The Stone Lions (2 page)

Ara frowned as she crouched in her hiding
space
.
What had he been doing? Near where
he stood, a small portion of wall seemed to twist.

She considered this. Was this something she
should tell her father? She nibbled at one finger. She’d have to
confess she had been where she was forbidden to go. Besides, what
would she say? That she didn’t like the way he smiled? That the
wazir killed a frog? Maybe he didn’t like frogs. A lot of people
didn’t, she recollected, thinking of her aunt.

Still, she considered, staring at the spot
where the frogs had appeared, blood darkened the floor. It felt
very wrong. And it looked like magic.

Chapter 2

Ara waited, counting her breaths until she
reached fifty, to make sure it was safe to emerge from her hiding
place. She crept out.

“Harrumph.”

Ara whirled and stared at the large,
corpulent figure, vibrating with anger, now peering over the
hedge.

“A worse charge I never had,” Suleiman
hissed, his nose flushing red. “A disobedient, thoughtless, willful
girl-child who frightens all who care about her with her foolish
curiosity.” The tip of his tall hat bobbed with each word. “I’m
grateful that your mother, Allah’s prayer and peace be upon her,
isn’t here to see you brashly standing
outside
the palace gates with no protector and”—he
looked at her more closely—“covered with dirt and debris.” Suleiman
pointed a finger. “What if you were taken, Allah forbid, by an evil
Christian?” He glanced over his shoulder as though one might leap
out from behind a tree.

Ara wrinkled her nose. “Christians don’t come
to Sufi processions. And they probably don’t have any use for
Muslim girls,” she added as an afterthought.

“You say this, knowing the People of the Book
are sniffing at our borders!” Suleiman gasped. “The sultan has
warned that our lands are desired by the Castilians. Look at you,
beyond the safety not only of the harem, but also of the palace.
Some in the harem are already so worried by your wildness they push
to find you a husband.” He raised his voice as if uncomfortable
with this possibility.

“Let us go now and show the sultan how his
seventh-born obeys. He will not be pleased that one of his
household disobeys his directives.” Suleiman’s hat slipped forward
slightly, and he pushed it back into place.

Ara winced.
Marriage?
She needed time to explore and learn and question. Soon enough she
would be an adult and tied to the harem, but not yet. How could she
explain her need to see the Sufi arrive? “Suleiman, I’m sorry you
worried. I just had to see her. I
had
to,”
she whispered. All too vividly, she envisioned her father’s
disappointment and anger were he to find out. She bowed her head in
shame and beseeched, “No one saw me. Please, don’t tell Father.”
Suleiman hesitated, studying his young charge. “
Please
,” she whispered again.

Suleiman didn’t answer but stood gazing down
at her. He seemed to grow even taller in the awful silence. Then
his voice boomed out, “Translate one hundred pages of the Koran
into Spanish, and I may—just may, depending on how good the
translation—be too busy reading to go to your father with this
latest misdeed.”

Ara flinched. A hundred pages! That would
take days. But at least her father would not be told. She bowed her
head. “Thank you, Suleiman.” .

“But remember,” Suleiman warned, “one more
transgression...”

“Oh, no, Suleiman. I will be very good, truly
I will.” But even as she spoke, Ara knew she would keep trying to
discover a way to reach the mathemagician. It couldn’t be wrong to
wish to sit at the feet of the heroine of the old tales, one of the
great minds of the century. Ara glanced up. Suleiman stared at her
intently, and she looked back as demurely as she could.

He seemed to stare at her harder, but the tip
of his hat bobbed again—though with less force than before. “The
girl child shows some thought, however little, about the feelings
of others. Perhaps there is hope of your learning to listen and
obey.” His nose's color slowly returned to normal. “The women are
asking for you to play for them, while your cousin Layla huddles by
the fountain looking like a kitten cornered by a badger.” He sighed
as he led her toward the palace entrance. “Quickly, we must get you
inside and tidied up before further damage is done.”

Chapter 3

The mathemagician walked in a daze. Led by
the four wives of the harem and followed at a discreet distance by
her guards and handmaidens, she reached out with her senses to
explore the palace walls. Danger! She could feel it in the core of
her being: the magic of the Alhambra was being defiled.

“We’re so pleased to have you visit,” one
woman said.

“You are too kind,
alhamdulillah.
” Tahirah tried to keep part of her mind
on her hosts. Dark emotions whirled around her, buffeting her with
fear and pain.

“This time of year is lovely with the scent
of orange blossoms in the air,” another put in, pointing toward the
heavily perfumed trees.

Tahirah nodded, trying to appear interested.
“The Alhambra gardens are what legends are made of.”

She found it difficult to maintain a
conversation while also probing the destruction of mathemagical
symmetries within the walls. Someone or something had tampered with
the Alhambra’s protections. She brushed her hand over one embossed
tile and felt the agony seep into her body. Sweat broke out on her
forehead as the pain flowed through her.

“Are you ill?” someone asked as Tahirah
sagged, weakly wiping the sheen of perspiration from her
forehead.

She must not voice this, not until she
understood it further. Tahirah gathered herself before speaking.
“It has been a long day and, while I am grateful for your company,
I am no longer young. I need to bid you good day, so that I might
rest from my journey.”

“Of course. How thoughtless of us.” Zoriah
clapped her hands twice and the litter-bearers rushed to her side.
“Please take the scholar to her rooms in the Palace of the Partal.
See that she has whatever comforts the Alhambra provides.”

The women clustered together, watching their
guest borne away.

Inside her small litter, Tahirah leaned back
in exhaustion and contemplated the danger. The Alhambra’s magic was
still holding together, but it was being pried apart layer by
layer. Soon, if nothing was done, the bands of magic would stretch
too tightly—then snap.

Once she reached the privacy of her chambers,
she dismissed her guards and handmaidens, closing the door firmly
behind them. She removed her white cloak and, folding it with
trembling hands, laid it across her bed. Beginning at the door, she
walked slowly around the room, fingers exploring the walls,
checking and probing for any spell set to catch the unwary.
Stopping occasionally to listen, she continued her slow, methodical
search. As she completed her circuit, she breathed a sigh of
relief. No danger lurked here. Still, she knew she must place
sacred protective formulas in the room before she rested.

Tahirah chanted the words, sounding out each
syllable, as she placed each magical ward—two at the door, four at
the windows, and one in each corner of the room. Stars of gold,
green and silver glowed, disappearing as she set each ward upon the
framework of the Alhambra.

She yearned for sleep, but could not rest
until she had sought out the cause of the Alhambra’s pain.

Tahirah cleansed herself in the way of the
Sufi, preparing for the ordeal to come. She sat in the middle of
the room, murmuring formulas, and slowly entered the realm of
magic. Little by little she opened her mind to the palace, and
there she drifted, inviting communion.

Nothing was as it should be; the fortress was
breaking. Small fissures formed deep within the structure—but
during her attempts to heal it, the very walls recoiled. She turned
her mind to the Court of the Lions and called, once, twice, three
times, listening for the lions to respond. But only her voice
echoed back.

Hours later, she came to herself, lying
stunned on the floor. The Alhambra had rejected her, fighting her
and her magic, divulging nothing.

The Alhambra had been betrayed and trusted no
longer.

Despite her powers, she had been unable to
heal the breach. The palace cried out for help, yet rebuffed her
attempts. How could she begin to heal this?

Except for her slow, even breathing, all was
silent as she puzzled over this. Who had done such a thing—and why?
From whom would the Alhambra take comfort? Not from an outsider or
one with foreign blood, that seemed certain. The Alhambra had
closed herself off from all but those born on her soil.

Tahirah stared at the ceiling, hoping for
answers. Finally, as the evening drifted into night, she gathered
Allah’s truth and power once again and prayed unto Him for
guidance.

Chapter 4

Ara tried to look repentant as Suleiman
barked at the servants to finish tidying her. Every so often, he
glared at her as if she might disappear before his eyes.

“Can you not be faster?” he snarled to the
woman dressing Ara’s hair. “They are waiting for her.”

Su’ah finished plaiting Ara’s hair. “Perhaps
if a certain eunuch had not been toying with being a mathematical
scholar, he might not have mislaid his charge.”

Suleiman’s voice choked. “I do not toy!
Symmetry is important to all who are Islamic.” He huffed and
glanced with slitted eyes at Ara. “And my charge was not mislaid,”
he snapped. “She was merely not at hand.”

Ara rolled her eyes and thought of the many
places she would rather be. Still, her interest pricked up. This
was the math that her mother had loved. The teacher her mother had
loved. She leaned over the window, looking out at the latticed
view. The wazir strode by, his hand touching the walls, stopping as
if to inspect the designs that covered them.

Maybe symmetry had
something to do with what the wazir was doing. If I understood
mathemagics, I might understand what he did with the tile and the
frog.

“At hand? This is Ara we’re speaking of, not
a coin. You are too distracted by mathematics to be in charge of
this child’s learning.”

Ara jerked back to the conversation.

Su’ah’s eyes sparkled. “Perhaps one child is
beneath a Turkish eunuch’s notice. Especially a Turk who desires
the position of translator for the sultan.”

Ara’s head came up. Now there was
really
going to be a fight. Suleiman looked
as if he were about to burst, the tip of his hat jiggling so fast
it seemed to dance.

“Suleiman, as you have said, we must go,” Ara
said quietly, walking over to him. She grasped his hand and gently
pulled him toward the door. “Please, would you get my lute? I do
not wish to keep them waiting any longer.” Suleiman turned his head
from Su’ah to Ara. She could see his desire to have the last word
warred with the pressing need to get her to the Court of the
Lions.

As soon as she arrived, Ara saw Layla curled
in a corner, clad in her dancing dress, looking worried. The
courtyard was walled on all sides, but above was only the blue of
the Andalusian sky. Women were arranged like flowers around the
central fountain. The rich embroidery of their clothing
complimented the elaborate patterns that decorated every surface.
Stone tiles covered the floor, and the surrounding garden of
jasmine, orange trees and roses spilled onto their edges. Blue and
red patterned carpets lay strewn across the floor, while twelve
stone lions stood guard around a huge central fountain. Water
flowed from the lions’ mouths into narrow channels that trickled
off to other rooms.

Nine-year-old Hasan lay on his stomach as he
floated a small wooden boat in the stream. His younger sister Jada
clapped with glee as it spun past her. Servants and slaves moved
about, offering tidbits of food, rubbing oil on bronzed skin, and
fanning two women seated upon brightly colored cushions. Above them
rose narrow, graceful columns that supported the sculpted arches of
the courtyard terrace.

Three other women sat off to the side,
playing a game with dice and small round disks. Maryam, one of the
game players, frowned slightly as she glanced at her daughter,
Layla. Other children sat with their mothers or played quietly by
their sides, nursemaids hovering nearby.

“There you are, Ara. We’ve been waiting
forever for a musician. Layla, stop sulking and dance for us,” the
sultan’s fourth wife, Dananir, told the girls.

Ara hadn’t thought she could feel any
worse—until she saw the look of pure relief on her cousin’s
face.

Layla rushed forward to hug her. “I was so
very worried,” she whispered. “Everyone kept asking and asking
where you were.”