Captive Moon (40 page)

Silence followed, broken only by the screech of some sort of bird on the top branch of the barren pistachio.

The sahip stood to his full height and crossed his arms over his chest. Then he pulled a scimitar to brandish in front of the crowd. Even Antoine could tell that the tone was taunting, sarcastic. The crowd cheered and laughed. A whisper from Tahira followed. “He asked if Rabi wasn’t even man enough to defeat an old king, nearly on his death bed. He told the crowd that perhaps such a coward is better off hiding in the brush like a prey animal.”

A loud voice suddenly bellowed in English, seeming to come from inside the cage. “I am far greater than a mere man and I hide from no one. I am Rabi Umar Kuric, grandson of the great Sahip Mazin, and I claim the throne of the Hayalet Kabile. None may defeat that which they cannot touch.”

He appeared on the throne in the center of the cage, his white robes shining almost blindingly in the sun against the black cloth worn by the guards. The sahip made a slashing motion across his throat and all the guards turned as one. The squares were just large enough to admit the scimitars, and the cage was narrow enough that Antoine realized the blades would meet in the middle. There would be no room for Rabi to escape being impaled. Rabi isimed suddenly, but even that wouldn’t save him.

Tahira didn’t seem worried, even when her grandfather uttered a rolling tiger’s roar of challenge and sliced his blade viciously through the front of the cage again and again as the guards slashed from side to side as well as diagonally. The faces of the warriors matched the stunned, confused ones in the audience and probably Antoine’s own. They pulled out their blades and waited for instruction from their leader.

There was a moment of silence and then the sahip’s sword was yanked away. In nearly a blur of moment, he flew into the air and was slammed to the ground. His throat was exposed as though it was being held against the stone. The throw hadn’t been hard enough to harm the old shifter, but it was impressive.

Rabi’s rich baritone split the air again. “And none may defend against the wind.” He made himself visible and he was on his knees over the old man, a knife blade held at his grandfather’s throat. Antoine couldn’t figure out how the trick was done. “Yield your authority or I will take it from you by force. Your time as leader of the kabile is ended, Mazin.”

Mazin sneered and spoke in slow, accented English. “You speak the language of the outsiders and live in a foreign land. How will you defend against our enemies and protect the kabile?”

Rabi pushed the blade a little deeper so the people in the front row, including Antoine and the others, could see a small stream of blood that flowed from the cut. “A sahip lives with his people. I will do as all other sahips have done before me and live here among you, learning your language and your ways. A sahip lives for his people and defends them through claw and blade. Your enemies will be my enemies—

if I, and only I, deem them a threat.”

Antoine nearly leapt to his feet as he saw Mazin pull a narrow dagger from his robes. Only Tahira’s hand on his arm kept him still when the scent of anger filled the air. “Never forget that a sahip dies for his people, too!” But as he swung the dagger, Rabi disappeared and the arm swept through empty air.

“I share the powers of the legendary Khalid, who struck fear into the hearts of all who challenged him. I am Hayaleti vefa—true ghost. None may touch me unless I will it.” The voice, now a snarling bass that said he had changed to animal form, sounded from above them, and Rabi appeared on top of the cage. He let out a great, triumphant roar that vibrated Antoine’s chest and scattered the birds from the trees. Then he disappeared again. Before Antoine could blink a second time, Rabi was inside the cage as a tiger. Once more he isimed, and then there was silence for a long moment. When he appeared again, he sat regally in his white robes on the throne. It was hard not to be impressed at the show.

“Do any doubt my skills? Do any object to my rule?”

His grandfather stood up slowly, straightened his robes, and held his head high while he stared at Rabi through the cage. Then he dropped to his knees and bowed low at the edge of the iron bars, touching the stone with his forehead. Rabi nodded with his hands remaining firmly on the arms of the golden chair. It was a sign of respect to the old sahip, but it didn’t lessen his position.

Then he looked out over the villagers with cold, sure eyes—and the bearing of a king. One by one the guards bowed low, touching their foreheads to their swords. The villagers prostrated as a single wave until only Antoine, Tahira, Matty, and Ahmad remained upright.

Tahira looked at Rabi, appearing unsure about their role. While everyone was bent down, Rabi carefully mouthed the words, “You and Matty, but not Antoine and Ahmad.” Tahira nodded and tapped Matty’s arm. She signaled for him to bow with her, and then he and Ahmad were the only two left.

“You may rise.” One by one the villagers peeked up and found Rabi standing next to his grandfather on the stone. He stepped down the two steps slowly, looking from face to face sternly. “I’ve heard that some of you have questioned my judgment in inviting outsiders to my ascension. I know that most of you understand what I’m now saying, and for those who aren’t familiar with this language, I will allow others to translate my words while I speak. Basir and… Nuha, you will repeat my words to those who require in the tongue of the Hayalet until I am fluent and may speak for myself. But be warned—the esteemed Mazin and my grandmother will inform me if you speak false.” He walked slowly as though inspecting troops, but occasionally reached down to touch the head of a child and smile down warmly.

“The men with my sister are visiting sahips. The snake that you have smelled and have struggled not to attack is known as Ahmad al-Narmer. He is a great and powerful were-cobra and sahip of all the snakes in the world. He fought by my side to defeat one of his own kind, to defeat one of his own line. He is Sazi, and I call him friend.” Once again, there was murmuring from the crowd as the translators repeated his words. They cut off quickly when Rabi turned around and glared.

“The dark-haired man is Matthew Thompson. He is a healer of tigers, widely renowned in his country for his skill. He treated my wounds when I battled the great snake, and those of my sister. He is human of Sazi blood, and I also call him friend.”

Antoine could hear the bird in the pistachio tree again, so silent was the crowd. All eyes turned to him. He knew they smelled him as cat, but had they ever encountered a cougar? Could they even grasp what he was?

“The man with hair the color of the moon is Antoine Monier, sahip of all the Sazi cats in the world. He, too, fought by my side in battle. He saved my sister from death at the hands of the human police, and saved my life by taking a blow meant for me. But he is much more than a friend to the Hayalet. I name Antoine brother and call on you to do the same.”

The crowd erupted into angry cries that were punctuated with drawn blades and several men leaping to their feet. This might well grow ugly. He and Ahmad glanced at each other, but Rabi was suddenly beside the man with the knife standing nearest to him. Without a sound, he clutched his fingers around the blade, drove it into the man’s stomach and pulled it out in a blur so fast that most of the crowd hadn’t seen it happen. Kemil was on his knees on the ground, clutching his bleeding stomach with pain and fear etched on his face.

“You won’t die, Kemil,” Rabi spit into the man’s face. “But I should kill you. I know of your treachery in allying with Sargon to capture me and my sister. But you are Kabile, so I will allow you to live. However, you will learn respect for your new sahip, and I will be watching you very closely.” The crowd silenced, and nervous eyes followed his movements carefully.

Rabi held up his hands, holding the blade aloft until red drops marred the smooth white cloth covering him.

“The time for war between the Sazi and Hayalet is done. Their leaders have proven themselves honorable. They could be powerful allies to help and protect us from our enemies. They have asked for my voice—and through me, the voice of all of the Hayalet—to help them find a path of truth and honor. The Sazi council, where members of each shifting race meet, not to war but to discuss and agree, has offered a governing seat to our tribe. I have accepted on behalf of our people. Without their help, my sister and I would have been the first of many Hayalet to die in a war that would have turned brother against brother and shifter against human. But to further cement the tie between our two great peoples—”

He walked over to Tahira and Antoine, and then winked down at them before his face grew stern again.

“I offer the hand of my only sister to the leader of the Sazi cats, with hopes that their union will produce children of shared blood.” Antoine looked at Tahira’s dropped jaw. For a moment, she was angry, but then she probably realized what he had—that Rabi could announce their relationship no other way without starting a riot he might not be able to quell. “For this, I call him brother. Antoine Monier, do you agree to consider my sister for one of your mates and become brothers with me and those I rule? She is not without defects, but she is of my blood.”

Rabi drew his knife and cut down his wrist until it dripped blood. The sweet copper scent filled the air and blended with the fur and adrenaline musk that rose from the new Hayalet sahip. He held out his dripping hand, and it was spread too wide for a simple handshake. He waited silently for a reply.

Tahira looked at Antoine with startling golden eyes that caught the colors of the sun. Her scent held both hope and fear. He longed to pull off her scarf to reveal the wide orange stripes he found so beautiful, to show her tribe and the world that they weren’t a defect. But instead he whispered to her.

“Cats don’t mate for life, but they do fall in love. I don’t need to consider you for a mate, Tahira, because my heart has already decided that.” He pulled the box from his pocket and pressed it into her hand. “I love you. That’s what I should have said two weeks ago, and I can think of no better way to show it.”

He reached for the knife and sliced through the skin of his wrist. He didn’t even notice the pain as he grasped Rabi’s forearm in a powerful grip. “I gladly accept your sister as my one and only mate, Sahip, if she will have me.”

He could smell Tahira’s happiness and a sharp intake of breath when she opened the box. The deep cinnamon of her hair was blended with a thousand other spices that said exactly how she felt. She clutched his hand tighter, and he noticed it was shaking. It was a struggle not to look at her, but the kabile would expect him to close the promise of marriage with Rabi.

Rabi glanced at Tahira and then fought back a grin. “Then it is done. On my word as sahip, you are mated and one.” He leaned down and kissed Tahira on the forehead while still holding firm to Antoine’s arm. His whisper almost made them laugh. “But I will expect an invitation to the wedding. I can’t wait to see a cougar in a monkey suit, and you’d damn well better open that hundred-year-old bottle of cognac.”