that too many true things make. Perhaps, in this land from which there is no returning, the juxtaposition is another puzzle, another layer to what the Lion gives us."
Emeth drew in his breath sharply, many things coming into focus. "Are we dead?" he asked, for a moment filled with the dread tales of his youth and what waited on the other side of Tash's curtain for those who came unprepared. Aravis's laugh was light and joyous, though; he blinked twice and opened his eyes back up to the sunrise and the glow of the desert.
"That is one word for it," said Aravis. "But, instead, the other side was a shadow, an intricately carved image. This is real, Aslan's country, and we are far more real here than ever in the shadowlands."
Emeth turned her words over in his head, wondering what to make of the weight of certainty in her voice while doubts assailed him. Aravis smiled and held her hand out to him.
"Come," she said, "the desert is waiting."
Looking from the orange, burning swathes of sand to Aravis's smiling face, Emeth wondered if he dared tread this path, but he felt the sand calling him. Sand could not lie, but it could conceal and deceive with the subtle shifts of grains that hid cities, erased all that humankind made. As the light shifted again, he felt certain that he would find the answers he sought at the end of this journey, so long as he kept on walking.
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They came to the gates of the city as the afternoon shadows lengthened. Emeth felt like he'd wandered through the desert for his whole lifetime, but it seemed only yesterday that he'd stood in front of the walls of Aslan's castle in the wilds. The gates here stood open, and there was no sentry at them. The city was not dense with people, weighted down with sweat and blood and effort. This city looked like it was made of spun glass, reconstituted sand in crystalline, when it should have looked like it was made of bones and the heaviness of age and mud. Aravis stood and looked at it.
"Twice I came to this city as it was on the other side," she said. "Once, I left as my father's daughter in a litter carried by slaves, and I caught the fancy of a Grand Vizier with a taste for young Tarkheena. I could have stood at the top of this city and smiled at guests from under the fat, sweaty hand of a vindictive, thwarted husband. The second time, I left via a small water gate with a boat moored outside and I carried a secret that would make a destiny."
"And on this side?" Emeth asked. Recognising the way her lips closed tightly on these stories for the moment, Emeth didn't bother asking. He glanced back at the city and saw it as ephemeral as the last time he'd looked.
"Many times," she said. "I was shocked by it the first time."
"You too?" he asked. Laughing softly, he waved at the walls in front of them, "It's like a fairytale castle, not the Tashbaan of my memory."
"Everything deep and true, that makes people happy," said Aravis, and those words had never sounded more like a contradiction than in that moment. This was not deep, and it did not make him happy. He could not see truth in it, either. Emeth struggled to make sense of the whirling in his brain, but Aravis put her hand on his arm and he looked away from the walls and down at her. "You are a seeker of truth," she said, "but no one said it made sense."
"Nothing makes sense in this land of the Lion," said Emeth. "I walk and I walk, but I grow not weary. I seek, but I find only more questions and half-finished stories. I felt the Lion in my heart when I met him, but now I have only emptiness and doubt."
"I have no answers," said Aravis. "At least, I have only those I have made for myself."
Emeth looked back at the walls of Tashbaan, at its unattended gates. He struggled to find the beauty there, in the cold, clean lines of the walls and the streets that twisted upwards from the gate. It gleamed in the sun, but it wasn't majestic, as old Tashbaan had been. He realised, with a start, that it was lacking the ponderous malice that drove thousands of slaves, thousands of poor, in its service. It lacked hate and coercion, it lacked blood and spite and the twisted ropes of lies and intrigues. He'd never thought, before now, of how much blood had soaked into the very stones of Tashbaan, into the bedrock of the hills. He could remember the slaves of his father's house, and the scars on the backs of pressganged sailors, and his lips twisted. He had those things inside himself, for all that he'd never wielded the whip himself.
This city was free of that burden. He could see how it was different now, and he wasn't sure if the bitter taste on his tongue was for him or for the denial of what had made Tashbaan into itself.
Emeth wrenched himself free of his thoughts as Aravis made a happy noise and ran forward. The woman she embraced was tall and brown-skinned, dressed for the desert. She had that timeless look that so many of the people here had, and she looked delighted to embrace Aravis. Hanging back, Emeth wondered if this was part of the adventure, if Aravis had planned to meet her here. Aravis turned, hand clasped with the woman and a smile written large on her face.
"Mother, this is Emeth, with whom I have been travelling. Emeth, this is my mother, Zahar, once daughter of Azoonath Tarkaan, now daughter of sand."
Emeth bowed low, recognising in her the long look of one accustomed to the dunes.
"Stand up, stand up, we have no need for ceremony," she said. He straightened and looked into her face and found that she was everything that the city was not. He felt awed to be here with her, the same sort of feeling he'd had with the Lords and Ladies when first he'd come to Aslan's country. This feeling was more familiar, like close kin calling out to him. He felt not only awe, but also love, and the same joy he'd felt in the sands the first time he ran there. He smiled at her, and at Aravis.
"Did you know I was coming?" asked Aravis, tilting her head towards Zahar.
"No," said Zahar, "it was just lucky chance." She laughed and it sounded like the slither of a dune under the weight of its own drought. "And then the Lion came to me in a dream and told me to come; I usually come only for the great festival."
"Oh, I am lucky indeed," said Aravis. "Since we are here, shall we go in?" She looked from Zahar to Emeth.
He did not wish to go in and see this spun sugar city, even though he understood, now, just why it was so different to his memory. He did not say anything; just smiled and said, "As my Lady wishes."
Aravis's smile faded a little, but she reached out for him anyway. "I think you will find something here worth thinking on," she said, "even if it is not what you expected."
"Nothing in this country is what I expected," he answered. He walked next to Aravis and Zahar, through the gates and along the streets. There were people here, but not the close-packed throngs he associated with Tashbaan. He heard voices raised in singing inside open doorways, mingling with the noise of songbirds and the quiet hum of chess players. He felt like he was again the confused boy he had been the first time he'd been here, and it wasn't until they had wound halfway up the hill that he realised that the shouts of slaves, crying for all to make way for this personage or that, were missing. In the Tashbaan on the other side, neither Aravis nor Zahar would have walked, much less in the company of a man not their father or close kin. The stones themselves were lighter for it.
Coming through the gates at the top of the city, into what had once been the courtyard of the great Temple of Tash, was almost an anticlimax. Where once had stood the walls of the Temple, now were seats and grass, the first he'd seen since he came to the desert. This was not the lush, springy stuff of Narnia, but the thinner, tenacious variety of the desert. In the middle of this, where he had once stood before the statue of Tash and pledged his loyalty and his life, was a pool of water. Few people were here and Aravis led them to a seat in the sunshine, not far from the edge of the water.
"What is this place?" Emeth asked. "Is this the deep truth of the Temple of Tash?"
"I don't know," said Aravis. "I have never studied its mysteries myself. I chose a different path."
"No one knows for certain," said Zahar. "The first people who came to the Lion's country and also came here say that this is how it has always been. Sometimes the water is still, sometimes stormy or dark. It has been still for some time now, and the storms no longer disturb it. When I came here, just a short time ago, no one knew what it meant." She shrugged. "Sometimes, the ways of the Lion make no sense, and we must merely accept."
Emet looked down at his hands, troubled by her words. This was less stifling, and there was no incense hanging smoky dark in the corners, nor yet the scent of old sweat from the press of people. He said, "Before, I sought Tash everywhere, and the seeking made me believe. Now I have seen the Lion for myself, and have lost the search. What trade is this?"
Zahar shrugged again. "The desert is still there, and you have your hands and your heart; you can steer your own course. What more do you need before you can seek freely what mysteries you choose?"
Emeth looked at her, feeling again the call of closeness, as if they were kin. She had the farsight of one who had walked the dunes, and he noticed that her feet were dusty. She was closer to him, to his heart and his loves, than Aravis, who wore the bright clothes of Narnia as if she had been born to them. But when he looked at them both, he felt like both were beyond his ability to imagine and he wondered if he would ever come to understand anything about this place.
"You're not made for sitting still, like me," said Aravis. "That much is obvious even to me, and I am no seeker of truths."
"I can go out into the desert myself and wander?" he asked. He felt like a boy again, on the eve of his initiation, but Aravis and Zahar did not mock his uncertainty.
"You may wander as far and wide as you like," said Zahar. "You'll know when it is time to return and sit still at the edge of the pool in what was the Temple of Tash."
"How will I know?" he persisted.
"It is different for everyone. The Lion will find a way to tell you."
Emeth nodded. He felt again the lust for the sands, and to leave this spun sugar city and go back amongst the harsh winds and deceptive edges.
"If you hurry," said Aravis, "you'll be back in the sand before sunset." She held out her hand and Emeth took it, bowing over it. "It has been a pleasure travelling with you, Emeth, son of dunes."
"The pleasure has been mine, in meeting you both," he said.
"We'll meet again," said Zahar. "Now, go."
He turned and walked away from them, fast to get back to the gates and the wide sands beyond them before the horns sounded for the evening.
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The rhythms of the desert were subtle and difficult to discern, but Emeth found the echo of them deep inside himself. He sat at the top of a dune as the eastern sky lightened and listened to the sand waking up, grains whispering and shifting slowly as they warmed. He felt content here, for the most part, wandering and listening and looking out over the dunes to the horizon. The sand was always changing form, but the heart never changed. As he walked and dreamed and thought, he tried to get closer and closer to that heartbeat.
When the sun was completely up, Emeth stood and dusted himself off. In the other world, there had been an oasis not far from here, and he was curious to see what it was like on this side of that stable door. He walked slowly down his dune and along the valley at the bottom, following the twists and turns and looking for the best place to climb up the other side. Turning a sharp corner, he stopped still and drew in a deep breath. Not ten feet away stood the Lion, gold-red and unblinking, huge against the sand and sky. He was in human form, a woman's body wrapped in red linen, but his face was the face Emeth remembered.
Emeth dropped to his knees and stared, all his love and wonder flooding back. Aslan moved forward and reached out, touching his thumb to Emeth's forehead. Emeth closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath, again, sure that this time he was going to die, blood staining black in the sands, because Aslan was sure to know his doubts and fears.
"Open your eyes, child," said Aslan. Emeth did, wondering if the Lion wished him to see death before it came, but helpless to resist the command. Instead of anger, he saw love in the Lion's face.
Looking at Aslan, he saw a hunter; one who created the sands of the desert with his breath. His woman's body was strong, red-cloaked like the sun and the dunes in the midday light. This was a form before which evil would tremble, a lady of dread and awe. Emeth remembered paintings he had seen, older than the very stones of Tashbaan; they were faded on the walls of caves in the deepest desert. The red and black lines had been ancient beyond Emeth's imagining. They showed a woman in red with a Lion's head. "Sekhmet," Emeth whispered.
Aslan huffed a Lion's laugh and bent to press a kiss to Emeth's forehead. "Indeed, I have been known by many names," he said. "Sit down, I wish to tell you a story." He stepped back and Emeth made himself comfortable on the dunes, watching as the Lion moved on the sand like he knew where each grain would be before he even shifted his weight. He was red and terrible, proud and everything Emeth had dreamed of. He was the maker of the desert and the sky; he was a multitude of Truths.
"Once, a long time ago, two men wished to build houses for shelter against the summer rains and the chill of winter. One man climbed up onto a rocky platform and stamped his feet on the ground and said, 'this is good, I will build here.' Not far away, the other man found a wide place of sand and thought it was good, and resolved to build there. The houses were both well-constructed, made with effort and love, and the men were proud of them as they stood outside and looked at them.
"Not long after that, there was a storm and the rain fell for days. Old riverbeds flooded and swirled over the land, around both houses. The house on the rock swayed and creaked, but the man piled all his belongings high up inside and they were safe. When the water fell, he was still there, still safe. But on the sand, whole dunes turned into rivers and the swaying of the house tore it apart and turned it into flotsam on the torrent. After the flood passed by, the man stood lost and hopeless, having lost all he held dear.
"In some places, they tell this story as a parable about the foolishness of building on sand, and how to build your house on the rock - the rock of faith - is to build a house that will last and keep safe the things closest to your heart. But not all men need to build houses that last forever and stand strong against the floods and the snow. The foolishness of the second man was in the building he chose, not his location. Do you understand, child?"
"As always, you know how much I understand, Lord," replied Emeth. Aslan crossed back over to him, placing his hand again on Emeth's head. Emeth sighed and let the words and the meanings sink into him.
"You are a seeker of Truth," said Aslan. "Aravis was right to call you a son of the dunes, for you look always for what is right and true, what is perfect to follow. You know that this changes as the wind and the season changes. You sought Tash truly, and that is what brought you to me. Child, now that you have found me, it doesn't mean your days of seeking are over."
"Because, like the second man should have done, I have my belongings on my back and in my heart, and I follow the endless changes of the desert?" Emeth asked.
"You don't need to ask me that, child," said Aslan. "You know it in your heart." Aslan bent and pressed another Lion's kiss to Emeth's forehead, and the juxtaposition of his human hand and his Lion's face was a contradiction of truths that made Emeth's heart sing.