The Stone Lions (26 page)

Layla hid her eyes behind her hands. Ara
watched Suleiman fly over the palace walls, dodging arrows until he
was inside the palace boundaries. She leaned over to reassure her
cousin. Just then, one last arrow shot upward and nicked his tail
feathers, sending him into an airborne somersault. The mirror flew
out of his claws, and he spiraled down from the sky, all grace
gone. By sheer strength, he managed to slow his fall to a sluggish,
if wobbly, descent. From her vantage point, Ara could hear the
wazir screaming at the men.

Ara turned to her cousin and saw, lit by the
sun, a broken symmetry on the far wall. As the tile turned to match
the others, the lions began to roar. The Alhambra itself rumbled,
the palace healing—and suddenly Ara knew what would happen. She
turned back to the window.

With a startled squawk, Suleiman lost what
little control he had, plummeting toward the ground as he changed
into a new form in mid air. Both Layla and Ara leaned out the
window, aghast at the blurred vision of airborne fur and flailing
legs. Falling, falling, too quickly.

Fear grabbed at Ara’s chest. She couldn’t
breathe. What if he was badly hurt? What if he died?

Then Suleiman—whatever he had
become—disappeared behind the stables.

The girls tore down the stairs and outside.
As they rounded the back of the stables, the girls stopped. There
was only a pile of hay. Suleiman was nowhere to be seen. As they
looked helplessly at each other, a low moan came from within the
pile. Ara yelped, and they dug frantically through the hay for
their friend.

“Suleiman, can you hear me?” Layla called.
“Are you hurt?”

A shaky voice responded, “I’m as well as can
be expected after falling from such a height. The wind is knocked
out of me though. You need to be more careful, Ara! Did you not see
how high up I was?”

She dug faster. “I’m sorry, Suleiman. It was
an accident.”

He coughed, sounding like he was spitting out
straw from his mouth. “I only wish there was space for some
discipline and caution between your curiosity and your
impulsiveness.”

The girls scooped more hay to the side,
digging deeper.

He coughed again, rattling around within the
center of the haystack. “Well, let us go forward. Your nature can’t
be changed in—”

“Hurry,” Ara interrupted, tired of the
lecture. “The wazir and his men are outside the palace, but they
will be upon us searching for you before we can go far. We need to
get you out of here and hidden.” She tried to peer through the
straw. “I didn’t mean to see the symmetry. I didn’t even know it
was there. Are you sure you’re all right?”

The haystack moved. From it emerged a large
pile of straw draped over spindly legs. Suleiman lifted his head,
and a tangle of straw rose in the air. A small golden haystack
encompassing his head and shoulders shifted around him. “I’m a
lion, aren’t I? I can feel my glorious mane and tail.” He tossed
his head. “I knew each transformation brought me closer to my own
true self, but I never dared hope for so much. Without doubt, I am
blessed. No longer must I run and hide from evil. My roar of
challenge will be heard for miles. He reared back, hay flying every
which way, and drew in a breath. “Bleeeat!” He stopped short.
“That’s wrong. Must have a bit of straw caught in my throat.” He
cleared his windpipe. “Ehh, ehhh. There, that’s better. Ahem.” He
took another deep breath. “Bleeeat!”

The haystack slipped sideways, and a small
black horn poked up out of the debris.

“Suleiman, I don’t think you’re a lion.”

“Not a lion? But…Ah, well, what am I then, a
mighty steed or...?”

The girls looked at one another in growing
dismay.

“Suleiman,” Layla said gently, “you have
horns. I think, well, I think you’re a goat.”

The straw-covered eunuch-goat stiffened in
incredulity. A short tail flicked beneath the hay. “No, that’s not
right. You’re mistaken. Perhaps I’m some exotic animal you are
unaware of.” He shook his head and straw flew everywhere. Two
triangular eyes peered worriedly out at them. “I’m a wildebeest,
mayhap. They have horns. Or maybe a dragon from the Far East—I
heard of them once…”

Ara shook her head, trying to hide a smile.
“A goat.”

“No.” He stamped his foot. “I’ve already had
a lesson in humility. One was more than sufficient.”

Suleiman turned his head, looking in growing
horror at his body, which was undeniably that of a middle-sized
black goat. A small, stringy beard framed an increasingly disgusted
expression upon his face. Tiny black hooves stamped a beat of
frustration. “I simply won’t have it,” he declared and dove back
under the straw. “I’m not coming out until I’ve changed into
something suitable.”

“Suleiman, I don’t think throwing a tantrum
is going to help.” Ara reached in and grabbed a horn with both
hands. “Really, you have to come out. Now! We have to find a safe
place for you to hide. The wazir is searching for you.”

“No, no, no!”

Layla dug into the hay and, lifting the straw
off Suleiman, stared sympathetically into his eyes. “This is your
last shape. We have only until midnight. Suleiman, truly we need
you. By tonight, you will be back to your own most suitable form,
but we must hurry.”

“But,” he insisted, backing farther into the
hay, pulling Ara along, “it’s just not right.”

The clatter of men and horses on cobblestones
pushed both the girls into a panic.

Ara hauled desperately at his horn.
“Suleiman, you can be a live goat now or you can be a dead goat
when the wazir arrives. Please, we must leave
now
!”

Reluctantly, Suleiman clambered out of the
hay and shook himself. A quick, disgusted look reconfirmed his goat
shape. “How long do I have to be a...?” He couldn’t quite bring
himself to say it.

“Goat,” Ara finished for him. She pulled him
along the path toward Tahirah’s. Layla put her arm across his back,
wrinkling her nose at the strong goat smell.

“Hurry, I hear voices!” Ara urged.

“I’m coming.” But Suleiman dragged his feet
as he noted the direction they headed. “Must we go to the Palace of
the Partal? I don’t want anyone to see me in this state,
particularly not Tahirah.”

Many footsteps crunched the stones on the
path beyond.

Ara blanched at the nearing sounds. “No time
to run.”

Frightened and miserable, Layla agreed.

Ara looked around for a safe place to hide.
The stables; many dark corners, and a goat there would not be
unusual. They ducked inside.

The horses nickered at the girls but snorted
at Suleiman. Layla climbed the narrow ladder to the loft with Ara
pushing Suleiman close behind. The building was silent but for the
sound of horses chewing and the occasional rustle of a mouse.

“Maybe they are searching the gard—” Ara
broke off when the big stable door creaked open. Layla shivered and
edged closer to Ara.

“We’ll check the stables,” a voice called.
Straw rustled below and a horse whinnied. The soldiers passed,
swords drawn, poking and peering into each stall. “God’s blood, no
damaged animal here,” the beefy man said in Castilian Spanish. “The
Grenadan wazir is becoming stranger and stranger.”

The thin man with the bushy eyebrows removed
the saddle from his horse and rubbed him briskly with his blanket.
“I’ll be glad when this is over. All this sneaking around in enemy
territory makes me nervous. The sultan looked at us so hard, I was
certain he saw through our story.”

Layla put a trembling hand on Ara to steady
her as they peered down through the slated eaves.

The other man lifted a halter from a hook.
“You worry too much. Soon the trap will spring and the sultan will
be caught. What do you think the king wants him for, ransom or
death?”

Ara started slightly. She met Layla’s eyes,
now wide with fear.

“I neither know nor care. I just have to get
this map and message to the army. Our men will surround the sultan
at dawn. Right when they are all crouched in devotion to their
Islamic God.” He laughed.

Ara looked back at Suleiman. Her father would
die. She trembled, praying to Allah that they would not succeed.
She must get to Tahirah with the information and—

Suleiman’s ears perked up. “I’ve got to get
that paper,” he whispered, and before the girls could grab him, he
turned and stumbled down the stairs into the stable hall, chewing
on a clump of hay.

“What’s that?” The thin soldier swung around,
his sword grasped in both his hands.

“Just a goat, you fool, looking for food.
Relax. Put the map away, we need to leave.”

The soldier placed the paper in his
saddlebag, closing the flap firmly. “Get out of my way,” he yelled
at the goat as both men ambled out of the doors. The moment they
entered the paddock, Suleiman raced for the saddlebag and deftly
opened the pocket with his teeth.

“Hurry,” Ara hissed at Layla, still climbing
cautiously down the ladder.

While Suleiman frantically nosed the contents
of the saddlebag, the girls stood in indecision.

Suleiman flicked his eyes at the girls and
bleated, his muffled voice not to be ignored. “Run now, out the
side door.” Startled, they moved to flee. He grabbed the map and
tugged. A corner of the map edged out. Ara, looking over her
shoulder beyond Suleiman, whispered urgently, “They’re coming
back!”

He pulled harder, ripping the paper. Suleiman
nosed the flap back down and galloped out the door, only half of
the map clenched between his teeth.

Chapter 38

Layla’s harsh, uneven breathing came from
behind Ara. They had run for a long time, racing from shadow to
shadow. Ignoring Suleiman’s grumbling under his breath about
lessons and magic, Ara clutched the ripped map. A pungent, musty
goat smell reminded her that they needed to hide him. Hearing no
more footsteps, she peered around a large olive tree. After a
careful look, they all rushed from bush to bush until they came up
to the inner palace wall. From there, Ara edged up to a corner of
the palace and stuck her head around the side. “All clear.” She
waved them forward, still looking out for the wazir and his hunting
companions.

When no guards challenged the trio, she felt
her hopes rise.

Suleiman backed up into the bushes. “I’ll
wait here for you. You can give Tahirah the map.”

Ara gave him her sternest look. “You must
return with us. We need you there for the lesson.”

Scooting from building to building, the girls
pushed, pulled and prodded the reluctant goat onward. Suleiman
argued with them the whole time.

With only a short dash between them and
Tahirah’s rooms, the sound of raised voices echoed down the path.
The girls ducked behind a wooden gate as the wazir, coddling his
injured hand, strode by with four sentries. “You! Guard this
building. Don’t let anyone in,” he said of Tahirah’s rooms. “And
you, find that animal now.”

“What animal?” a sentry asked in a bewildered
voice.

“What animal?” The wazir whirled on the poor
man. “I don’t know what it is now. A
damaged
animal. It was struck with an arrow. Find
it!”

The men looked furtively at each other before
one responded, “But, Wazir, what about the eagle? That was what we
shot.”

The wazir’s voice got even louder. “Are you
challenging me? Find that animal. It may be with the sultan’s
daughter and niece. Take it from them and kill it!”

Layla gasped and the wazir jerked his head
around toward the noise. “What was that?”

Ara clasped her hand over Layla’s mouth and
pulled her back into the shadows of the garden.

Suleiman examined the scraped spot on his
tail where the arrow had nicked him.

The guards looked at each other in dismay.
“The wind, Abd al-Rahmid, nothing more.”

The wazir ground his teeth. “You two, check
over there. You, recheck the stables. I was sure he fell over
there. He has to be around here somewhere. You stay here and let no
one in to see the Sufi witch. She must be involved somehow.”

His voice changed then. “Guard the harem
entrance. The sultan’s daughter may seek to return there. Something
is broken in the Court of the Lions, and I need to speak with
her.”

With that he marched to the front of the
Palace of the Partal and banged on the door.

Ara and Layla’s eyes met.

The girls crept deeper into the garden,
trying to muffle the sound of Suleiman’s goat feet. When they were
far enough away, Layla whispered in Ara’s ear. “Does that mean that
the final broken symmetry is the Court of the Lions?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. But his voice sounded
funny. Sly.”

Layla twisted her tunic hem in her hands. “He
always sounds so to me.”

“True.”

“Now what? Where do we hide?”